Page 122 of Captive Promise

His entire persona promises hell to anyone foolish enough to cross him. Nikolai stands beside him, his posture more relaxed but no less deadly. As the head of the Bratva, he exudes an aura of unflinching authority.

Maksim sees me coming, followed by the men I’ve hand-chosen to bring, and he nudges his brother roughly, pointing in my direction.

I smirk and shove my hands into my pockets, waiting for the show to begin. The Sokolov brothers stride forward in my direction.

“Barone,” Maksim spits out. “You’ve got some fucking nerve showing your face here.”

I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to be cowed. “Spare me the posturing, Maksim,” I drawl. “We both know why I’m here.”

Maksim’s face twists into a snarl, his fists clenching at his sides. “My cousin,” he growls. “you put her in this position, Barone. You and your fucking arrogance.”

I feel my own anger rising and this time, I don’t stamp it down. “And I’m here to get her out,” I snap back. “So maybe we can save the pissing contest for after we bring her home safe.”

Nikolai steps forward, his gray eyes as cold as a winter’s day. “You’re here because we allow it, Barone,” he says, his voice deceptively soft. “Never forget that. Katerina is our blood. You are nothing to her.”

I bare my teeth in a mirthless grin. “She’s her own woman,” I counter, meeting Nikolai’s gaze without flinching. “Not a piece of property to be fought over. And right now, she needs all of us. So let’s focus on that, shall we?”

For a moment, the tension is so thick it’s almost suffocating. It’s worse in person than over the phone, swapping intel as we searched for Katerina. Maksim looks like he’s seconds away from launching himself at me, consequences be damned. But then Leo Santoro is there, shoving his way between us.

His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated fury as he grabs me by the front of my shirt and slams me back against the side of my car. “You,” he snarls, his voice shaking with rage. “You took my daughter. I should fucking kill you where you stand.”

Instantly, guns are drawn on all sides, a ring of muzzles pointed at vital organs. The air crackles with the promise of imminent bloodshed.

But I just laugh, the sound harsh and mocking in the tense silence. With a deft twist, I slip out of Leo’s grip, shoving him back a step.

“You’re welcome to try,” I taunt, straightening my shirt with deliberate nonchalance. “But maybe we can save the dick-measuring for after we get Katerina back, yeah? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather expend my energy on the bastards who took her, not on this pointless bullshit.”

Leo looks like he’s about to lunge for me again, but his brother-in-law—and cousin-in-law too, I swear the Santoro-Brennan family lineage is a wreath, not a tree—Cillian Brennan lays a restraining hand on his shoulder. “He’s right,” Cillian says, his voice tight with barely-suppressed fury as he shoots me a look of barely concealed loathing. “As much as I’d love to see you put a bullet in him, Leo, we need to focus on Katerina. She’s what matters now. Then we can get Seraphina.”

Leo looks like he disagrees strongly with that assessment, but he nods curtly, breathing sharply out of his nostrils. He looks at his men. “Arms down,” he snarls while Cillian and Nikolai order the same for their own men.

Slowly and grudgingly, the guns are lowered. The tension eases, but only slightly. It’s clear that this is a temporary truce at best, a ceasefire born of necessity rather than any true accord.

But it’s enough. It has to be.

The briefing is quick after that, Maksim laying out the plan. It’s simple: hit hard, hit fast, and leave nothing standing. We’ll come at the farmhouse from all sides, Maksim taking point with his team while Cillian, Leo, and I flank. Nikolai will run coordination from the command van, feeding us intel and adapting on the fly.

It’s more firepower than the target likely warrants, but none of us are taking chances. Not with Katerina’s life on the line.

As we prepare to move out, I catch Nikolai’s eye. For a moment, we just stare at each other, a wealth of unspoken threats and promises passing between us.

“Bring her back,” he says at last, his voice low and intense. “Bring her back or don’t bother coming back at all.”

I incline my head, a mocking half-bow. “Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” I drawl before I stride toward my vehicle, get in, and take off with single-minded purpose.

The time for talk is over. Now, there is only the mission.

Only Katerina.

As we draw closer to our destination, the landscape begins to change. The tidy farms and quaint villages give way to wilder, more rugged terrain.

Dense forest presses in on either side of the narrow country lanes, the trees looming over us.

Finally, we’re there.

The farmhouse looms, its whitewashed walls and sagging porch at odds with the aura of menace that seems to radiate from every weathered board and cracked shutter.

It’s an old farmhouse that looks like it was built by the hands of the first owner. I’m not sure why my first thought was that this place looks like the setting for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but it sets my teeth on edge. Katerina is in here.