Page 141 of Bratva Menace

With his death, the Pakhan title fell to my father, and his first order of business had been to cement clear control of the organization in Russia. It didn’t take much. Everyone heard about what happened. How we’d managed to thwart Sergei’s last desperate act to kill everyone he deemed untrustworthy, despite overwhelming odds. The families in the Bratva were quick to fall in line behind my father with zero outcry.

And me?

I spent every goddamn waking moment searching for Lyla. With Sergei dead, the threat hanging over my family died with him.

She didn’t want to be found. That much was obvious. I could understand why, and sympathized with her. She was hurting. To save me, she had to kill her own brother, someone she loved and cared for. It was an unfair position to be in. An impossible decision to make.

And yet, she’d done it.

For me.

To save me.

I had to talk to her. I had to make sure she was okay. I just wanted to be there for her. Comfort her. Help her.

I didn’t know why she wouldn’t let me.

“Okay! Okay!” Rodrick groaned. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know! Just please, stop hurting me!”

I let go of the knife, leaving it lodged firmly in his shoulder, and dangled both my forearms over my knees. “Lyla Voznesensky,” I repeated, pointing to the picture.

He licked his dry lips, panicked eyes darting all over. “Yes. Yes. I remember her. She came to me a few weeks ago, asking for a new identity. New name. New social security number. The works.”

“And did you give it to her?”

“Of course I did! I-I didn’t realize she was an enemy of the Bratva. I swear. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have helped her.”

I cocked my head. “Who said she was an enemy?”

He blinked. “Well, I—uh, assumed—why else would you be looking for her?”

“Because she’s my fucking woman,” I said with complete conviction. “Tell me where she went.”

“I’m telling you the truth, sir. She didn’t tell me her plans or where she was going. All she asked me for was a new identity, and I gave it to her. That’s it. I swear.”

I eyed him suspiciously. In rationality, he was probably telling the truth. It didn’t make sense for Lyla to confide in him and tell him her plans. “Fine. I believe you.”

He let out a huge sigh of relief.

“What’s the name of her new identity?”

That relief vanished in an instant. His next words came out terrified and hesitant. “I can’t tell you.”

Of course he couldn’t. Client confidentiality was a big thing in his business.

I didn’t fucking care.

“Look, Rodrick, I like you.”

“You—you do?” he asked, frowning.

“I do. You seem like a lovely chap. Really.” I pulled another knife from the holster at my hip and swished it in the air between us. He froze, his whole body stiffening. “But I really need to find my girl. You see, she thinks I abandoned her. She killed her brother to save me, and she thinks I don’t care about her. I can’t have that. I can’t have her thinking something so terrible. I need to make amends. And you’re getting in my fucking way⁠—”

“No, no, no,” he began instantly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand⁠—”

“Oh, I understand. If people found out you were giving the names of new identities away, it would mean the end of your business. After all, people are coming to you to use those new identities to hide. Kinda defeats the purpose if you start blabbing what they are.”

“Yes. Exactly.”