Page 51 of Bratva Bidder
I shove the door open. And there he is.
Nikolai.
My baby.
So small in the hospital bed, a tangle of wires and monitors, his chest rising and falling too shallow, too slow. An oxygen mask fogs lightly over his mouth. There’s an IV in his arm. His eyelids flutter, but they don’t open.
I barely make it two steps into the room before my knees buckle.
The world tilts sideways.
And I collapse.
12
KONSTANTIN
The call isn’t long.Just a quick, tense update from one of our contacts in Koreatown about a deal Dmitry’s been circling for weeks. I barely listen.
By the time I hang up, I’m already thinking about what to say to Nadya next. Something to close the gap she left open on that terrace. Something that might make her look at me like she did just before she said she hated this world—not like I was part of it, but like I might be something else.
But when I turn around?—
She’s gone.
The terrace is empty—no footsteps, no trace of her perfume on the air. Just the hush of distant traffic and the low thrum of the party behind the double doors.
I scan the corners, expecting to see her leaned over the railing, maybe pacing somewhere just out of view.
Nothing.
I walk to the edge of the terrace, glance down the side path, past the row of garden sconces.
Still nothing.
That’s strange. She didn’t say anything about leaving. Didn’t look like she was done talking. If she’d been pulled away by someone, I would’ve heard them. If she’d needed space, she would’ve said?—
Or would she?
There’s a narrow corridor just off the terrace, winding back toward the ballroom. Maybe she slipped inside again.
Still, something doesn’t sit right.
My gut twitches.
She wouldn’t have gone back in there without telling me.
I head back inside, and the ballroom hits like a wave—noise, heat, perfume, music. The chandelier pulses gold overhead. People are laughing, drinking, pretending they’re not part of the rot holding this city together.
I move through the crowd slowly, eyes scanning faces, corners, exits. Still no sign of her.
Then I hear it. Near the bar. Low voices, a burst of laughter. Something said just loud enough to rise above the music.
“—tight little thing, isn’t she? Hell, I was ready to outbid him that night. Should’ve pulled the trigger. I bet she still cries when you?—”
My body stops moving. Just freezes in place.
That voice.
