Page 35 of Bratva Bidder
They were professionals.
“You said ‘they,’” I mutter, keeping my voice low even though the hallway is deserted. “But you didn’t see any signs of multiple shooters, did you?”
Lev hesitates for half a second too long.
“No,” he says finally. “No confirmed secondary shooter.”
The knot tightens in my gut. This was aimed at one man.
Me.
I come to a slow stop in the middle of the hallway, my mind running backward, replaying the angles, the shots, the pattern of fire.
Every bullet had been aimed at the stage. At me. At Nadya, when she got too close.
No one else.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches, my fist clenching tight at my side.
“They were only aiming at me,” I say slowly.
Lev frowns. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I snap. “No stray bullets. No random guests hit. They weren’t spraying. They were hunting. Me.”
This was personal. And the list of people who have both the motive and the resources to pull something like this off at my own wedding?
It’s a short fucking list.
My fists clench tighter.
Lev sees it instantly. His mouth tightens, his hand tightening on his gun, waiting for my call.
“It’s him,” I say, my voice low, cold enough to burn.
Lev doesn’t ask who. He knows. I can see it written in the grim set of his mouth, the slight dip of his head.
My father.
The man who spent my entire life treating me like an inconvenient reminder of his own sins.
The man who, five minutes ago, was standing on the rooftop playing the part of proud father while barely masking his disdain.
I feel the fury coil in my chest, poisonous, spiking hotter with every breath.
I trusted him not to show up. I trusted him to ignore me the way he always has. Instead, he came. Dmitry Buryakov always finds a new way to surprise me.
And tonight, under the perfect sky, surrounded by his empire, he tried to erase me for good.
Lev falls into step beside me, checking corners as we move down the empty maintenance corridor. His movements are tight, professional, but there’s a grim edge to the way he grips his weapon now. The same realization burning through me is written all over his face.
“Maybe he feels threatened,” Lev mutters after a beat, keeping his voice low. “Your marriage to Nadya—it might be a bigger deal than we thought.”
I grunt, not bothering to hide my disgust. “I told you,” I say. “These old bastards believe in Bratva purity. Bloodlines. Loyalty to the name. They don’t like seeing someone outside the official family line rise too high. Makes them nervous.”
Lev chuckles dryly under his breath, no real humor in it. “So what next?” he says, casting a glance at me. “You gonna create an heir with her? Really piss him off?”
I stiffen, my gaze snapping to him before I can school it.
