Page 65 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“The deal’s off.” I don’t turn around. “You tried to set me up, Kozlov. Be grateful I’m walking out instead of putting a bullet in your head.”

I push through the door and into the night air, Lev close behind me. The car is waiting where we left it, Artyom behind the wheel and engine running.

“Go,” I say, throwing myself into the back seat. “The penthouse. Now.”

Artyom doesn’t ask questions. He just drives.

Lev’s face is grim. “What is it?”

“Security alert. There’s motion in Vera’s room.”

Lev’s expression tightens. “So she’s probably just pacing or something.”

“The alert doesn’t trigger that way. It only triggers if it detects more than one person, or somebody is trying to break in.”

The city blurs past the windows as Artyom weaves through traffic. I watch the buildings slide by and feel something cold and heavy settle in my chest.

This is my fault. I thought the security detail would be enough, but I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I was wrong to assume I could just leave her alone.

The sun is setting by the time we reach the city proper, painting the skyline in shades of orange and red. It looks like blood against the glass, and I can’t help but think it’s an appropriate backdrop for what I’m about to do.

Artyom pulls up in front of the building and I’m out of the car before it’s fully stopped, moving toward the entrance with Lev at my heels.

The lobby is empty. The security desk is unmanned. Where’s the doorman?

I take the stairs two at a time, my hand on my gun. No point waiting for the elevator. The penthouse door is unlocked when I reach it, swinging open at my touch like it’s been waiting for me.

I burst inside, every sense on high alert. “Vera!”

The penthouse is quiet. The lights are off, and the living room curtains are drawn.

My two guards lie unconscious in the hallway. One still has his hands wrapped around his pistol, blood cooling on the floor.

I kneel to check his pulse. He’ll live.

Then Oksana emerges from the kitchen. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with fear. She looks like she’s been crying, her cheeks streaked with tears that she hasn’t bothered to wipe away.

“Roman,” she says, and her voice cracks on my name. “Thank God you’re here.”

I cross the room in three strides and grab her by the shoulders. “Where is she? Where’s Vera?”

Oksana shakes her head, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “She was taken. They came while you were gone and they took her.”

“Who?” My grip tightens on her shoulders. “Who took her?”

“Konstantin’s men.” She’s crying openly now, her words coming in gasps. “They came with your father. He told her it was time, that she had to come with them. She didn’t want to go, but they made her. They said if she didn’t, they’d⁠—”

“Where?” I cut her off. “Where did they take her?”

“St. Nicholas,” Oksana says suddenly.

I stare at her. “What?”

“Right before they left. Konstantin mentioned St. Nicholas.” Her face crumples. “That has to be where they’re taking her.”

Shit.

A hot surge of fury joins the dread in my gut, mixing with it until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. After I told her she was safe, that she could trust me, they still have her.