Page 29 of Bratva Bidder
Before he can spit something back, the other brother—Alexei—steps forward smoothly. “Ignore him,” he says easily, flashing me a real smile. “Roman’s had too much to drink. He talks more when he’s trying to forget he peaked at nineteen.”
Roman mutters under his breath and stumbles away toward the bar, Ludmila following with an exasperated sigh and a flick of her hand, like she’s swatting at an annoying fly.
Alexei stays. He extends a hand again, properly this time, with a smile that feels far too genuine for a place like this.
“Alexei Buryakov,” he says. “It’s good to meet you. Finally.”
I shake his hand cautiously, still a little off-balance from the last few minutes.
“You too,” I say, wary but polite.
“You handled that well,” he says, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Better than most would.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, unsure if it’s a compliment or a warning.
He lets go of my hand and steps back with a half smirk. “You’ll need a thick skin around here. Just a friendly warning.”
Alexei stays by my side longer than I expect, making polite conversation, his manner easy and relaxed in a way most people here aren’t.
He’s handsome—sharper in the jawline than Roman, with clear gray eyes that miss nothing. He carries himself like someone born into this world but smart enough not to flaunt it.
And despite myself, I find I don’t mind talking to him.
He asks me about where I’m from, the questions casual, not invasive, and somehow without the underlying judgment I expect. I give him vague answers, careful not to say too much.
“So,” he says, glancing around the rooftop like he’s surveying a battlefield. “First impressions?”
I arch a brow, wary. “Of what? The people or the ceremony?”
He grins. “Both. Though I wouldn’t blame you if you’re wondering when the ritual sacrifice starts.”
I blink, caught off guard—and then a laugh slips out before I can stop it.
Alexei grins, clearly pleased he got that reaction out of me. “Careful,” he says, his tone teasing. “Smile too much and they’ll think you actually want to be here.”
I shake my head slightly, trying to suppress the lingering smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
It’s a light moment, so normal it feels out of place in a night like this. For a few seconds, it almost feels like I can breathe.
From the corner of my eye, I see the crowd subtly parting, conversations faltering. A ripple through the rooftop that doesn’t need an announcement to make its presence known.
I turn—and there he is.
Konstantin.
Alexei notices too. He doesn’t stiffen or move away. Instead, he raises his glass lazily as Konstantin approaches, like he’s saluting a friend rather than greeting a brother with a fistful of tension already crackling between them.
“Brother,” Alexei says smoothly. “I was just keeping your bride entertained. Didn’t want her to die of boredom before the ink dried.”
Konstantin doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes stay on me—hard, unblinking, burning straight through the easy facade I’m trying desperately to keep up.
“You missed some very educational conversation,” Alexei adds, smiling.
Konstantin doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t even glance at Alexei properly.
His attention is locked on me, his eyes hard, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack.
Whatever fragile bubble Alexei created pops instantly.
