Page 48 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

Vera stops in the doorway and stares at the bed. Her face is unreadable. “Did he bring women here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” It’s the honest truth, even if it isn’t what Vera wants to hear.

She moves into the room and opens the closet door. Inside, there are a few men’s shirts hanging on the rod, a pair of shoes on the floor. It’s the nightstand that catches her attention.

She pulls open the top drawer and goes still.

I move to stand beside her. Inside the drawer is a collection of photographs scattered across the velvet lining. Women’s faces smile up at us: brunettes, blondes, redheads. Some are posed, some are candid.

All of them are beautiful.

Vera picks up one of the photographs and studies it. The woman in the picture is young, maybe twenty, with dark hair and a wide smile. She’s standing on a beach somewhere with the ocean behind her.

“She’s pretty,” Vera says. Her voice is flat.

I look at the other photographs. Different women, different locations, but the same pattern. Dmitri has his arm around them, or he’s standing close enough that it’s clear they’re together.

Under the photographs, there are receipts. Jewelry stores, mostly. They’re expensive pieces, all purchased in the last few months of his life.

Vera sets the photograph down and picks up one of the receipts. She reads it slowly, her eyes moving across the numbers.

“He was generous,” she says. “With other women.”

“He was generous with appearances,” I correct. “These receipts aren’t about the women. It was all for show, I’m sure.”

She looks at me. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to make you see him for what he was.”

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she closes the drawer and moves to the other nightstand. This one has a laptop inside, and a stack of papers that look like financial records.

I watch her face as she takes it all in. There’s no grief there, only a cold, quiet assessment.

She didn’t love him. She might have tried, in the beginning, but whatever feelings she had for Dmitri are long gone. A cold satisfaction settles in my gut at the thought.

I remember the encrypted message I intercepted months ago. Dmitri took a trip to Miami, to meet two women he’d been talking to long distance. I’d wanted to beat him for it, for cheating on such a beautiful woman. He treated Vera like she was disposable.

I’d wanted to kill him then. I’d wanted to put my hands around his throat and squeeze until he stopped breathing. It took me another six months to do it.

“Are you going to search the rest of the apartment?” Vera asks.

I blink, pulling myself out of the memory. “Yes. Stay here.”

I move through the rest of the space quickly, checking for anything that might be useful. The bathroom is empty, and so are the other rooms I check.

I’m in the second bedroom when I hear the front door open.

I freeze, my hand moving instinctively to my gun.

“Well, well.” Anton’s tone is casual, but there’s an edge beneath it. “What do we have here?”

I step out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Anton is standing in the living room, flanked by two men I don’t recognize.

His eyes move from me to the bedroom door, where Vera is still standing. “Roman.” He says my name like it’s a joke. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Clearly.” I don’t move from my position. “This is private property.”

“Is it?” He takes a step closer, his men spreading out behind him. “I thought it was Dmitri’s property. Which makes it family property. And considering he’s deceased...”