Page 1 of Prey of the Bratva

Chapter 1 - Misha

I have never feared danger. Danger is clean. Predictable. It comes with edges you can see and outcomes you can prepare for. But suffocation is different. Suffocation is slow and invisible. It settles into your lungs and pretends to be safe until you realize you can’t breathe.

And lately, the Chernykh estate had felt exactly like that.

A cage dressed as protection.

I stepped into the dining room precisely at eight in the morning, the scent of black coffee and toasted bread already thick in the air. Morning light spilled through the tall windows, cutting across the long table in pale gold strips. Everything looked calm and orderly.

Controlled.

Iosif sat at the head of the table as always, posture relaxed but presence absolute. He didn’t need to speak to command a room. Avgust was to his right, already halfway through his coffee, while Timofey leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone with a lazy smirk. Clara sat beside Iosif, elegant as ever, her movements precise even when she reached for her tea. Zhenya was on the other side of her, one leg tucked under the chair, clearly ignoring whatever silent rules existed about posture at this table.

Nothing had changed. And yet everything had.

There have been more guards outside the doors for a few weeks now. I had counted them on my way in. Cameras had also been repositioned at slightly higher angles to get wider coverage. These were subtle adjustments, but I had noticed.

“Morning,” I muttered as I settled in my designated chair.

“Misha,” Iosif nodded while I quickly began gathering food on my plate. I needed my strength today.

“Sleep well?” Avgust asked softly, his gaze flicking toward me with quiet concern.

“Well enough.”

It was a lie. I hadn’t been sleeping well for days now, but it didn’t matter.

Timofey snorted under his breath. “That’s a diplomatic answer.”

“Not everything needs to be dramatic, Timofey,” I said, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup.

“Everything benefits from being dramatic,” he countered easily. “Life would be unbearably dull otherwise.”

“That explains a lot about you,” Avgust muttered.

Zhenya laughed, bright and unrestrained. “Leave him alone. He’s right. If anything, this house could use a little more chaos.”

Avgust’s gaze snapped to her. “We have enough chaos.”

“Yes,” she said sweetly. “The suffocating kind.”

I didn’t look at her, but I felt the shift. Iosif noticed it too, his attention moving between us, quiet and calculating before it settled on me.

“You look restless,” he said.

“I am just bored.”

Timofey grinned. “Now that’s something I can both respect and agree with.”

I shrugged, letting my gaze drift across the table, deliberately casual.

“Are you planning to actually eat that, or are you just going to keep moving it around your plate?” Avgust asked, chiming in.

“I wasn’t aware you had developed such an interest in my eating habits and food patterns,” I said, my tone even. “Should I be concerned?”

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “Only when you start thinking too much this early in the morning.”

“Thinking is generally how people avoid making your kind of decisions, brother,” I replied, cutting into my food with precise movements.