Page 45 of Prey of the Bratva

Across the room, I felt it before I saw it. Kliment had left us all alone for the past few hours, but I turned my head slightly when he walked inside, something in his expression changing.The change was subtle but noticeable and felt dangerous. His posture had gone completely still, every line of his body tightening just enough to signal something deeper. Something that looked like recognition.

“Did someone say Sergei Volkov. How is he linked with this?” he asked, without wasting time. His hands were spread apart on the table, his posture commanding attention in a way that only he could.

“So you know him,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

His gaze shifted to me slowly. “Yes.”

The single word carried weight.

“Everyone does,” he added.

That didn’t reassure me, but it confirmed everything. If Kliment knew all about it, it only meant that the situation was bigger than I could have ever imagined. He quietly stepped away from the table and pulled his phone out, dialing as all six of us looked on. I did not know who he was calling, but I was more than certain that he was calling them for me.

“Viktor,” he said as soon as the line connected. “I want everything on Sergei Volkov. I want his routes, movements, accounts, and operations. Let’s find out what is that old asshole involved in these days.”

He walked away without another word, but I knew that Kliment Romanov was now a part of this thing just as much as I was, and he was not someone who backed away without winning.

Chapter 12 - Kliment

The last one to leave was Sera.

She paused at the door, her hand resting lightly against the frame as her gaze flicked between Misha and me. There was calculation in her eyes, sharp and assessing, but beneath it, I could sense a tinge of approval. It might not have been spoken, but was instead offered freely.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” she said to Misha, her tone light but edged with meaning.

Misha didn’t look up from the papers she was stacking. “That eliminates most of our options.”

Sera smirked faintly. “Then at least survive whatever you decide to do.”

Her gaze shifted to me then, lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“If she doesn’t,” she added quietly, “that’s on you.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. She nodded once, as if that was answer enough, and stepped out. The door closed behind her with a soft, final click and was followed by a deep silence. Not the kind that came from absence but the kind that settled when everything unnecessary had been stripped away. I remained where I was, leaning slightly against the edge of the table, watching her.

Misha didn’t stop moving immediately. She gathered the last of the files, aligning edges with precise, controlled motions. Her mind was still working. I could see it in the slight tension in her shoulders and in the way her gaze shifted over the documents, even as she organized them.

She was three steps ahead. Always. It should have been frustrating, but instead, I admired her completely. I wanted her to win. I wanted her safe. I wanted her alive. I wanted whatever future she was carving out of this mess to bend in her favor. And that was dangerous. Because I had never wanted anything like that for anyone before. But Misha Chernykh was making everything difficult.

“Misha.”

She finally looked up. There was no hesitation in her expression and no softness. Just that same steady awareness she carried into everything.

“Yes?”

I crossed the room before I gave myself time to think and closed the distance between us. It took me no effort as I pulled her into me. The movement was abrupt and deliberate and left no space for interpretation. My hand came up to her jaw, tilting her face towards mine as I kissed her.

There was nothing hesitant about it. This wasn’t the careful tension of before. This wasn’t anger bleeding into something else. This was intent. Clear and undeniable, and she responded instantly. Her hands came up, gripping my shirt as she leaned into me, matching the force of it without hesitation. There was no surprise in her reaction and no resistance. Only reciprocation.

Weeks of tension broke in a single moment.

“I have been dreaming of kissing you all day,” she whispered against my lips, her voice causing tremors all over my skin.

“Is that so?” I asked, pulling her head back through her hair and looking deeply into her icy blue eyes that were justthe right amount of hazy for me. I could sense her emotions. My hand slid from her jaw to her waist, pulling her closer, closing what little space remained between us. I wanted her flush against me. I felt her breath shift and the way her body responded to me. It was not yielding or passive, but it met me with equal intensity and stripped everything else away.

The war. The names. The weight of what we had just uncovered. The weight of our individual identities. All of it fell silent beneath the heat of that moment.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I have been imagining nothing but your hands all over me. Exactly like this.”