Page 36 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“Show me.”

The footage appears on screen—grainy night vision showing a vehicle moving slowly through a residential area where it has no legitimate business. The angle doesn’t capture the license plate, but the make and model are clear.

“Run it,” I order. “Find every camera that vehicle passed.”

The next fifteen minutes crawl by with agonizing slowness as my team traces the SUV’s route through the city. Each new piece of footage narrows the timeline, builds the picture I’m desperately hoping is wrong.

The evidence assembles with damning clarity.

The SUV appears on the service road adjacent to our property at eleven forty-seven. It idles there for ninety seconds, waiting. Two men exit, moving with military precision toward something off-camera. Sixty seconds later, they return carrying a struggling figure between them.

Even through the poor image quality, I recognize Serena’s build, her dark clothing, the way she fights despite being restrained.

They force her into the vehicle. The SUV pulls away, headlights still dark, heading toward the industrial district.

The cold fury crystallizes into something sharper, more focused.

“Identify that vehicle,” I say quietly. “Registration, owner, every detail available.”

Viktor is already running the search, fingers moving rapidly across his keyboard. “License plate is obscured, but the make and modifications match a vehicle registered to Alexei Morozov. He’s—”

“Kravin Syndicate,” I finish, the pieces clicking into place with sickening clarity. “Low-level enforcer, handles collections and transport.”

This wasn’t opportunity. This was planned. The Kravin Syndicate knew about the security gap, knew Serena would attempt escape, positioned themselves to intercept her the moment she left protected territory.

Either they’ve been surveilling the estate for weeks, or someone gave them information.

“Pull records on every staff member hired in the last three months,” I order, my mind already calculating possibilities. “Cross-reference with known Kravin associates. If we have an insider, I want them identified within the hour.”

Mikhail enters the control room, his expression grim. “I heard the alert. What’s the situation?”

“Serena attempted escape during guard rotation. Kravin intercepted her outside the perimeter.” I pull up the traffic footage again, watching those ninety seconds of waiting. “They were ready, and knew exactly when and where she’d emerge.”

“So they’ve been watching.” Mikhail moves closer to the screen, studying the vehicle’s positioning. “That level of coordination suggests significant planning. This wasn’t opportunistic—they wanted her specifically.”

“Leverage against the political alliance. Or retaliation for the territory we’ve taken from them in the past month.” I check my watch. Twelve thirty-seven. “She’s been in their custody forforty minutes. Every minute we delay gives them time to move her somewhere harder to find.”

“Do we know where they’re taking her?”

“Industrial district based on their route. Probably one of the warehouses they use for interrogations.” I turn to Viktor. “Contact our people in that area. I want locations of every Kravin-affiliated property within ten blocks of where we lost the vehicle’s trail.”

“Already compiling the list.” He pulls up a map, red dots marking potential locations. “Twelve possibilities, though these three are most likely based on known patterns.”

I study the map, forcing my mind into tactical analysis despite the visceral urge to simply tear through the city until I find her.

Serena is in the hands of an organization that specializes in extracting information through methods that make my basement interrogations look gentle. They’ll use her to pressure me into territorial concessions, or possibly as bait for a larger ambush.

Either way, she’s in immediate danger specifically because she’s my wife.

The irony is vicious. I forced her into this marriage for protection, for alliance, for strategic advantage. Now that connection has made her a target for enemies who see her as the most efficient way to hurt me.

“Mobilize strike teams for all three priority locations,” I order, my voice dropping to the cold calm I use when violence becomes necessary. “Full tactical gear, lethal force authorized for anyone who interferes with extraction. I want her back within two hours.”

“Pavel.” Mikhail’s tone carries warning. “If this is an ambush, going in personally puts you at risk. Let the teams handle it.”

“I’m going.” The words allow no argument. “Organize the assault teams, but I’ll be leading the primary extraction.”

“That’s not strategic.”