Page 91 of Bratva Bidder
I start easing back along the ledge, carefully retracing my steps, just as a harsh voice shouts from below, “Hey! What the hell are you doing up there?”
I freeze. My gaze darts down to see a restaurant employee pointing, eyes wide, confused.
I swallow hard. No choice now but to move fast.
I sprint the last few inches along the ledge and leap back onto the balcony, landing silently, perfectly balanced, heart racing. Smoothly, as if nothing happened, I slip back down the stairs, walking fast but not running.
When I step back into the dining room, Konstantin is already standing, tense, ready to come after me. His eyes narrow in suspicion and relief when he sees me. “What did you?—”
“Let’s go,” I whisper, sliding my arm casually through his as if nothing happened. “I got the pictures.”
“You got the—” He blinks, then glances at me with new admiration. “How?”
“You really don’t want to know.”
“Actually, I think I do,” he murmurs, looking at me as though I’ve suddenly become an even bigger mystery to him.
But we don’t have time. I guide us out quickly, heart still pumping fast, glancing briefly over my shoulder at the confused staff and curious diners.
Outside, the SUV is gone, leaving only empty pavement and the gentle hiss of tires on wet asphalt.
Konstantin watches me silently as we hurry to our car.
“Tell me,” he demands once we’re safely inside.
“Later,” I reply, breathless. “Right now, we need to figure out who those men are.”
He nods, eyes serious, his hand slipping gently over mine, squeezing briefly. A silent acknowledgment passes between us—something new, something powerful.
And maybe, just maybe, a little trust.
When we finally pull up to the old brick building that houses my apartment, I hesitate, gripping the handle of the car door tightly. I glance toward Konstantin, my stomach in knots. This place feels too intimate to share with him, too personal.
He reads my hesitation instantly. “I’m coming up,” he says, quietly firm. “It’s safer that way.”
I nod reluctantly, stepping out onto the pavement, the streetlights casting pale orange pools on the rain-soaked sidewalk. The building looks worn, ordinary—nothing like his world, and yet it holds everything of mine.
The stairwell echoes softly as we climb to the third floor. The silence between us is heavy, filled with unspoken truths and half-formed apologies. My heart pounds unevenly as I unlockthe apartment door, leading him into the tiny living room that smells of crayons and laundry soap.
His gaze sweeps slowly around the small space. I see it through his eyes—the modest furniture, the scattered toys, Mila’s drawings pinned haphazardly to the fridge, Nikolai’s carefully stacked picture books. He pauses by the kitchen counter, fingers lightly grazing a small plastic dinosaur Nikolai left behind.
“Is this where you raised them?” he asks, voice quiet, gentle—almost reverent.
I swallow thickly, nodding. “From the moment they were born. This is…home.”
He turns to face me, something raw in his eyes. “It feels safe.”
“That was the idea,” I murmur. “It’s not much, but it’s ours.”
His gaze lingers on the pictures on the fridge again, his expression softening. “They’ve been happy here.”
I nod, fighting sudden tears. “I’ve tried. But…it hasn’t been easy.”
He looks at me, regret shadowing his features. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Nadya. I didn’t know?—”
“I know you didn’t,” I interrupt gently, surprising myself. “And I’m starting to believe that.”
We finish indexing the pills and test reports on my tiny kitchen table, paperwork stacked in crooked towers that look as exhausted as I feel. Konstantin prowls around the living room like a caged panther, brushing dust from the back of a picture frame, asking too many questions about why the smoke alarmblinks every third second. His restlessness is almost endearing—almost.
