Page 32 of Bratva Baby

That has teeth.

Most women don’t leave me with anything except the memory of how they sounded when I was done with them. Sofiya left me with a black mood, a wrecked bed, and the irritating need to see what she does next. That would be enough on its own, but the family name wrapped around her makes it better and worse at the same time.

Leonidovs and Reznikovs have spent years circling each other through damaged business, patched truces, and old blood nobody bothered to forget. Their side likes clean fronts, expensive rooms, and paperwork polished enough to pass for civilization. Our side prefers fewer decorations and better enforcement.

We still touch the same freight, the same ports, the same money, and every time one side gets ambitious, the old mess starts breathing again.

So yes, I noticed Sofiya because she was Leonidov.

I kept looking because she was beautiful, she was built like trouble in a fitted black top, she had the kind of face men remember after one glance, and she looked back at me like she knew better and still wanted to see what would happen.

That part was honest, but the rest got uglier after Prague.

I tell myself I’m looking for her because I don’t like being used, and there’s some truth in that. I don’t enjoy waking up alone after a woman has taken my time, my room, and a very satisfying amount of my attention. I enjoy it less when she belongs to the wrong family and leaves me wondering what game she thought she was playing.

But if I’m being honest, and I usually am when the room is empty, it’s not only about the insult.

I want her found because I can still feel her under my hands, I keep seeing her when I close my eyes, and the thought of her vanishing somewhere beyond my reach annoys me in a way that starts low and keeps climbing.

She made herself into a chase, and now I want to see how far she thinks she can run.

By the time the car pulls up at the river house, Kolya is already on the steps with a folder in one hand and that expression he wears when he knows something will either amuse me or make the day more expensive. “You look rested,” he jokes.

I take the folder from him and start walking. “You look alive. Keep that streak going.”

He falls into step beside me. “There’s more freight noise.”

I glance sideways at him. “There’s always more freight noise.”

“This one’s Leonidov.”

That gets my attention properly.

We go inside, and I keep moving while I read. Baltic references. Finnish transfer points. Subtle pressure around older broker relays. Nothing loud enough to drag into open war, but enough to suggest somebody inside Leonidov freight is pushing movement through channels that aren’t supposed to exist.

“Maks again?” I ask.

Kolya nods once. “His name is coming up too often.”

It doesn’t surprise me. Maks has the kind of ambition that makes other men everyone’s problem. He smiles well, talks cleanly, and everything I’ve heard about him suggests he’d burn a route, a cousin, or an old truce if he thought the smoke would look like power.

We head straight to one of the smaller workrooms off the main office, and I toss the folder onto the table. “Give me the short version.”

Kolya opens another file. “Renewed instability on Leonidov lines. Off-book movement. Pressure from Maks’s side of the family. Quiet inquiries through private drivers and older house men.”

“That’s still freight.”

He flips a page and slides it across. “This isn’t.”

I look down. There isn’t much in it, which is why it’s more interesting. It’s about a missing woman. The questions are careful and there’s no formal notice or public family concern. It’s curated pressure that men love to use when they want to find somebody discreetly.

The corner of my mouth lifts. “Sofiya,” I say.

Kolya watches my face. “So you know she’s trouble now.”

“I knew enough before.”

He frowns at me. “Apparently, not enough.”