I don't argue.
Ten minutes later the chapel is packed. Every patched member crammed in, prospects guarding the doors, Mason at the head of the table with his gavel resting in front of him. His face is already hard because he knows something’s fucked when I walk in looking like this. I don’t sit. I just stand there with myknuckles braced on the wood, voice low but carrying to every corner. “Konstantin Orlovsky took Anya. Drugged her, flew her to Russia. She’s gone. I want the club’s help getting her back.”
Mason leans forward, eyes narrowing. “Walk us through it, Riot. All of it.”
I lay it out quick. The gate alert. The frozen tracker. The hotel ping. The airstrip footage. The jet’s path to Moscow. The shell company ties to Orlovsky. The room stays dead silent while I talk, then erupts in low curses when I finish.
Mason taps the gavel once, not to call order but to ground everyone. “She’s your woman, brother. That makes her ours. Iron Reapers don’t let anyone take what’s family.”
Lucky nods from his spot at the table. “She’s got our patch on her in every way that counts. Nobody touches an old lady and walks away from it.”
Blade adds, “We’ve got contacts in Eastern Europe already. Smugglers, mercs, a couple guys who owe us big. We can have boots on the ground in Moscow inside forty-eight hours if we push.”
Tank cracks his knuckles, leaning back. “She’s Bratva royalty too. Her dad’s gonna want blood for this. You calling Viktor Dragunov?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But we link up on their turf now. They’re already in Moscow.”
I pull out my phone and dial the emergency number Anya gave me months ago. It rings straight through. Mikhail answers on the second ring, voice tight like he’s already halfway to murder. “Who is this?”
“Riot. Where’s Viktor?”
Mikhail exhales sharp. “Hospital here in Moscow. Papa’s stable but sedated. Brake line cut, secondary explosive rigged. Professional job. We got him to a private clinic fast, no official report yet. Konstantin’s people did it. Now tell me why the fuck you’re calling from across the ocean.”
I grip the phone harder. “Your sister’s gone. Konstantin took her this morning. She went to meet him alone at the Meridian. Didn’t come back. They sedated her, carried her onto a jet. Flight path straight to Moscow. Her phone’s dead, truck’s still parked at the hotel. I watched the airstrip footage myself.”
Silence hits hard on his end. Then Mikhail curses low in Russian, something vicious. “She went alone? After what happened to Papa? Fuck. She knew something. She didn’t tell you?”
“She left without a word. I found out too late, same as you.”
He breathes heavy for a second. “Papa’s not waking up anytime soon. Doctors have him under heavy. Dmitri and I are locked down at the clinic with him. You got a plan or you just calling to tell me she’s gone?”
“I’ve got the club behind me. We’re moving. Charter’s fueling now. Small team flies out tonight: me, Lucky, Blade, and Mason. We’ll link up with you in Moscow. We plan on your ground. We hit Konstantin hard. And if you’re thinking about handling this quiet through your channels alone, forget it. She’s my woman. We do this loud and we do this together.”
Mikhail doesn’t answer right away. I can hear hospital sounds in the background, beeps, low voices. Then he says, “We’re at the family compound after we move Papa if needed. Get here fast.Tell your president we’ll have a secure meet spot. Armed escort when you land. No bullshit at customs. We pull strings.”
“Good,” I say, and hang up.
Mason looks at me across the table. “They’re already in Moscow?”
“Yeah. Papa’s in a private hospital there. Mikhail and Dmitri are with him. We fly to them.”
Mason nods once, slow. “Then we move. Riot, you’re point on intel and lead the advance team. Lucky, Blade, you’re with him. Rest of you start calling in every favor we’ve got overseas. Gear up. We don’t sleep until she’s home.”
I look around the table, meet every pair of eyes. “She’s one of us. Bratva princess or not, she sleeps in my bed, rides on my bike, she’s family. Nobody fucks with an Iron Reapers woman and breathes after. We get her back.”
The chapel erupts. Low growls and fists thumping wood. The clubhouse feels alive, breathing fire like it hasn’t in years.
Konstantin wanted a war. He’s got one.
Twenty minutes after I hang up with Mikhail the clubhouse is buzzing harder. Gear bags piling up, prospects running burner phones and clean docs. I’m in the office staring at satellite feeds of the family estate outside St. Petersburg when Mason sticks his head in. “Your team’s wheels up in six. Helsinki strip first, then overland to Moscow. Mikhail texted coords for a meet. Secure warehouse near the clinic. They’ll have people waiting.”
I nod. “We land quiet, link with Dmitri or Mikhail, scout the estate. Konstantin’s holding her there. Old compound, high walls. He wants her to make a statement. If she refuses…”
Mason finishes it. “He’ll force it. Or worse.”
“Yeah. We get eyes on her first. Confirm she’s alive. Then we extract. Clean if we can. Loud if we have to.”
Lucky walks in, duffel slung over his shoulder. “Blade’s loading suppressors and comms. Tank’s got the prospects locking this place down. You ready to fly into the lion’s den with her brothers?”
