Page 143 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Drago sits up as if the question insults him. That Sandrine, with no training, no real connections, could have convinced guards he’s responsible for, men who swore blood oaths to us, to betray me in a month.

No, it’s not possible.

Whoever set this up knew exactly where she’d be. Somebody told them. Somebody knew my wife and daughter were at that gas station. And then killed their accomplices so they couldn’t talk.

All but one man. The driver. It doesn’t matter what she did then. Or now.

“They have my wife.” I push to my feet, to pace in front of the table. “They have my daughter. Find them.” I curse, feeling helpless.

Drago nods, already talking on his phone, speaking in low, rapid Russian as he mobilizes his most trusted men.

I’ve lived through this once with this woman. I compare the version of Sandrine who existed in my head all these years, the woman who ran away, to the one in my bed every night moaning my name, and now to the one who betrayed my specific instructions.

Now she’s gone again.

With my daughter this time.

There will be consequences. Severe ones.

Because whether she ran away this time or whether she followed them into hell to save our daughter, Sandrine is still mine. For better or worse.

And I will burn this city to the ground to get them both back.

Chapter 47

Kirill

We land at Midway Executive, just as details come in.

“We tracked the plate,” Drago says and immediately gets back on the phone to mobilize my bratoks.

My veins pump hot as I transform into something lethal, something not many people see often.

I jog down the airstairs and jump right into my waiting Escalade.

From traffic cameras, we find the Tahoe sitting in front of a warehouse in a row of older buildings, most unoccupied. Hovering at the entrance, which is now surrounded by my men, I wait for details of what I’m walking into.

“Three men inside,” Drago murmurs, reading drone data on his phone.

Three men. With my wife and daughter.

“Let’s go.” I remove the gun from my jacket and check the slide.

Whoever took them wants something from me. This was a negotiation tactic to get me to the table. But who? And for what?

A Barinov? A Gideon? Someone else I killed to rise to this position of power over all other brotherhoods?

We descend on the warehouse in a show of force. I kick open the steel door and step into the dim interior. A single fluorescent panel serves as the sole overhead light. Drago is on my right with other men behind me.

The first man to step from the shadows freaks out. “Who the fuck are you?”

I answer with a bullet to his head. If he has no idea who I am, then he’s not Bratva and must be a paid mercenary who will kill me in a heartbeat.

The second man reaches for a weapon, but Drago takes him out with a hollow point right in the neck before he can return fire. The crack of bone and the wet, choking sound that follows cuts through the pounding in my head and ringing in my ears.

I continue to move forward, past the two dead bodies. Both men I don’t recognize.

There are stacks of crates piled to a height of nearly eight feet, creating a maze and providing places for men to hide. I’m walking into an ambush.