Page 78 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“Tell who?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“My father.”

I set down my cup, my stomach churning in a way that has nothing to do with morning sickness.

“Roman—”

“We can’t hide this forever, Vera.” He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “Sooner or later, Konstantin is going to find out you’re pregnant. When he does, I want him to hear it from us, not from someone else.”

I understand his logic. I do, but that doesn’t make the idea of facing Konstantin again any less terrifying.

“He’s going to use this against us,” I say. “You know that, right? He’s going to find some way to turn this to his advantage.”

“Probably.” Roman crosses the room and sits down across from me, his eyes never leaving my face. “If we go to him now, we hold the cards. We control the narrative. If we wait and let him find out some other way, we lose that advantage.”

I stare at my tea, watching the steam rise from the surface. My hand drifts to my stomach on instinct, a gesture that’s become almost reflexive over the past few days.

“What about Anton?” I ask. “He’s not going to just give up because we’re married and pregnant.”

Roman’s expression hardens. “Anton is a problem, but he’s not an insurmountable one. Konstantin may be many things, but he’s not stupid. He’ll see the writing on the wall. You’re my wife now, and this child is mine. That makes you off-limits to anyone else.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “You’re my wife. You’re carrying my child. That’s all that matters.”

I want to believe him. I want to believe it’s that simple, that the strength of his claim will be enough to protect us from Konstantin’s machinations and Anton’s vendetta.

Except I’ve lived in this world long enough to know that nothing is ever that simple.

“When do we leave?” I ask.

Roman checks his watch. “In an hour. That should give you time to get ready.”

I nod, though my heart is racing. An hour. Sixty minutes until I have to face Konstantin again, until I have to stand in the same room with the man who orchestrated my abduction and forced me to the altar.

An hour until I have to pretend I’m not terrified.

Konstantin’s estate looks exactly as I remember it.

The drive feels longer than it should, each minute stretching out as we wind through the streets toward the estate. Roman is quiet beside me, his hands steady on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the road.

The mansion looms at the end of the drive, its stone facade as imposing as ever. I half expect to see my father’s car in the circular drive, but the only vehicles present are the black SUVs that belong to Konstantin’s security detail.

Roman parks near the front entrance and kills the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. We just sit there, staring at the mansion.

“Are you ready?” Roman asks.

“No,” I admit. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so we might as well go now.”

He nods, and something in his expression softens. He reaches for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he says. “Whatever happens in there, whatever he says, I won’t let him hurt you.”

I squeeze his hand. “I know.”

We exit the car and walk toward the entrance. The front door opens before we reach it, revealing one of Konstantin’s security guards. He steps aside without a word, letting us into the foyer.

The marble floors gleam beneath the chandelier as we walk inside, and the portraits of long-dead Volkonskys stare down from the walls like disapproving judges.