Page 84 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

Anton recovers himself, straightening his jacket with a scowl. “This has nothing to do with Dmitri’s crimes. This is about you, Roman, and your questionable actions.”

“My actions are not in question.” I step back toward Vera, positioning myself beside her. “I claimed what was mine. I protected what was mine. I’ll continue to do so, regardless of what anyone in this room thinks.”

The elders exchange glances. Some of them are clearly on my side; they’ve seen the evidence of Dmitri’s treachery and they understand the implications. Others are firmly in Anton’s camp. I know without having to ask.

Konstantin is watching from the head of the table. He’s enjoying this, I realize. He’s enjoying watching Anton and me tear each other apart.

“Let the council decide,” Pavel says finally.

“There’s nothing to decide,” I counter. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m informing you of the facts.”

The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. I can feel Vera trembling beside me, and I reach for her hand again.

“It’s time to go,” I say quietly.

She nods, and we make our way toward the door. The elders part before us, some with expressions of support, others with barely concealed hostility.

Anton’s voice follows us. “This isn’t over, Roman. You can’t just walk away from this.”

I don’t turn around. “Watch me.”

The hostess is waiting by the exit, her face pale. She’s clearly overheard some of what happened, and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Is everything alright?” she asks.

“Everything is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”

We step outside into the cool night air. Artyom is already waiting with the car, his expression alert.

“Get in,” I say to Vera. “Quickly.”

She slides into the back seat without argument. I follow, pulling the door shut behind me.

“Go,” I tell Artyom. “Now.”

The car pulls away from the curb, leaving the restaurant behind. I lean back against the seat, my jaw tight with barely suppressed fury.

Vera is quiet beside me, her hand still clasped in mine. I can feel her pulse racing through her fingertips.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She shakes her head, then nods, then shakes it again. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “That was...”

“Tell me about it.”

25

VERA

Roman hasn’t said a word since we left Kuro-Tetsu.

He sits beside me in the back seat, staring through the window, his expression carved from stone. His hand is no longer wrapped around mine; both are clenched into fists against his thighs, the knuckles pale beneath the passing streetlights.

I want to say something. Anything. But after what happened in that restaurant, every possible sentence feels inadequate.

By the time we pull into the penthouse garage, the tension inside the car has become almost unbearable.

“Roman,” I say.