Page 6 of Prey of the Bratva

Then I reached for my burner phone. Opened the window. And dropped it onto the street. It shattered quietly on impact. It was already untraceable, but I did not keep one burner for too long. Not since I started this journey. My very own mission. I stepped out of the car, pulling my jacket tighter as the wind shifted around me.

My posture remained steady, but my mind was already moving ahead.

I knew someone was running a network in my city. Someone was trafficking girls and women, rather bravely and clearly had no fear of getting caught. Whoever it was was certainly not scared of the Maslows or the Chernykhs or any other bratva family in the city. But I was not going to sit and do nothing.

I was very close to finding it all out. Everything about them.

Now, I only had to make sure I ended it.

Once and for all.

No matter what I had to do to make it happen.

Chapter 2 - Kliment

I wanted to kill her. At least that much was certain.

The thought had not come suddenly. It had not been born out of rage or impulse or something as simple as wounded pride. It had been honed and cultivated. I had refined it and perfected it into something quieter and far more dangerous than anger had ever been. I already knew rage was loud. It clouded judgment. It made men careless.

And I had been that man for a very long time. But I was no longer careless.

From the back seat of the Romanov SUV, I watched her step out of the gates of the Chernykh Estate with the same composed ease she carried everywhere, as if the world had never once given her reason to worry. The morning light caught briefly in her dark hair before she slid into the waiting car. I could see that her posture was relaxed while her expression remained unreadable.

Misha Chernykh did not look like someone worth killing. And that was precisely why she was.

“We will maintain our distance,” I said calmly.

Viktor grunted but did not respond with words. He never wasted them unnecessarily. The engine turned over smoothly, and the SUV eased into motion just as her car pulled away from the large gates. We did not follow immediately. We never did. It was unwise, especially for someone like Misha Chernykh, who noticed everything. A three-second delay was necessary to avoid pattern recognition, but not enough to lose visual range.

In the Bratva world, precision was everything.

I leaned back slightly, my gaze fixed on the road ahead as I continued to track movement without appearing to. Weeks of observation had made this almost effortless. I already knew the rotations of their guards. I knew which vehicles were used for which purposes, and I knew how often each Chernykh sibling left the estate and under what conditions.

Everyone followed a pattern. Except Misha.

“She’s early today,” Viktor murmured, his voice low.

“She seems rather deliberate today,” I corrected.

There was a difference. Her car moved towards the main road, merging into traffic with practiced ease. There was no hesitation or unnecessary acceleration. It seemed as if she was sure of her destination, but something in my gut told me otherwise.

“Stay two cars back,” I instructed.

Viktor adjusted with a nod. He had been with me long enough to understand that my silence was not absence. It was calculation. He did not ask why this surveillance had not been shared with my brothers, Nico and Jarek. He did not question why this operation remained contained between the two of us. He did not even understand the purpose of the operation. No one did.

But Viktor understood the rules of hierarchy, and most importantly, he understood discretion. I watched as her car continued toward the design district, predictable on the surface. If I had not spent weeks studying her, I might have dismissed this as routine movement. A controlled outing that was supervised and safe. But I knew Misha Chernykh did not do safe.

Five minutes into the drive, she shifted. I saw it in the way the car slowed slightly before changing lanes. In the subtle adjustment of direction that did not match the original route.

“She’s rerouting,” Viktor said.

“Stay with her.”

Her vehicle turned onto Biscayne, blending into heavier traffic. It was a good move if viewed strategically. More cars around us meant more cover and more variables. Hence, more opportunities to disappear. If you knew what you were doing.

“She’s testing for a tail,” Viktor added.

“Or she is trying to escape one,” I said quietly.