Page 86 of Bratva Bride
The hatch swings open with a loud groan, the noise echoing through the belly of the ship. My pulse thunders in my ears as I slip inside, sweeping the space with my gun first, knife tight in my other hand.
The room is low and cramped, metal walls sweating with condensation. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, barely holding back the dark. The place is littered with broken crates, old oil drums, and piles of trash. Every step feels risky, every shadow could hide a threat. I catch the smell of mildew, sweat, something worse.
I keep moving, breath shallow, heart hammering. My voice is a whisper. “Nikolai?” I wait, listening, but all I hear is the distant slap of water against the hull and the skitter of something small across the floor.
I force myself forward, clearing one corner at a time. My nerves are shot. I want to call his name again, but I bite it back, too dangerous, too easy to give myself away. I check behind each crate, my eyes straining to see through the gloom. There are traces of people, including old food wrappers, cigarette butts, a blanket balled up in the corner.
I step around a barrel, and my foot bumps something soft. I freeze, every muscle locking up, then crouch, gun aimed. It’s just an old jacket, half-buried under a tarp. No body, no blood. But someone has been here. Recently.
I press on, mouth dry, praying for a sign. I edge toward the far side of the compartment. My flashlight beam catches on something—a strip of red cloth tied to a pipe, small, frayed at the end. My heart stutters. Nikolai’s jacket had a lining like that. I grab it, turning it over in my hand. It’s warm. Someone’s been here. Maybe even minutes ago.
The fear is worse now. The hope is worse too. I press my back to the wall, listening. Voices, faint, maybe above me. Heavy footsteps. My grip tightens. I hold my breath.
Please, I pray,please let me be in time.
I sweep my flashlight over the last row of doors, panic rising with every empty cabin. At the end of the passage, one door hangs half-open, rusted hinges barely holding. I slip inside, gun first, heart pounding so hard it hurts.
At first, I think the room is empty, just another wasted space. But then I see a small shape on the bunk—a boy, curled tight, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. My heart lurches.
“Nikolai,” I whisper, barely daring to believe it.
He doesn’t answer. I rush to his side, kneeling by the bed, my hands shaking as I check his pulse. It’s slow, thready. His eyelids flutter when I brush the hair from his forehead, but he can’t open them. He’s burning with fever, skin clammy, breathing shallow. I realize he’s been drugged. Rage and terror floodthrough me. I want to scream, to shake him awake, but I force myself to move gently.
I’m so focused on him that I almost miss the sound behind me. The iron door slams shut with a bone-deep clang, the sound ringing in my ears. I spin around, gun raised, but I’m alone in the tiny cabin, only the door’s thick metal between me and whatever’s waiting outside.
A voice drifts through the porthole, slow and mocking, echoing down the corridor. “You were stupid to come here tonight. Alone.”
The words are a cold hand around my throat. My grip tightens on the gun.
I grip Nikolai tighter, pressing his head to my chest as if I can shield him from whatever is coming next. My heart pounds, every breath shallow, the world spinning off its axis.
“You always think you’re saving someone,” the voice continues, softer, almost pitying. “But you never see what’s right in front of you.”
I freeze. That voice—icy, familiar, and unmistakably female—cuts right through me. It’s not possible, and yet I know. I know before she even says another word.
The laughter echoes through the metal. “You really thought you’d win, Nadya? You really thought you could just walk in, snatch your boy, and escape?”
I press myself against the door, glaring at the small grate, my heart racing. “Let me out and we’ll see, Anya.”
“You’re pathetic. Still clinging to hope. Still thinking you matter to anyone in this city. You’re all alone down here, Nadya. No oneis coming to save you tonight. Not your father, not Konstantin, not your precious Bratva friends.”
Her voice slides through the porthole, the final blow. “You’re nothing to anyone now. Not even to him.”
I grit my teeth, anger burning away the last of my fear. I will not beg. I will not break. Not for Anya. Not tonight.
She lingers a moment longer, then her footsteps fade, leaving me in the dark.
I clutch Nikolai tighter, his shallow breath hot against my neck. My body shakes, but I force myself to draw in one long, steadying breath.
But as I sit on the cold metal floor, holding my son, a small, wild smile curls at the edge of my lips. Because Anya is wrong about one thing.
I’m not alone.
26
KONSTANTIN
Viktorand I ride in silence, the city’s lights flickering across the windows as the car weaves through backstreets. I rub my forehead, a dull ache radiating behind my eyes, the weight of exhaustion settling in my bones. Viktor sits beside me, his posture as rigid and controlled as ever, eyes fixed ahead.
