Page 8 of Prey of the Bratva

She turned suddenly without signaling and then deliberately slowed down as if checking the SUV’s reaction. The shift in pace was designed to force a reaction. But we gave her none. She took another turn, and it was sharper this time. But we adjusted.

“She’s trying to flush us out,” Viktor muttered.

“And failing.”

Because we were not behaving like a tail. We were behaving like traffic. Still, I watched carefully, not for what she did but for what she expected. When she slowed again, I signaled Viktor with a small movement of my hand, and he understood immediately. The SUV accelerated just enough to pass her vehicle, overtaking without hesitation. We moved ahead, out of her direct line of sight.

“Now we lose her?” Viktor asked.

“No. We will simply disappear until she no longer even remembers us.”

We took the next turn, then another, breaking visual contact entirely. To her, it would look like we had continued forward. Like we had never been following her at all. Like she had imagined it.

“She’ll relax,” Viktor said.

“Not completely. But enough.” Enough to continue forward and reveal her destination. I exhaled slowly, my mind already moving ahead of the moment.

“Port feeds,” I said.

Viktor reached for the tablet without needing further explanation. Within seconds, the screen flickered to life, displaying live traffic intercepts and dock surveillance pulled from contacts that still answered to the Romanov Bratva name.

“The app is filtering routes,” he said.

I watched as the data aligned and three possible destinations appeared before me based on Misha’s speed and direction. Two of them were eliminated within seconds based on timing, but one remained. The south docks at the warehouse district. A faint smile touched my mouth, though it carried no warmth.

“She’s not wandering,” Viktor said quietly.

“No.”

She was going somewhere specific.

“But why would she be going to the docks all alone?”

“That,” I said, my gaze returning to the road ahead, “is what we are about to find out.”

We did not rush to the docks or arrive at the same time she did. That would have been careless. Instead, we took the longer route, approaching from the opposite direction, ensuring that when we reached the waterfront, she would already be inside or close to it. Viktor slowed the SUV as we turned onto a side street two blocks away from the warehouse district.

“There,” he said.

I followed his line of sight and noticed her car. It was parked at a distance, the engine turned off.

“She’s here,” Viktor confirmed.

“Yes.”

I reached for the binoculars, lifting them slowly to my eyes, and there she was. Misha Chernykh stepped out of the vehicle with the same controlled confidence she carried everywhere, her posture steady, her movements precise. There was no hesitation in her stride as she moved toward the warehouse. I could not sense a single ounce of fear or doubt, but something tugged at my mind.

“She’s alone,” Viktor said.

That is what worried me.

No one walked into a place like this without expecting something or someone. I watched as she paused briefly, pulling her jacket tighter against the wind before continuing forward.

“She’s not sneaking,” Viktor noted.

“No.”

She was not hiding or reacting. She was choosing to walk into the warehouse, and from where I stood, it seemed as if she was unarmed. That realization settled into my chest with quiet clarity. Whatever she was involved in, it was not accidental. It was intentional, and that made her far more interesting than I had initially anticipated. My original plan had been simple. I wanted to isolate her and eliminate her. I wanted to make it hurt. The way it had hurt when loyalty fractured under the weight of emotion.