Page 112 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“Konstantin has called an emergency council meeting for this morning.” Lev’s voice drops, his eyes flicking toward the door as if our enemies might be listening. “He’s calling it an emergency session to discuss the ‘tragic events at the mansion.’ It’s all bullshit if you ask me.”

My blood runs cold. “He’s going to use this to take control?”

“He’s going to try.” Lev’s expression is grim. “With Roman incapacitated, Anton gone, and you... well, with you being the only one who knows what really happened, he’s going to spin a narrative that serves his purposes.”

“What kind of narrative?”

“That Roman was reckless, and he escalated things unnecessarily. That his attack on Anton was an act of aggression, not self-defense. Even we have to admit that, with everything going on, it’s easy to believe Roman’s return kicked all of this off.”

I feel sick. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would,” Lev says simply. “He’d do whatever it takes to maintain control. Whatever it takes to protect himself and his position.”

The room starts to spin, the walls closing in around me. I can feel the panic rising, hot and suffocating. I’ve been here before. Three years of it with Dmitri, learning to read the signs, to know when the storm was coming.

“I need to get out of here,” I say, my voice tight. “I need some air.”

“Vera—”

“Just for a minute,” I say, already pushing myself out of the chair. “I won’t go far.”

I slip out of the room and down the hall, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. The safe house is quiet, the morning light soft and gentle, but I can feel the darkness gathering at the edges of my vision.

I find the bathroom at the end of the hall, slip inside, and lock the door behind me. The cool tile is a welcome relief to my flushed skin, but it’s not enough. The nausea is rising fast, burning its way up my throat.

I barely make it to the toilet before I’m sick. I heave until there’s nothing left, just dry-heaving, my stomach cramping with the effort.

I sink to the floor, leaning back into the tiled wall. I wrap my arms around my knees, resting my forehead on them and trying to breathe through the waves of dizziness.

This is what it’s come to. This is what my life is now. I thought marrying Roman would change things. I thought choosing him, choosing us, would give me some measure of peace.

Now I have more to lose. Not just my own life, but Roman’s. Not just my own future, but our child’s.

The thought of the baby sends a fresh wave of nausea through me. I press my hand to my stomach, as if I can somehow protect this tiny life growing inside me.

I’m so tired. So tired of being strong, so tired of fighting. I just want it to stop. I just want to be able to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning.

I push myself up from the floor, my legs shaking. I make it to the sink, turn on the water, and splash cool water on my face. It helps, a little. The nausea recedes, the dizziness fading to a manageable hum.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, my eyes wide with a fear I can’t hide. But somewhere in there, I see resolve too.

This is my time to protect Roman. This is my time to step up. He’s been protecting me since the moment he walked into my life, putting himself between me and danger, taking the hits meant for me. Now it’s my turn. Now I’m the one who needs to be strong.

I straighten up, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath. It’s time.

When I return to the bedroom, Lev is still there. He looks at me, and something in his eyes softens.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“I have to be,” I say simply.

I move back to the chair beside the bed, my hand finding Roman’s again. His breathing is still shallow, but he’s here. He’s alive, and that’s what matters.

The door opens again, and this time it’s Yelena who enters. She’s carrying a tray with a bowl of water and some clean cloths, her expression professional but not unkind.

“How is he?” she asks, her voice low.

“Stable,” I say. “No change.”