Page 83 of Bratva Bride
I shake my head, gripping my elbows until my fingers ache. “No. There’s no one I trust. Not anymore. I’ll go alone.”
He tries to argue, but I just shake my head again, my resolve like a stone in my chest. For Nikolai, for Mila, for the last scraps of my family—I have to do this myself.
24
KONSTANTIN
The casino is loud,all bright lights and teeth-rattling bass tonight, the kind of place I used to thrive in, before the world went to hell. I sit in the corner booth, my back to the wall, nursing a glass of something dark and expensive. Viktor lounges across from me, perfectly at ease, his eyes skimming the crowd for familiar faces or familiar trouble.
I thought there was a meeting tonight, something critical. Instead, Viktor slides another drink across the table, his mouth twisting into a faint smirk.
“Yes, there’s a meeting,” he says, not even bothering to raise his voice over the music. “But that’s not the reason I brought you here. Stop moping over your wife.”
I shoot him a warning look, but he doesn’t flinch.
“She makes you blind, brother,” he says, cool and steady. “You don’t see what’s coming because you’re always looking behind you, hoping she’ll come back.”
I grip the glass, letting the condensation chill my palm. “You want to talk about loyalty? Family?”
Viktor shrugs, a lazy, practiced gesture. “I want you to survive. That’s all. And you’re not going to survive this city if you keep letting her get in your head.”
His words hang in the air between us, heavy and unwelcome. I let the noise of the club wash over me, wishing I could drown out the memory of Nadya’s voice, the look in her eyes the last time she turned away. The drink sits untouched in my hand, but it burns all the same.
Viktor slides another photograph across the table, letting it land atop the others with a quiet finality. I study the faces, the blurred backgrounds. The club’s music rattles in my chest, but Viktor’s words slice through it all.
“Like you told me, Kirov confirmed Nikolai is dead,” Viktor says, his voice low. “And my sources…they say the same. I checked every contact I have from here to the border. Nothing but dead ends. It’s time to stop chasing ghosts, brother.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t want to believe it, but the exhaustion in my bones leaves no room for hope. Viktor leans in, eyes sharp.
“You need to focus on what matters now. Revenge. Survival. Your wife made her choice. If you don’t fight for your place, for your legacy, there will be nothing left for anyone—not even her, if she comes back.”
He shuffles the photos again, pointing to the men at the center. “You know Alexei. He wasn’t working alone. He didn’t have that kind of muscle, those kinds of resources. He must have had help. Help from inside. Help from your enemies.”
I stare at the evidence, every instinct screaming for action. Viktor’s voice settles in my ear, hard and cold.
“They set you up, Konstantin. They tore your family apart, and now they’re tearing at your throne. If you want to stay standing, you need to show them what happens when someone tries to take what’s yours.”
Viktor leans in, his voice pitched low, almost lost beneath the thump of the club. “The same bastards from the old council, the ones who never accepted you after the massacre. You remember the faces—Grozny, Orlov, Baranov. They’ve been meeting behind closed doors. They think you’re weak now. Vulnerable. People are plotting against you, Konstantin.”
He slides a folder across the table, thick with surveillance photos and pages of intercepted messages. I flip through them, my chest tightening as I see names.
Viktor’s jaw hardens. “We need to take the rats out. Crush them for good. Make an example of one, the rest will fall in line. If you want to keep your throne, you can’t wait for them to come for you first.”
The evidence is damning, a clear line from whispered threats to real action. I stare at the grainy photographs, my reflection warped in the surface of my drink.
Viktor taps a page near the top of the stack. “That’s from last night. Orlov met with a supplier at the docks. We traced the money—he’s moving weapons, and not for us. It’s for Grigori. He’s gotten into their bloodstream like poison.”
Grigori. I had almost forgotten the name. Like Alexei, he’s also a ghost. I almost laugh at the thought.
“They’re getting bold now,” Viktor says.
I exhale slowly, the taste of betrayal metallic on my tongue. “Why bring this to me now?”
He leans back, watching me with that cold calculation he saves for moments when he thinks I might break. “Because you need to act before they do. You’ve been distracted—first with your father, then with Nadya. Everyone can see it. They want to carve up what’s left of your empire before you even know it’s gone.”
He gives me a look that’s part challenge, part warning. “You remember what your father used to say? Never let your enemies fight on your land. Push them out. Make them fear you, not the other way around.”
I look at the folder again, the evidence undeniable. For too long I’ve let grief, anger, and guilt cloud my judgment. My grip on the city has loosened, and the predators are circling.
