Page 161 of Bratva Bidder
His eyes are darting around the hallway like a cornered rat. “You have to listen to me.”
“I’m not listening to a goddamn thing. You aren’t invited. You shouldn’t be within a hundred miles of this house.”
“Nadya,” he says, voice low and desperate. “You have to get out of here. You and the children. All of you. Leave. Now.”
I stare at him, my brain refusing to make sense of the words. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re in grave danger,” he says, leaning closer. His breath smells faintly of vodka and panic. “They’re coming for you. All of you.”
“You have some nerve,” I whisper, seething. “Showing up here after you sold us out to Dmitry?—”
“Not to Dmitry,” he cuts in.
That stuns me into silence. I blink. “What?”
A dull noise cuts through the air outside—like metal cracking or something far away exploding—and I glance toward the door behind me, half-distracted.
“It wasn’t Dmitry I spoke to,” Pyotr continues, his voice trembling. “It was his son that found me.”
“Roman?” I ask, confused. “He’s dead.”
Pyotr shakes his head. “No. The younger one. Alexei. He’s the one who tracked me down. Paid me. Told me to say what I said.”
Blood roars in my ears. “Why? Why would he?—?”
“I didn’t know, Nadya. I didn’t know what he wanted, I thought it was just to rattle Konstantin—he said he wanted information, just to protect the family. But now…” He’s shaking, eyes wild. “Now I’ve come to know his true plans.”
“What plans?” I whisper, my voice a thread.
He looks directly into my eyes. “He intends to kill your entire family.”
The world tilts. For a moment, I can’t hear the music anymore.
I stare at him. “What did you just say?”
“Listen to me,” Pyotr says, clutching my face with shaking hands. “You have to follow my instructions carefully if you want to survive this. Get the kids. And get out of here.”
My father is saying something—his voice low and urgent—but the words dissolve in the rising tide of noise. Gunfire cracks in the distance. Shouts. Screams. The thunder of boots on hardwood.
“Take the service road, loop around the orchard. There’s a tunnel that leads past the ridge. Nadya, listen to me?—”
But I’m not listening. I can’t.
All I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears. All I can think is,Where is Konstantin? Where is Nikolai? Where is Mila?
I bolt.
My bare feet slap against cold tile as I tear down the hallway, the pistol gripped tight in one hand. Behind me, Pyotr shouts my name, pleading, but I don’t stop. I don’t even look back.
The hallway seems to stretch endlessly—doors blurring past, shadows twitching. A framed painting crashes to the floor as I round the corner too fast. I think I hear someone on the stairs, but I keep going.
I need to get to the kids. I need to find Konstantin. I need to know he’s still…
A deafening boom rattles the windows. Something explodes out in the garden—maybe the fountain, maybe a car.
The noise outside is deafening now—gunshots, glass shattering, the muffled thump of bodies hitting the ground. I burst through the back door and onto the veranda, the cold air like ice in my lungs.
The garden is chaos.
