Page 21 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

"Pakhan, Pavel won't talk. Car's waiting downstairs."

Gleb's message sat quietly on my screen.

Pavel was one of my father's old guards, supported me when I needed it. But somehow this lunatic had spent over a year secretly collecting evidence of the bratva's money laundering, planning to hand it to the cops. If I hadn't caught him in time, it would've been serious trouble.

As for why he did it, I was about to find out. And Briony? She wasn't getting away either.

The car stopped at its destination.

An abandoned warehouse. The air reeked of rust and stagnant water. The scattered buildings were falling apart, walls covered in peeling paint and creeping vines. I wasn't bringing anyone inside.

"Stay at the door," I told Gleb. "I'll talk to him alone."

Pavel was a classic performer. The bigger the audience, the more he'd play the martyred hero.

"Understood, Pakhan." Gleb paused. "That woman—Briony. I've sent people to find her. We'll have news soon."

I nodded and walked in alone.

Gleb never disappointed me. As long as she was still in New York, he'd find her. Right now Pavel was more important.

He wasn't just any member. He'd been with my father through the bloodiest years, watched me go from a questioned kid to pakhan.

My right pinky finger throbbed dully. The doctors saved it but couldn't restore it. It was a constant reminder. I'd earned this position inch by inch through doubt and blood.

After my father died, I inherited the bratva. Half the table waited for me to fail. Pavel and a few old members stood behind me. That's why I didn't have Gleb execute him immediately.

I also found it hard to believe he'd betray the bratva for obvious profit.

I walked into the warehouse. Pavel was tied to a chair in the center, a black cloth stuffed in his mouth. His face was already beaten and swollen.

"Pavel, glad I get to see you again instead of your corpse." I approached him.

He growled through the gag like a trapped jackal.

I untied the cloth from his mouth.

"Varlam, you bastard!" The first thing he did was curse me. "You're fucking worthless."

I didn't respond immediately. Anyone else would've died several times over for that line.

"You know that only pisses me off. Tell me—why? Collecting evidence of the organization's money laundering, then handing it to the cops. What's in it for you?"

He knew betrayal was worse than death.

"I won't say anything. Go ahead and kill me." His forehead veins bulged. "You pathetic coward!"

I saw his bound legs trembling. They gave him away.

"Death isn't punishment. Living in agony is." My voice was calm. "If you want to experience that, I can help."

Pavel's jaw clenched.

"I already dealt with that detective and got back what you collected. You haven't caused irreparable damage to the bratva." I leaned forward, meeting his eyes. "I'm still willing to hear your explanation. Because I still don't see you as just a traitor."

Something flickered briefly in his gaze.

"You followed my father for over twenty years." I continued. "After he died, you helped me secure this position. I don't believe someone like that would send his brothers to prison for a few bills."