Page 82 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

Katya’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s performing, just as Konstantin trained her to. I wonder if she recognizes the irony of her position, a decorative piece trotted out when needed and ignored when inconvenient.

The door opens again, and my attention shifts.

Anton strides in. His black suit is impeccably tailored, his broad shoulders filling out the waistcoat. He scans the table, taking stock of who’s present and where they’re seated.

He’s not alone.

The woman on his arm is striking. She’s tall and slender, with dark hair that cascades past her shoulders and features that could have been carved from marble. She’s wearing a dress that clings to every curve, the deep neckline leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes sweep the room with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to being looked at.

I don’t recognize her. That alone puts me on edge.

Anton guides her to the empty seats across from us, his gaze flicking to Vera for a moment before settling on me. His smile widens.

“Roman.” He says my name with exaggerated warmth. “And Vera. What a lovely surprise.”

“Anton.” I keep my voice flat. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us.”

“Konstantin extended a personal invitation.” Anton pulls out the woman’s chair, then takes his own seat. “I believe his exact words were that it was important for family to be present tonight. All family.”

The implication is clear. He’s still positioning himself as part of the inner circle, still acting as though he has a claim.

“Who’s your friend?” I ask, nodding toward the woman.

“This is Masha.” Anton’s hand settles on her knee, a possessive gesture that makes Vera tense beside me. “She’s been very supportive during these difficult times.”

Masha offers a practiced smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Her accent is Russian, but there’s something off about it. Rehearsed, almost. I file that information away for later.

We order, and soon the first course arrives. Conversation resumes around us. The elders discuss business and territory, all the usual fare.

I eat without tasting, my attention split between the food on my plate and the dynamics at play around me.

Vera is quiet beside me, pushing her food around. She hasn’t touched her drink even though it’s non-alcoholic, and I notice her hand drift to her stomach once before she catches herself.

I reach under the table and find her hand, threading my fingers through hers. She glances at me, and I see the fear she’s trying to hide.

We’ll get through this, I want to say. I won’t let him win.

The words stick in my throat, and all I can do is hold her hand tighter.

The second course comes and goes. The conversation shifts to more personal matters; marriages, children, the future of the family. I can feel the direction things are heading, and I know Konstantin is orchestrating it all.

Finally, Konstantin sets down his chopsticks and looks around the table.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, raising his glass. “To new beginnings. Roman has asked me to share some news with you all.”

Every eye turns to us. Vera’s grip on my hand tightens.

I stand, pulling Vera up beside me. My voice is steady. “Vera and I are married,” I say. “We’re expecting a child.”

The silence that follows is absolute. Then the whispers start, spreading around the table like a disease.

Anton’s expression shifts. He leans back in his chair, his arm still draped over Masha’s shoulders, but his eyes are cold.

“Married,” he repeats, “and already pregnant? My, that’s odd.”

“Anton.” Konstantin’s voice carries a warning.