Page 1 of Stolen By the Bratva

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ALEK

The man cried out as Ivan held him back. Blood, sweat, and tears coated the spy’s shirt. They mixed and merged as he sobbed and begged for mercy.

Mercy? That wasn’t in the cards for him. If anyone thought they could spy on the Valkov territory and get away with it, they had another thing coming.

“Please, I wasn’t here to look around,” the idiot insisted through his tears. Losing two of his fingers had to hurt, but I kept my knife poised and ready to remove a lot more. Whatever it took to get him talking. I refused to go easy on this spy.

The Rossini Family were always looking for ways to get to us, but they would learn their lesson one way or another. No one messed with the Valkov Bratva.

“Aleksei.” My cousin’s mocking tone slurred as he entered the warehouse. As soon as Ivan and I captured this Rossini spy lurking outside—taking fucking pictures through the windows—we called Andrey and let him know what we were up to with this development. Andrey was my superior in theory only. If my cousin actually gave a shit and acted like the heir to the Bratva, I would have held a semblance of respect for him. But he didn’t care. He could barely walk into this windowless room of the basement, used strictly for dealing with enemies and fools. Calling Andrey here was nothing more than a polite gesture. His arrival wouldn’t change anything. I couldn’t remember the last time my cousin had cared about hearing intel from a spy.

He tsked, approaching me and Ivan. Ivan glanced at me, a wary, skeptical lift of his brows as he, too, wondered why Andrey had bothered. Most times, he ignored business matters and let everything go to voicemails. Maybe he’d get off his lazy ass and reply with a vague text.

I kept my blade ready even though I almost got the sense that Andrey would, for once, involve himself here. My cousin disliked ever getting his hands dirty. He couldn’t possibly want to handle the torture personally.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, frowning at the spy we’d captured, then glancing at his watch.

What? What the fuck? “I called and informed you of the spy trying to get a way into our warehouse.” Just how fucking drunk are you if you can’t remember a call from ten minutes ago?

“A spy?” Andrey smirked, walking in a slow circle around us.

Ivan didn’t release the Italian. If anything, my brother held the spy tighter with the bloody rope tugging his neck tight. I remained tense, holding my blade and waiting for my cousin to leave. Treating him like he was in charge was a joke. His father, the bratva’s Pakhan, was no better.

“He’s not a spy,” Andrey said dismissively, almost bored.

“He was outside trying to take pictures of our product,” Ivan argued evenly.

“No, I wasn’t. It’s a misunderstanding,” the Italian rushed to add. “Just an accident.”

“Bullshit,” I spat, stepping closer with my knife. My shoes crunched over his phone. I’d already shattered the device on the concrete floor.

“Ah, just let him go. We don’t need to bother with this.” Andrey waved at the door, but Ivan didn’t let the man go. I didn’t back up either. “He’s not worth your time.”

“We can’t let him go. He was spying.” I narrowed my eyes at my cousin, wondering how he could be so deluded. If we let this man go, he’d tell his Mafia brothers about how lax the bratva had become.

“He didn’t see anything.” Andrey shrugged. “It’s not like the Rossinis are a threat anymore.”

“They are all threats,” I argued.

“Not the Rossinis,” Andrey retorted. “They’re nothing now, not after losing so many with all their infighting.”

It didn’t matter if the Rossinis were strong or weak. They were our rivals, and we couldn’t go easy on them.

“This is what you pulled me away from the whores for?” Andrey scoffed, shaking his head. “Just let him go. Give him a warning if you want.” He shrugged. “I don’t care. I just want to get back to the pussies waiting for me in my bed.”

His priorities were shit. Andrey—and his father—cared more about drinking and fucking the whores. But letting this Italian go with a goddamn warning was asking for trouble.

“It’s foolhardy to release him,” Ivan warned in a firm tone. Not many messed with my brother when he spoke like that, but Andrey was oblivious, smirking at him.

“We can’t be this sloppy,” I argued.

Andrey shook his head. “It’s not being sloppy. It’s letting stupid shit that doesn’t matter go.”

I failed to see how he saw a spy as stupid shit that should be ignored. I’d never held Andrey or Pavel in high esteem, but they were the head of the family. Their word was law. More and more, though, I wondered if they’d bring the whole bratva to ruin with their lousy leadership.

“This isn’t something to just let go,” Ivan protested. “Too many spies are waiting to sneak in. Our rivals will take advantage of any information they can get about our business.”

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