Page 152 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

Shaking my head, I feel the room narrow, the air thickening as my mind reconstructs the past with a clarity that burns like fire.

Sandrine disappearing. The name change. The silence that followed.

For five years.

Until someone talked. And I found her. Brought her home. Took my place as pakhan with Sandrine as my wife. Not Chernov’s daughter. So he planned a bold abduction to take my wife and my daughter. And he was willing to die for it.

And these older money transfers to a dead man suggest Chernov also had a hand in my wife’s disappearance five years ago.

The thought doesn’t spark rage the way it should. It doesn’t explode into wild and uncontrollable fury. Instead, it settles, cold and precise, a blade being honed on a whetstone.

“Bring that traitor to me,” I say, meeting Drago’s eyes. “I don’t care how he fights. I want him alive.”

“Yes, Pakhan.” My brother-in-law shifts into motion, then stops at the office door. “And Tamara?”

The name burns my tongue. I run through cruel thoughts. Beyond the obvious, beyond the immediate urge to cut out her heart. Death is too easy. Vengeance is the only answer. And I know just the poison.

“Put guards all around her townhouse. She doesn’t go anywhere until I speak to her.” I straighten to my full height.

Drago’s brows lift, showing the smallest crack in his otherwise cool and detached composure when it comes to punishing our enemies. “It will be done.”

“It’s time to use that secret we know about Tamara.” I allow a small smile for what awaits Ms. Chernova.

A mess she made all by herself.

Drago shudders, and not many people make my enforcer nervous. “Eduardo? You’re willing to break that psychopath out of prison?”

“I am. Get our lawyers on that. I’ll visit the warden myself if needed.” I put on my overcoat. “We deal with her after Adrian.”

Chapter 51

Kirill

Later that night, I stand in one of the new interrogation rooms built in the north wing. Against the far wall, my hands rest loosely at my sides as the door opens. The heavy steel groans on its hinges as Drago and his second drag in Adrian Chernov.

Even with his wrists bound in steel cuffs, and even with two men gripping his arms hard enough to bruise, Chernov keeps his chin lifted just enough to suggest defiance rather than submission.

He’s older than me by decades, the lines in his face carved deep, but there’s nothing frail about him. This is a man who has built power and worn it long enough to believe it can’t be taken away from him.

Drago’s men force him into the wooden chair in the center of the room, the legs creaking against his weight as he’s shoved down. My enforcer nods for me to do what I need to do.

Not just as Pakhan, but as a husband and father.

I step from the shadows, and Chernov doesn’t look surprised. I stand directly in front of him, close enough to see the flecks of gray in his beard. A faint sheen of sweat is already gathering at his temples despite the chill of the room.

“Vor Chernov,” I say, my voice calm, almost conversational. “Adrian… You know why you’re here.”

His lips twitch. “I have no idea.”

There’s no fear in his eyes. And I love that it’s a challenge to break him.

“Then let me bring you up to speed on what’s been happening in this fucking brotherhood while you’re with your whores,” I reply, and circle him like he’s a caged animal. “My wife and daughter were abducted three days ago. Payments to mercenaries led to you.”

I step in front of him in time to see that glare of his. He’s calculating his last chance to save himself.

“Your intel is flawed,” he says instead, buying himself seconds he doesn’t actually have. “They let you believe that.”

For a moment, we just look at each other. My glare suggests I’m not here to fuck around. And he gets it. Lying is not the Bratva way. It’s dying on any and all hills, for the sake of the fucking fight.