Page 21 of Bratva Stalker Kidnaps His Bride
“What happened?”
I set my jacket aside and roll my shoulders back. The image of her trashed apartment is alive behind my eyes—broken wood, gutted walls, scattered notes.
“They searched your apartment,” I offer quietly.
She goes completely still, the rise and fall of her chest slowing down as her shoulders lock. Her eyes narrow, mouth in a flat line.
“Searching for what?” she asks as I walk farther into the room.
“For information, anything connected to your investigation. They tore through drawers, floorboards, walls, hidden compartments. Whoever entered knew exactly what they were doing. The pattern shows no hesitation,” I tell her, keeping my voice leveled for her sake.
She says nothing, though silence around Zara rarely means absence of thought. Her voice lowers as she murmurs, “They knew the layout.”
I nod once. She turns toward the glass, but I know she is not looking at the skyline. The image of her trusted apartment, torn to shreds, the violation of privacy—all of it must be a tough pill to swallow.
“Shit’s gone bad,” she whispers more to herself than me. “I thought it was just—intimidation. A warning to stop digging.”
“It began that way.”
She turns sharply, mouth curved downwards. “And now?”
“Now it is a hunt.”
Her jaw clenches. I know she understands what those words mean because she has spent years tracing predators in systems disguised as institutions.
“They are not going to stop, are they? So what happens now?” Then anger arrives, because anger is easier to carry than fear. “You lock more doors? Double security? Add more men to follow me every time I breathe?”
Her sarcasm is sharp enough to cut glass.
“There will be a reception.”
Her eyes widen in genuine disbelief.
“A reception.”
“You heard me.”
She laughs, but there is no amusement in the sound. It sounds like glass shattering under pressure.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
She unfolds her arms and steps toward me, agitation gathering in every line of her body.
“That is your solution?”
“It is the best thing to do right now.”
Her eyes flash.
“Half the people in that room will hate me. I am an investigative journalist, Mikhail. I have exposed operations built on the same foundations as yours. Corrupt financial pipelines, money laundering, criminal networks hiding behind legitimate institutions. People in your world do not exactly appreciate public scrutiny.”
“No, they don’t.”
She stares. “No? That’s all you have to say?”
“Mhmm.”
