Page 49 of Bratva Bidder
Konstantin is silent for a moment.
“I’ve been owned plenty of times,” he says. “Just not with a collar.”
I glance at him. He’s still staring out at the city, jaw tight, eyes distant. Like he’s remembering things he never talks about. Maybe he is.
“I used to think if I worked hard enough, killed clean enough, built something big enough—he’d see me as more than the bastard he regrets making,” he says.
I watch him, unmoving. “And now?”
He turns to me, meets my gaze dead-on. “Now I know he’ll never stop seeing me as a threat. So I’ve stopped trying to be his son.”
The honesty in his voice knocks the wind out of me more than anything that happened inside that party.
I swallow thickly. “I used to dream about getting out. A normal job. A little house. My kids in the yard.”
His eyes flicker at that—at the mention of kids—but he doesn’t ask.
“I don’t even remember what normal looks like anymore,” I admit.
He doesn’t try to offer promises or platitudes. He doesn’t touch me, just says, evenly, “You’re not alone in this.”
I close my eyes for a beat. Not because I believe him. But because I want to.
The silence settles again, not uncomfortable, just…heavy. Full of things we aren’t ready to say out loud.
Konstantin’s hand brushes mine lightly—just a touch, not quite a hold. For a second, I don’t move. I let it linger.
Then his phone buzzes in his jacket.
He glances down at the screen and mutters, “I have to take this.”
I nod. He steps away, toward the edge of the terrace, speaking low into the phone. His voice is calm, measured—business.
I turn back toward the city, trying to gather myself.
That’s when my own phone rings.
I freeze when I see the name that flashes across the screen: Irina.
A bolt of cold runs through me as I answer. “Irina?”
Her voice is shaking. “Nadya. It’s Nikolai. He—he collapsed. They’re admitting him now.”
My blood turns to ice. “What? What happened? Is he breathing?”
“He’s stable,” she says quickly, “but they think it’s cardiac-related. He was having trouble keeping up this morning, and then—then he just…dropped. I didn’t know what to do.”
My heart pounds so hard I can’t breathe. “I’m coming,” I say, already moving. “I’m coming now.” I say it again, voice tight. “I’m coming now.” And then I end the call before Irina can respond.
My hands are shaking.
Cardiac-related.
The words punch through my brain like bullets.
My baby. My son. My Nikolai.
I glance toward Konstantin—he’s still on his call, back turned, his voice low and calm, completely unaware that my world is breaking open beneath me.
