Page 74 of Prey of the Bratva

There was absolute silence because everyone believed me. They knew I meant every word. I leaned forward slightly, my hands bracing against the table, my eyes locking onto the map again, but I wasn’t seeing streets or buildings anymore. I was seeing her. Dragged and fighting and calling my name. Something twisted deep in my chest, sharp and unforgiving, and for the first time I didn’t try to contain it. I straightened slowly, my gaze lifting back to the room.

“To be clear,” I said. Every eye was on me now. “This is not a strategy anymore. This is not about territory. Or power. Or control. Them taking Misha has just turned it personal.”

“Why Kliment? Fyodor asked, even though everyone in the room already knew the answer. But I didn’t care. I would repeat my reason again and again until there was nothing left to doubt anymore.

“Because I love her.”

The words landed harder than any command I had given all night. No one moved, and no one spoke. Because I had never said something like that. Not like this. Not where it mattered.

“I love her more than anything in this world,” I continued, my voice steady, unshaken. “And I will get her back.”

My jaw tightened slightly. “Even if it costs me my life.”

Chapter 21 - Misha

I woke up from the damp coldness that surrounded me. It crept in slow and relentlessly, sinking into my bones until it became impossible to ignore. For a moment, I stayed exactly as I was, suspended between unconsciousness and awareness, letting the sensation settle before I gave it meaning.

Concrete. Metal. Restraint.

My wrists burned first, and I could feel a tight, unyielding pressure where they were bound to the arms of the chair. My ankles followed, secured just as firmly, the position forcing stillness whether I wanted it or not. I did not open my eyes immediately. I couldn’t. They felt heavier than ever before, and my head hurt too much for me to ignore it. My first instinct was to shout and panic, but even in this state, I knew it would not solve anything. Right now, wherever I was, the only control was survival.

“Breathe, Misha,” I whispered to myself, trying to find my voice through the darkness.

In through my nose, out through my mouth. I counted the rhythm silently, grounding myself in something that belonged to me. The air was damp and sharp with the kind of industrial chill that clung to skin and refused to let go. Then I opened my eyes. The light overhead was harsh and singular, casting everything in stark relief. The floors were plain concrete, and the room was characterized by exposed pipes that lined the walls. There were no windows to bring in sunlight or alert me to what time of the day it was. There was no softness either, and no exits within reach.

This was a room designed for containment, and I had seen many of these. Except I have never been caught in one. Iflexed my fingers subtly against the restraints, testing tension without drawing attention. They were metal cuffs, and I knew perfectly well that, unlike rope, they were not temporary. Whoever had brought me here had planned this whole thing properly, and they clearly expected me to try to run.

My gaze lifted when I heard footsteps, and the doors that kept me locked away from the world opened. My eyes landed on him. Anton Sidorov stood a few feet away, watching me with something that resembled amusement and satisfaction twisted into something much uglier.

“Well,” he said lightly. “There she is. Our star.”

His voice echoed faintly off the walls as if it were too loud for the space. As if he enjoyed hearing himself talk and knowing him, I didn’t even doubt it. I said nothing and continued to stare at him blankly. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze dragging over me in open assessment. It was not hunger but calculation instead. As if bringing me here had been his plan all along, and he was finally successful.

“I was beginning to wonder how long you would pretend to be asleep,” he added.

“I wasn’t pretending,” I replied, my voice steady despite the dryness in my throat. “I was thinking.”

That earned me a small smile.

“I believe that,” he said.

He began to circle me then, unhurried, hands clasped loosely behind his back as if this were some casual meeting rather than what it actually was.

“Do you know,” he continued, “I almost admire you?”

I tracked him with my eyes, not my head. His movements were small and controlled as if he were entirely too sure of hisbody. Despite that, I could tell that this man had never fought with anyone physically before. He didn’t have the hands or the mind or the agility for it. He was just a boss, running the ring with his orders while his minions did the work for him. If my hands and legs were untied, I would be able to take him down right now.

“That feels like a waste of your time,” I said.

“On the contrary,” he murmured. “You see a Chernykh princess walking into my operation, convinced she could dismantle something that has functioned profitably for years…”

He stopped in front of me again, tilting his head slightly.

“It’s… impressive.”

I held his gaze. Unflinching.

“Then you should be worried,” I said.