Page 20 of Bratva Stalker Kidnaps His Bride

Timur and Nikolai rarely disagree openly because both understand the cost of ego in strategic rooms. When they do diverge, the disagreement matters.

Timur turns slightly toward me.

“We reduce movement, tighten perimeter, rotate personnel, isolate all nonessential access points.”

It’s the logical and predictable thing to do, which is why it’s insufficient.

“They already know she matters,” Nikolai voices, gesturing toward the room. “This proves that. If they believe she remains a hidden asset, they’ll continue applying pressure through covert channels.”

His gaze lands on me as he finishes his spiel, while my eyes are taking in the broken wall, the pried floorboards, the violated space.

I have been solving the wrong problem.

Keeping Zara unseen no longer reduces the threat. It just makes her more vulnerable because secrecy invites pursuit and the mystery around her now has only upped her value.

Then it hits me.

“What is it?” Timur asks me, noticing the way my hands clench and unclench sporadically.

Tearing my gaze away from the ruined apartment and the men around me, I look at Nikolai.

“Yes.”

Nikolai already knows. His silence confirms it. Timur waits patiently for an explanation.

“Hiding her no longer protects her. I have to publicly claim her. She will be introduced publicly,” I announce.

Timur stays silent, reeling, while Nikolai’s eyes sharpen.

“To whom?” Timur finally asks.

“To everyone.”

“As your wife?” Nikolai asks.

“As a Korovin,” Timur adds for emphasis, as if I needed any.

“As Mikhail Korovin’s wife, Zara Korovin,” I declare. Territory marked in public, bloodless ink. It’s an announcement to every syndicate, every broker, every rival network from Brighton Beach to Moscow to Dubai that Zara Khan is no longer an exposed civilian.

She belongs under Korovin protection and therefore is untouchable. Any move against her becomes a move against us, against me.

“This raises the stakes even more,” Timur mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

“It also stabilizes the board,” Nikolai counters, folding his arms.

“Or worsens the conflict.”

“Shit has already hit the fan. It will get worse whether we want it or not. This is the best time to establish dominance.”

“It happens this week,” I assert roughly.

Timur inclines his head in acceptance and Nikolai gives a single nod of approval.

By the time I return to the penthouse, night has settled over Manhattan. Zara stands near the windows with the Manhattan skyline burning behind her in fractured gold and electric white, arms folded across her chest as though she can physically hold herself together through force of will alone.

The city sprawls beyond the glass like a living machine, every illuminated window another pulse in a system built on money, ambition, and hunger. She stands against that backdrop looking sharper than the skyline itself. Changed out of the clothes she wore earlier, nothing about her posture suggests that she’s relaxed. Tension coils through her like a wire pulled taut.

Dark brown eyes find mine immediately, face shuttering off.