Page 64 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

The line is already dead.

19

ROMAN

Istand in the center of a cavernous warehouse, flanked by Lev on one side and two of my men on the other, watching the opposition spread across the concrete floor like a stain. They’re late. Fifteen minutes late, to be precise. Fifteen minutes might as well be fifteen hours.

Punctuality is respect. Lateness is a statement.

The man across from me is named Kozlov. He’s short and thick, with a face that looks like it’s been smashed and reconstructed more than once. He’s been running guns through the south side for the better part of a decade, and tonight we’re supposed to be finalizing an arrangement that brings his distribution network under my umbrella.

Supposed to be, but something feels wrong.

I can’t put my finger on what exactly. The warehouse is the same one we agreed on. Kozlov’s men are present in the numbers we expected. The merchandise is there, stacked in wooden crates along the far wall and waiting to be inspected.

I’ve felt this before, in Siberia where every meeting was a potential ambush and every handshake could be your last. I learned to trust my instincts there, and I haven’t gotten it wrong once.

I glance at Lev. He’s watching Kozlov with those flat, assessing eyes of his, taking in details that most people would miss. Lev catches my eye and gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

He feels it too.

“Roman.” Kozlov spreads his hands, a gesture of false camaraderie. “I apologize for the delay. Traffic was a nightmare.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“You seem tense.” Kozlov takes a step closer, his men shifting with him. “Is everything alright?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I let my gaze drift around the warehouse. The light catches on something metallic near the back entrance. Something that looks a lot like the barrel of a rifle.

My jaw tightens. “We’re done here,” I say.

Kozlov’s smile falters. “What? We haven’t even⁠—”

“I said we’re done.” I turn to leave, my hand already reaching for the gun at my side. “Lev, we’re going.”

“Roman, wait.” Kozlov steps forward, his hand reaching out like he’s going to grab my arm.

He doesn’t get the chance.

Lev moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move, inserting himself between me and Kozlov with his hand pressed flat against the other man’s chest. His voice is low and dangerous when he speaks.

“I’d reconsider that move if I were you.”

The warehouse goes quiet. Kozlov’s men shift, and my own men respond in kind. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut.

Then my phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it at first. Whatever it is, it can wait. Getting out of this warehouse alive is my priority.

Except it vibrates again, and again. I realize belatedly it’s a coded alert from the penthouse’s security system.

My blood runs cold. I pull the phone from my pocket and glance at the screen. The message is brief, just three words that make my heart stop.

MOTION. VERA’S ROOM.

I shove the phone back in my pocket and turn to Lev. “Change of plans,” I say. “We’re returning home.”

Lev doesn’t question it. He steps back from Kozlov, his hand still resting on his weapon, and falls into step beside me as I head for the door.

Kozlov calls after me, his voice sharp with frustration. “Roman, we had a deal!”