Page 33 of Prey of the Bratva

Avgust stepped forward before Iosif could respond, his expression sharper and less restrained.

“Don’t play games, Kliment,” he snapped. “You think we don’t know?”

“What do you even know, Avgust?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “You think I don’t know that you have lost control of your own house?”

That hit. I saw it in the way his jaw tightened, and the grip on his gun shifted just slightly. But it was Iosif who answered.

“You’ve been moving quietly ever since Misha disappeared from the house,” he said. “You have been seen reassigning men and redirecting routes. We also have intel that you were watching our estate until the day of Misha’s disappearance, and then you just stopped.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“And then my sister just disappears out of the blue and is unable to be found anywhere.”

A beat of silence stretched between us.

“You expect me to believe that is a coincidence?” Iosif asked, his words heavy.

I smiled slowly, allowing the coldness of it to settle between us.

“If I had taken her,” I said, my voice quieter now but far more dangerous, “you wouldn’t be asking me where she is.”

That landed harder than anything else because it was true, and they knew it. If I had touched Misha without the intention of returning her, there would be no confusion; instead, there would already be war. Avgust didn’t care about truth. He stepped forward another pace, anger bleeding into something more volatile.

“You think this is funny?” he demanded. “You think we won’t tear this entire city apart until we find her?”

“That would be inefficient,” I replied evenly. “But if you do wish to do that, go ahead and do it. You are welcome to.”

“Say that again,” he said, raising his weapon slightly.

“Enough.” Iosif’s voice cut through everything. He wasn’t loud or aggressive, but a tone of finality rang through his words.

Avgust stilled, but the tension didn’t leave him. It never did. Iosif’s attention returned to me, sharper now, more precise.

“If you didn’t take her,” he said, “then you know who did. I want my sister back, Kliment, and I know that have information.”

It wasn’t a question but a test. And for a moment, I considered telling them the truth. I could easily tell them that Misha was in my house, under my protection, and that she was choosing to stay. The entire situation balanced on a knife’s edge that none of them could see. It was one thing for a Romanov to have kidnapped a Chernykh, but it was completely different for a Chernykh to willingly stay with a Romanov. That tipped the balance in my favor. Our favor.

“No,” I said.

It was a lie delivered without hesitation. Something in his expression shifted, which was neither belief nor disbelief. I could sense that he was recalculating, and so was I. And then the moment broke. Gunfire surged again, louder this time, closer, forcing movement on both sides.

I backed away, gun in hand, as I fired to protect my own. Avgust and Iosif moved back as well, while Nico and Jarek continued the assault from our end. Half the land around us was already set on fire; the other half would be too if this continued.Despite it being a sudden attack, the Romanov army was ready, which made it all the more difficult for the Chernykhs. They must not have expected us to come with so much force. I hid behind some containers and continued to fire, shooting men until some of them were on the ground.

I didn’t want this. Any of this. All of us knew this was an unnecessary battle, but I had no choice. Dominique appeared at my side, his gun held firmly in his grip.

“You came,” he said, his eyes on the scene ahead. He was one of the oldest Chernykh soldiers and had been with us since he was just a boy.

“I had to.”

“Give them Misha back, Kliment. Or they will keep coming back. You know this.”

“I don’t have her,” I lied with a straight face, no longer caring. He scoffed as if he didn’t believe me and ran to take cover on a nearby container.

Just then, a Chernykh soldier fired at Dominique, and I lunged forward to shield him, the bullet grazing my arm instead. One of my men went down near the far end of the yard, and Nico shouted something sharp in response, shifting positions immediately. Within seconds, everything halted. The conversation was over, and so was this war. But the message wasn’t through yet. Iosif stepped back, not retreating but choosing distance.

“This doesn’t end here,” he said, his gaze on the blood seeping through my white t-shirt.

“It never does between us,” I replied.