Page 22 of The Bratva Sinner

My hair is yanked back, nearly knocking me on my ass. I spin, swinging my fist and kicking out blindly. Hair tears from my scalp, but I ignore the pain and fight like I have nothing to lose. Screams for help rip from my throat, but the people who filled the street two seconds ago have disappeared.

I will not be taken. I’ll die before I let that man get his hands on me.

6

Maksim

The building I bought for my newest club is a gutted shell, but I can already see what it will be.

I walk through the massive space, listening to my contractor explain why the load-bearing wall we wanted to move will cost thirty percent more than the estimate.

“I want the wall gone,” I say. “This needs to be open. I know you have options.”

“The rerouting alone adds two weeks to the electrical," Vasily says. He's a good contractor. He’s on the bratva payroll. Rather, Sergei’s wife’s payroll, which is our payroll by association. Or in this case, marriage. The businesses are blending and growing, which is a beautiful thing.

“That’s fine,” I tell him. “We can have columns, but I don’t want a wall.”

He mutters something. I’m difficult, but I know what I want. And I’m good at this.

"Figure it out and bring me a revised number by Friday." I turn and look at the space. High ceilings. Good bones. The bar will run the full east wall. I can see it. "I want to begin the mezzanine framing next week regardless."

Vasily sighs and uses the stylus to tap away on his iPad. Damien drifts over from his spot near the entrance, where he's been standing like a guard dog.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just got a call that the tariff situation has been rectified, and a formal apology was delivered.”

I smile. I’m not the pakhan, but the power of the bratva is mine to wield.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I pull it out and glance at the screen.

Her.

I look at the time and feel a little satisfaction. It took less than two hours.I’d have bet three.

The woman is stubborn, but stubbornness only carries you so far in this life. She was never going to make it out there alone. Not with Bekir's people motivated and Arlind's name attached to whatever deal she's tangled up in.

“Hello,” I answer with a smile in my voice.

Silence. I hear shallow, soft breathing.

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.

"Lila. I move toward the exit. "Are you okay?"

A sound. Not a word. Something between a breath and a cough that tells me the answer is no. Is she hurt? Can she speak?

"Lila, I need you to talk to me." I push through the door, out into the blinding afternoon. I feel Damien behind me. I snap my fingers at him, pointing at the car. He moves. "Can you tell me where you are?"

Another cough. Weak.

"It's okay." I keep my voice calm because panicking helps no one. "You don't have to talk. I'm coming. I just need the phone to stay on, alright? Can you do that for me?"

A sound. It might be yes.

The tracking app is open in my other hand. I'm holding two phones now, mine and the one I use for monitoring. The prepaid registered its location when she turned it on as I dropped her off. I had it preloaded with tracking software before I gave it to her. Yeah, yeah, I told her I was letting her go, and I did. But deep down, I knew. I told myself I was just keeping an eye on the situation. It wasn't surveillance, just me making sure she got out of the city.