Page 159 of Bratva Bidder
“No promises.”
Together we turn toward a small group that’s just stepped into the patio lights—potential allies I’ve been trying to court for months. Nadya is perfect beside me, offering that diplomatic smile that hides the claws. She’s warm where I’m cold, silver where I’m all steel.
By the time we’re done shaking hands, I’ve got two verbal agreements and one promise to talk again in a week.
It’s efficient, strategic, a little exhausting.
And when I glance back at my father, expecting a flicker of irritation—because these were once his contacts—I find him still distracted, that unreadable expression fixed on Alexei.
Something shifts in my chest. What is it that I can’t put my finger on?
“Hey.” Nadya nudges me gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow a little. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I assure her.
“Look at us,” Nadya murmurs. “Almost normal.”
“Almost,” I echo, scanning the crowd.
We pass one of the Shurov sisters—Tatiana, the older one. She nods politely but her eyes flick toward Dmitry in the shadows. Smart woman. Everyone’s trying to figure out what tonight means.
“You look like you’re trying to read minds,” Nadya says under her breath.
“Just wondering who’s here for us…and who’s here for him.”
“Don’t worry too much about your father. Not when I’m here.”
I nuzzle her neck. “I’m not thinking about him at all.”
She gives me a long look, then kisses my cheek. “Good. Because tonight is ours.”
Before I can respond, Irina steps up beside us, a glass of something dark in her hand. She’s wearing a navy-blue gownwith a high collar and lace sleeves. “No one’s spilled anything yet, and no bodies in the garden. I’m impressed.”
Nadya laughs softly. “We’ll count it a success if we make it to dessert.”
Irina smirks, but her eyes flick toward the path where Dmitry is standing. Her mood dims a little. “He came, then.”
“You should try relaxing, Irina. Tonight’s supposed to be a celebration.”
Irina raises a brow. “And yet your father-in-law is lurking in the shadows, and half the people here once tried to kill each other.”
“She has a point,” I murmur, and Nadya elbows me gently.
Irina’s gaze flicks past us toward the corner where Dmitry stands, alone for once, his arms folded, his expression unreadable.
“You think he’s up to something?” Nadya asks.
Irina hesitates. “It’s not like him. All this…cooperation. Turning up here like some doting grandfather. There’s something he’s not saying.”
For some reason, I’m inclined to believe her.
“Something’s off,” I say, lowering my voice. “He was about to tell me something before Nadya called me over.”
Irina crosses her arms, scanning the perimeter with practiced wariness. “That man never says anything unless he gains something from it.”
