Page 67 of Forced Bratva Bride

Stefano is winded, and for a moment I just stand there, anger searing through me, staring down at him.

My phone begins to ring, so I glance into my car, where it's laying on the seat. Paval.

This might be important. A quick glance at Stefano tells me he is down for a while. So I lean over and grab my phone.

“Paval.”

“There was an explosion at the second location.”

“What the fuck?”

“The clients were both killed. The scene is a wreck. But Maxim—"

His voice is tight. Immediately I know something is very wrong. More wrong than an explosion.

“What is it, Paval?” I demand.

“Kiril is just around the corner from you. He is on his way to you. Chiara is missing. She came here to meet the clients in your place.”

Blind rage floods me like an erupting volcano. I throw the phone back into my car, and in two long strides, I am right up in Stefano’s face. He has managed to stand, leaning against my car, but I am about to tear him to pieces.

Without warning or hesitation, I slam my fist into his face. It catches him off guard. His head snaps back and his skull slams against the window.

I hit him again, and blood explodes from his broken nose.

“Where the fuck is Chiara, you fucking animal?” I scream into his face as I grip his collar and repeatedly slam his back against the car.

“What the fuck?” he screams.

I head-butt him, and his nose cracks loudly again.

He slips from my hands, unable to hold himself up, and collapses to the ground.

I start kicking him. Over and over again, my boot cracks against his ribs, into his stomach. He is gasping and choking, his arms over his face, trying to protect himself from the next blow.

Then I feel hands on my back, and I am yanked away from him as I kick and claw to get to him, wanting to fucking rip his limbs from his body. I can’t stop thinking about Chiara. What has he done to her? Where is she? The thought of her hurt, or in pain, has completely consumed me. I am not in control of myself in any way.

“Maxim,” Kiril shouts, locking my neck in a tight grip with his elbow. “You're going to kill him. Stop.”

“He should fucking die. He fucking did something to Chiara,” I shout back, kicking out, trying to free myself.

In front of me, Stefano drags himself to his feet.

He is covered in blood, clutching at his ribs.

“Fucking let me go,” I scream at Kiril.

“Not fucking chance.”

Stefano leans against the car again, his face strained with agony. His eyes are wide as he stares at me.

“Angelo,” he chokes.

“What the fuck did you say, you fucking asshole?” I scream.

“Angelo,” he repeats. And hesitation runs through me. Kiril feels the change in my body, and he relaxes his hold on me just slightly.

“What about Angelo?” I demand.

---