Page 10 of Prey of the Bratva

When I finally stopped in front of him, the echo of my boots against concrete faded into the heavy stillness around us. The warehouse smelled exactly how I had expected it to, of salt, rust, and something older. Something that had soaked into the walls over time. Fear had a scent if you paid attention long enough. That was something I had learned by being born into the mafia world. I slid my hands into the pockets of my jacket, posture relaxed and gaze steady as I took him in.

Elias Vance.

He was in his mid-thirties with an average build. He was the kind of man who was trying to look composed but still failing in small, telling ways. His stance was slightly off balance, the weight favoring his right side. His left hand trembled just enough to betray him. But I knew it was not because he was afraid of me. He was afraid of something else. Of his secrets being found, perhaps.

“You’re looking at her,” I said evenly.

The man blinked as if unsure. I could not blame him.

“You’re not—” He stopped himself as if recalibrating the words that left his mouth. His eyes dragged over me again, muchslower this time, like he was weighing me. “You’re not who I was told to expect.”

“I get that a lot,” I replied.

His jaw tightened slightly. It was not anger but discomfort. I was a woman in a man’s world, and if it were not for my last name, I would not have been able to hold fort for very long.

“I was told a Chernykh would come.”

“I am a Chernykh. Misha Chernykh.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. You thought it would be one of my brothers,” I said calmly. “But this is what you get.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment, thin but loaded. He glanced briefly towards the far side of the warehouse. His gaze was subtle, and most people wouldn’t have even noticed the glance. But I was not most people. I noticed everything. It was enough to tell me that I wasn’t alone. Someone else was here, too. Or at least, he expected someone to be.

“You’re alone?” he asked, as if weighing me out.

I tilted my head slightly. “Does that make you nervous?”

“Nothing about you makes me nervous,” he snorted, as if even the concept was funny to him.

Another flicker of something passed across his face. I could sense his suspicion and uncertainty. But I let it sit there and let him feel it. Then I took a step closer.

“We’re not here to discuss your fears,” I said. “You have the information I need, and I have the money you want. Let’s not complicate a simple transaction.”

That seemed to ground him. Men like him understood the language of transactions and money because all they needed was structure. Structure was predictable. He exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening just a fraction.

“Fine,” he said. “Tell me. What is it that you are looking for?”

I let my gaze drift briefly across the warehouse again before returning to him. The space was too quiet and controlled, with no signs of movement around us. I could see no visible guards either, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. It only meant they were hidden. Sera’s words came back to me, asking me to be careful. After all, I was in unfamiliar territory.

“I am interested in shipment logs,” I said. “Containers that have been flagged under medical exports over the past three months.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “That’s… specific.”

“I want specific.”

“Why medical?”

“Because it’s the easiest category to move without scrutiny,” I replied. “No one questions aid across foreign borders.”

He studied me more carefully now.

“You don’t sound like someone guessing at something.”

“I am not, but you don’t need to worry about what I know and don’t know. You only need to give me the information, and our work here will be done.”

“Which shipments?” he asked.