Page 58 of Bratva Bidder
That’s when I heard footsteps.
Irina entered quietly, her face drawn and pale. She didn’t speak, just walked over and placed her hand on my shoulder, grounding me. I leaned into it like it might hold me together.
Then the doctors came in.
“His vitals have stabilized, but he’s showing early signs of cardiomyopathy,” the lead physician said gently. “We need to run full genetic panels. There may be an underlying congenital factor.”
I nodded numbly.
Then came the price.
Bloodwork. Imaging. Heart scans. Genetic mapping. Thousands of dollars—just to know what we were dealing with. And then, possibly…more.
I closed my eyes beside his bed, trying not to cry again. Trying not to think about the man who has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. The same man who looked at me last night and couldn’t remember the moment he took everything from me.
Now, back in my room, the sheets still smell like him.
Like his skin. Like sweat and vodka and anger and a kiss I wish I hadn’t wanted. I curl tighter into myself and press my hand overmy heart, willing it to stay quiet. Because I can’t afford to feel anything right now.
I can’t afford to break. Not when my son might be dying.
I stare at the screen for a full minute before I do the unthinkable.
I dialhisnumber.
It rings twice.
“Nadya,” Pyotr answers, voice oily with false warmth. “You’re alive, I see.”
“I need money,” I say without preamble. “Now.”
A pause. Then a soft chuckle, the kind that makes my skin crawl. “My, no pleasantries? Married life already turned you cold, moya devochka?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well,” he sighs, “you’ll have to be patient. This isn’t what we agreed on.”
My grip on the phone tightens. “Whatexactly did we agree on, Papa? You sold me to the highest bidder like a prize goat. You don’t get to talk about fairness.”
“That goat,” he says lazily, “was meant to secure both our futures. You act like I tossed you into some ghetto whorehouse. You’re in a palace, aren’t you?”
“My son is in the hospital.”
That finally shuts him up.
I take the silence and twist the knife. “He needs testing. Urgently. You told me I’d get money when I needed it.”
“Whenhetransfers it,” Pyotr mutters. “You think he paid up already? That bastard has a thousand conditions. Probably wants to keep you in line first?—”
“You’ll wire something now,” I cut in, my voice low, dangerous. “Because if you don’t, I’ll walk straight into Konstantin’s office and tell him everything. About the kids. About what you’ve done. About what you’re still doing.”
“You wouldn’t dare?—”
“Try me.”
There’s a beat of pure, blistering silence.
Then—
