Page 128 of Bratva Bidder
I feel Konstantin go still beside me.
Alexei drops his gaze, his posture crumpling just slightly. That tells me everything I need to know.
“You came here to use this,” Konstantin says, his voice low, tightly wound. “To spin grief into leverage.”
Dmitry shrugs, glancing at Mila now, who tightens her hold around Irina’s neck. “I came here to offer peace,” he says, “to see my grandchildren. But if you’d rather see this as a move on a chessboard…”
He trails off, letting the silence do the rest.
Alexei takes a step forward. “We didn’t mean to upset anyone,” he says quickly, his voice the only soft thing in the room. “We thought…we thought it might help to show we’re not enemies.”
“You’re not,” I say, my eyes on Dmitry. “You’re something much worse.”
Konstantin’s hand slides down from my waist, his body angling forward like he’s ready to strike. But Dmitry just smiles again, like he’s proud of the tension he’s created.
Like this is exactly what he wanted.
And I know then—we all do—this wasn’t just a visit.
This was a warning. A quiet declaration.
Dmitry’s gaze lingers on Nikolai like he owns the right to stand there. “I’ve stationed my men around the hospital,” he says casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “They’ll be watchinground the clock. Security for my grandson. Meanwhile, I’ll go talk to the doctors myself and see if I can learn about his progress.”
I feel Konstantin tense beside me before he speaks. “That’s enough. You’ll do no such thing.”
But Dmitry only tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Isn’t this what you want? For your family to be safe? I’m just trying to help you here.”
I’m disgusted. What a sick man. He intends to use Nikolai’s affliction.
Konstantin doesn’t reply. Not right away. He doesn’t need to. His silence is louder than anything he could say.
A buzzing sound cuts through the tension, and Alexei glances down at his phone. Whatever he sees flashes urgency across his face. He looks to Dmitry and gives a slight nod. Without another word, they both turn and walk out of the room, leaving behind a silence thick with something unspoken.
The moment the door shuts behind them, Konstantin moves fast, crossing to Nikolai’s bedside. His hand hovers for a second before it settles over his son’s small chest, like he needs to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat to steady his own.
“So, this was his plan,” he mutters, almost to himself. “The bastard’s been plotting since the beginning.”
I’m still watching the door, my own heart hammering. Mila slips her hand into mine and looks up at me. “Who was that scary man?”
Her voice is small. Too small.
“I tried to stop him,” Irina says, voice trembling. “He just walked in…I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay, Irina,” I say quickly, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay. None of this is your fault.”
I let out a slow breath, still trying to calm my pulse. My eyes drift to Konstantin, who hasn’t moved from his spot near Nikolai’s bed. His jaw is clenched, his hand resting protectively near our son’s arm.
And then, not five seconds later, the door opens again.
Alexei steps in, sheepish. “Sorry about that,” he says, running a hand through his hair.
Konstantin doesn’t answer, but his eyes lock onto Alexei with something unreadable. Not quite anger. Not quite trust.
Alexei clears his throat and steps forward, and that’s when I see it—a familiar hardcover tucked under his arm.
“Is that…?” I start, squinting.
Alexei lifts the book.The Boy Who Could Fly. The same dragon-riding, sky-chasing adventure Nikolai reads on repeat.
