Page 73 of Prey of the Bratva

“Already scanning,” Viktor said.

The room filled with motion again, but it was different now. More focused, relentless, and unified. It was no longer about being a Romanov or a Chernykh, but everything only had one objective. Find her.

“We have searched the vicinity. They are nowhere,” Iosif said, returning to the main section of the warehouse.

“How could they have just disappeared into thin air?” Alina asked, still scanning the perimeters.

“They are playing very smartly. I am sure they had it all figured out and knew we would look in the area at once,” I replied, my anger growing with every passing second. How could I have been this blind and this careless?

Minutes passed like seconds, and data flooded in as patterns formed before our eyes.

“There,” Nico said sharply. “I think I have something.”

I stepped closer, my eyes locking onto the screen. It was a clearance for a private jet flying from a private hangar somewhere in the city. The location was unclear, but it had to be nearby because the flight was bound to take off in a couple of minutes. I scanned the detailed noticing it was unregistered under any legitimate company, but I recognized the routing signature.

So did Nico.

“They are going to Saint Petersburg,” Nico said quietly.

Of course. Of course he would take her there. To his territory and his control center and his world. A slow breath left my lungs, and then I smiled. Not because it was good. Because it was inevitable. It was true that Saint Petersburg was Volkov’s territory, but he was forgetting that it was mine too. I might not have been there for some time now, but I only needed to return to reclaim what still belonged to me.

“Well, then we have to prepare transport,” I said without any hesitation or the need for discussion. “We’re going to Russia.”

“You’re serious,” Avgust said.

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Do I look like I’m not?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“Volkov doesn’t negotiate,” I continued, addressing the room now. “He doesn’t bluff, and he doesn’t make mistakes like this unless he’s prepared for the consequences. He knows if he takes Misha, I will come for him, and I cannot let Misha be there alone while we stay here. I am bringing her back."

“We will make Volkov regret he was ever born,” Timofey muttered.

“We will do so much more than that,” I said quietly.

I pulled up a full map of Saint Petersburg, expanding it across the table, marking zones as I spoke.

“These are his primary operations, and these are his secondary networks. These are the men who still answer to him directly.”

My finger tapped a different section.

“And these,” I added, “are the ones who answer to me.”

Every head in the room lifted because this was a side of me they hadn’t seen. Not fully.

“Russia didn’t forget me,” I said. “They’re just waiting to see if I’ve forgotten who I am and they’re about to remember.”

No one spoke, not even Timofey or Jarek, because everyone understood the seriousness of the matter. This wasn’t Miami anymore. This wasn’t a territory dispute or controlled operations, but this was my legacy, and it was asking for blood. This was a war that would not end cleanly.

“What if he moves her again?” someone asked from the back.

I didn’t even look at who it was.

“Then we burn everything he has until we find Misha,” I said. “We take every port, every shipment, every contact, and every man he’s ever trusted. We dismantle it piece by piece until there’s nothing left for him to stand on.”

My gaze lifted slowly, sweeping across every person in that room.

“And then,” I added, my voice dropping into something lethal, “we make him beg to tell us where she is.”