Page 40 of Bratva Bidder
He steps over the threshold and into the grand foyer, and for a second, no one moves.
Then he lowers me slowly—gently, even—his hands lingering for half a beat longer than necessary. One hand brushes the outside of my thigh as he lets go, the other steadies my elbow like he’s reluctant to break contact.
I step back the moment my feet hit the ground, pulse still thudding, throat tight with everything I don’t want to say.
“Thanks,” I mutter stiffly, already turning away.
“Nadya,” he says behind me. Just my name, quiet and unreadable.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
If I turn around, if I look him in the eye right now, I might say something I can’t take back. Something that blurs the line between what’s pretend and what’s real.
So I keep walking.
Through the long hallway. Up the stairs. Back into the room that smells faintly of lavender and unfamiliar soap, lit only by a warm lamp someone left glowing in the corner. I shut the door behind me with a soft click, leaning against it for just a moment.
Breathing.
Trying to remember who I am.
I take off the shoes, kick them somewhere near the chair, and walk toward the bed without turning on another light. I don’t want the brightness.
I want silence.
I want familiarity.
I want?—
Them.
Mila’s tiny hands pulling at the hem of my shirt. Nikolai’s soft breath pressed against my neck when he’s too tired to climb into bed but too stubborn to admit it.
The ache starts low in my chest and spreads fast. I told myself I wouldn’t call. I promised myself I’d go two days without checking in. But that was before tonight happened.
I grab my phone and sink into the edge of the bed, dialing before I can second-guess myself.
The screen lights up.
I bring it to my ear, holding my breath. She picks up on the second ring. Irina.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” I say softly, my voice already cracking.
There’s a pause. Then a breath of relief on the other end.
“Nadya. Are you alright?”
I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I just needed to hear them,” I whisper. “Just for a minute.”
Irina doesn’t ask why I’m calling this late. She doesn’t scold me for breaking my own rule. She just says, “Of course. Hold on.”
A shuffle. The sound of footsteps. A soft click of a door.
Then, two sleepy voices. “Mommy?”
