Page 98 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

The scene at sea flashed back without warning. When I jumped in, all sound got swallowed by waves. I saw Brinny in the distance, saw her arms slapping wildly at the water. There'd been another figure somewhere.

I'd swum past that person. Briony.

I'd assumed the crew would get her. Assumed she was strong. Assumed she'd hold on. Every assumption made me sound like a goddamn idiot.

Red light. A notification chimed in the car. My phone screen lit up, showing a photo update from social media. Brinny had posted new pictures.

She'd grabbed my phone once, followed her own account. Said if I wouldn't come see the world with her, I should at least know where she went.

Over the years, I'd click through sometimes. See her on snowy mountains, in foreign cafés, dressed in expensive gowns at galas. She was beautiful, living the life the Vasiliev family had laid out for her. Plenty of people followed her feed—what she ate, what she wore, who she traveled with.

Today, that notification blocked the GPS.

I should've swiped it away. But thinking about her condition, my finger paused. I opened it.

The photo loaded. Background—clear blue sea. Brinny was completely submerged, long hair floating behind her, slender body stretched out like a fish.

No struggle on her face. No fear. Her arms moved through the water with practiced ease. Next photo, she'd gone deeper, reaching down to pick up a shell from the seabed. Next one, she was turning underwater, smiling at the camera.

A chill spread through my stomach. The post was dated today. Caption said she was finally free from the hospital, best way to recover was getting back to the ocean.

I zoomed in on the photo again. Eyes open underwater. Expression relaxed. No trace of fear. Someone who couldn't swim couldn't do this. Even with help off-camera, you couldn't instantly learn breath control, diving, turning.

Brinny could swim. And she was good at it.

The scene at sea replayed in my head. Her slapping the water, screaming, body sinking. When I'd reached her, eyes closed, seemingly unconscious. Everything had made sense then. She had a congenital heart condition, weak body, had told me she wasn't good with water activities. I hadn't questioned it.

Now these photos cut those images wide open. Her movements in the water had been too big, but she'd never actually gone under.

More importantly—

Why had she fallen in at all?

I stared at the photos, back slowly tensing. I'd been betrayed before. Thought I could spot lies. Rehearsed answers and genuine reactions were never the same.

But I'd never looked at Brinny with that kind of scrutiny. Because she was Brinny. Because I'd placed her beyond all judgment.

That realization pissed me off more than the deception itself. Light turned green. I pulled over.

Fingers in the comment box. One sentence.

"You can swim."

Less than ten seconds later, my phone rang. Brinny. I answered. Didn't speak first.

Background noise—music, waves, young people laughing. Someone called her name in the distance. She walked a few steps away before her voice cleared.

"Varlam, are you mad at me?"

She sounded amused. Light. My blood went cold.

I didn't confront her.

"What makes you think I'm mad?"

Silence on her end.

"Because your comment was so serious." She hesitated. "I can swim, but just a little."