Page 67 of Prey of the Bratva

“I was wrong,” I said simply.

He studied me like he was waiting for the angle. The hidden motive. The strategy behind the admission. But there wasn’t one. Not this time.

“You’re not saying this because of me,” he said slowly.

“No.”

“Then why now?”

Because of her. Because somewhere between watching Misha bleed on a warehouse floor and watching her stand between two empires without flinching, something in me had shifted permanently. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I answered honestly in the only way that mattered.

“Because I understand it now. I think Misha has made me human the way Elisse made you human.”

There was another pause, but this one was lighter. Things between us were not yet resolved or forgiven, but they were no longer sharp enough to cut. Fyodor exhaled slowly, then nodded once.

“I’m not forgiving you,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“But I’m not walking away either. Our relationship was fractured too deeply, but now that you are here and ready to make amends, I am sure it will fix itself. Besides, it's Ilana you need to be apologetic to far more than me.”

“I already apologized to her,” I replied with a smile. “And she was a little more forgiving than you.”

That was more than I had expected. From both him and Ilana, and definitely more than I deserved.

“Good,” I said.

He held my gaze for another second, then turned towards the war room.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Before Timofey starts a fight out of boredom.”

A faint, almost involuntary smirk pulled at my mouth. Some things, apparently, were consistent across families. We stepped back inside together, and the shift was immediate. The room wasn’t divided anymore, but it was weirdly blended.

Misha stood at the center of the table, one hand braced against the surface, the other flipping through printed layouts of the industrial district. Her foot moved without the brace now, steady and controlled. Her entire team was present as well, everyone busy with work that awaited us. Both the Romanov and Chernykh operations had been halted to focus solely on this one mission.

She didn’t look up when we entered, but she didn’t need to either. She knew exactly who was in the room at all times. Around her, the dynamic was something I had never seen before. Iosif Chernykh stood to one side, arms crossed and listening rather than directing. Avgust Chernykh leaned over a tablet with Nico, discussing supply routes like they had been doing for years instead of days. Nico spoke in low, measured tones, efficient and focused, and then there was the other side of the room.

“Say that again,” Jarek said flatly.

“I said your plan is inefficient,” Timofey replied, equally flat. “Try to keep up.”

Jarek’s eyes narrowed. “I understood you. I just didn’t think anyone could be that stupid out loud.”

Timofey grinned. Actually grinned.

“Careful,” he said lazily. “You might start to sound threatened.”

“I’m not threatened,” Jarek said. “I’m irritated.”

“That’s worse.”

I watched them for a moment, waiting for escalation or violence, but it didn’t come. The entire room had stopped working to focus on this entirely stupid argument that was unfolding before us.

“Your entry point is exposed,” Timofey added, tapping the map. “If you go in from here, you’re walking into crossfire.”

Jarek paused and looked at the map. Then back at him.

“…Show me,” he said.