Page 9 of Captured By the Bratva

“This complicates things, but we’ll handle it,” he says, his voice steady.

I nod, clenching my glass tightly. “We don’t have a choice. Once the money is taken, the job must be done. I want to know everything. I don’t like walking into situations blind.”

Dimitri leans in, his expression determined. “I’ll have the full report on your desk by morning. We’ll know everything there is to know about Violet Harrison and her father’s death.”

“Good,” I reply, taking a long drink of my whiskey. The burn is a welcome distraction, momentarily dulling the edge of my frustration. “Make sure our best men are on this. I don’t want any surprises.”

Ivan raises his glass, a silent toast to the task ahead. “We’ll get it done, Brother. You can count on that.”

Despite the tension, I feel a small measure of reassurance. Ivan and Dimitri have always had my back, and I trust them implicitly. But the anger still simmers beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the unwanted responsibility now thrust upon me.

“Jeff Harrison,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Always had a way of complicating things.”

Dimitri stands, ready to leave and begin the necessary preparations. “I’ll start gathering the information now. You’ll have everything you need.”

“Make sure you do,” I say, my tone firm. “Dimitri, I want every detail. Leave nothing out.”

He nods and walks away, leaving Ivan and me to finish our drinks. I look around the club, the opulence and luxury a stark contrast to the grim task ahead. I’ve faced worse, and I’ll face this with the same determination.

Ivan watches me, his expression unreadable. “You’re still angry,” he observes.

“Of course I am,” I snap, then take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do the job properly. We protect Violet Harrison. No mistakes.”

Ivan nods, raising his glass again. “To getting the job done.”

“To getting the job done,” I echo, clinking my glass against his.

Chapter Five - Violet

The sky is overcast, a somber gray that matches the mood of the gathering. I stand before my father’s grave, my heart heavy with grief. The scent of freshly turned earth fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the flowers laid on the grave. I try to hold back my tears, but they fall freely, mixing with the soft drizzle that has begun to fall.

Uncle Joe stands a few steps away, his voice breaking as he delivers an emotional speech. “Jeff was more than just my brother,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “He was my best friend, my confidant. We grew up together, faced the world together. He was always there for me, and for everyone who needed him. Jeff had a heart of gold, always willing to help, always putting others before himself.”

I clutch my hands together, trying to steady myself. The memories of my father flood my mind—his laughter, his wisdom, his unwavering support. It’s hard to believe he’s gone, taken by a sudden heart attack, a cruel twist of fate that left me reeling. He was overbearing sometimes, but he was still my dad.

Joe continues, his voice filled with sorrow. “Jeff was a dedicated father. He loved Violet more than anything in this world. She was his pride and joy. He worked tirelessly to give her the best life, to protect her and ensure her happiness. Jeff’s legacy will live on through her, through the values and strength he instilled in her.”

I feel a sob rise in my throat, and I press my hand to my mouth, trying to keep it down. The pain is unbearable, a constant ache that feels like it’s tearing me apart. I can hear the sniffles and quiet sobs of the others gathered here, their grief a reflection of my own.

“Jeff was a man of integrity,” Uncle Joe says, looking around at the mourners. “He was a hardworking man. He touched so many lives, and his absence leaves a void that can never be filled. We will miss him every day, but we must carry on, honoring his memory by living our lives with the same kindness and generosity he showed us.”

As Joe’s words echo in the stillness, I feel a fresh wave of grief wash over me. I can’t imagine a world without my father, without his guidance and love. The thought of facing the future without him is terrifying.

Joe takes a deep breath, his voice trembling. “Rest in peace, Jeff. You were the best brother, the best father, the best friend. We love you, and we will never forget you.”

The crowd murmurs their agreement, and I see heads nodding, tears streaming down faces. I look down at the grave, my vision blurred by tears. The weight of my loss feels insurmountable.

As the service comes to an end, people begin to approach me, offering their condolences. I nod and thank them, my responses automatic, my mind elsewhere. My heart feels shattered, and I’m not sure how to piece it back together.

Just as the last of the mourners begin to drift away, I hear the sound of a car pulling up. I look up, blinking through my tears. A sleek black car I don’t recognize comes to a stop a short distance away. The driver steps out, his expression unreadable as he surveys the scene.

The sound of more cars pulling up catches my attention. I watch as several sleek, black vehicles come to a stop near the first one. Men step out, each exuding an air of authority and danger. I don’t recognize any of them, but the man in front immediately draws my attention.

He stands tall, his presence commanding and intimidating. His dirty blond hair is neatly styled, and his green eyes seem to cut through the very air. There’s something about him that makes my heart race with curiosity. Was he a friend of my father’s?

“What the fuck is Kirill doing here?” Caleb mutters under his breath, his voice laced with tension. It seems he knows who this man is, and that alone sets me on edge.

The man, who must be Kirill, stops in front of my father’s grave. He kneels down and gently places a bouquet of flowers on the freshly turned earth. He remains silent for a moment, his head bowed in respect. Despite the intimidating aura, there’s a strange sense of reverence in his actions.

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