Page 3 of Captured By the Bratva

I pull the knife out, wiping the blood off on his already-stained shirt. The man slumps in the chair, sobbing in pain and defeat. I turn to Dimitri, who has been watching the entire exchange with a look of approval.

“Fourteenth and Maple,” I repeat, my voice carrying a promise of vengeance. “Let’s send the boys over.”

Dimitri nods, a cruel smile on his lips. “With pleasure, Boss.”

I take one last look at the broken man in the chair. His defiance is gone, replaced by a look of utter despair. It’s a sight I’ve seen countless times, yet it never loses its impact. In this world, power is everything, and I always get what I want.

As I leave the room, the door slams shut behind me, cutting off the man’s sobs. Dimitri falls into step beside me as we make our way down the dimly lit hallway. My mind is already working, planning our next move. Victor Ivanov has been a thorn in my side for too long, and it’s time to end this once and for all.

“Get the men ready,” I instruct Dimitri. “We move out in an hour.”

“Understood,” Dimitri replies, already pulling out his phone to relay the orders.

I walk out of the dim room and head toward my office. The contrast between the brutality I just left and the opulence I’m about to enter is not lost on me. I push open the heavy oak door and step inside, the soft click of my boots on the hardwood floor echoing in the silence.

My office is a testament to my success—a large, expansive room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The walls are adorned with expensive artwork, and the furniture is all dark wood and leather, meticulously chosen to reflect both power and sophistication. A massive mahogany desk sits in the center, a symbol of the authority that defines my every action.

Dimitri follows me in, closing the door quietly behind him. I walk over to the desk, my eyes catching the glint of blood on my cuffs. I frown, pulling out a pristine white handkerchief to wipe it away. I never allow myself to look anything less than perfect; appearances are everything in this world.

“Dimitri, you mentioned you had some news for me before we got… distracted,” I say, raising an eyebrow as I continue to wipe the blood from my cuffs.

“Yes, Boss,” he replies, stepping forward and placing a handwritten letter on the desk. “This arrived earlier. It’s from Jeff Harrison.”

I pause, intrigued. Jeff Harrison—a name I haven’t heard in a while. An old acquaintance, if you can call him that, from a time when our paths crossed in less hostile circumstances. I can’t help but find it entertaining. Why would old Jeff be reaching out to me now?

I pick up the letter, examining the elegant script. Jeff always had a flair for the dramatic. I sit down in my leather chair, turning the letter over in my hands as I contemplate its significance. The envelope is thick, the paper expensive—just like everything Jeff touches.

I slit it open with a silver letter opener, my eyes scanning the contents quickly. It’s brief, but the message is clear enough. He needs something from me, and he’s desperate.

A smirk tugs at my lips. Jeff Harrison, the multimillionaire corporate titan, coming to me for help. The irony is almost too rich. I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled as I consider the possibilities.

“What could he possibly want from me now?” I ask, my eyes still on the letter but my mind racing through the implications.

Dimitri stands by the desk, his expression unreadable. “It’s not entirely clear, Boss. He wouldn’t reach out without a good reason.”

“True,” I concede, folding the letter neatly and placing it back on the desk. “Jeff isn’t the type to grovel unless he’s out of options.”

Jeff and I have done business in the past, and we’ve had our fair share of arguments. For a long time, we hadn’t talked. It was fair to say that we weren’t exactly friends. However, we had similar ways of doing business, albeit from different ends of the spectrum.

I wonder why Jeff has broken our long-standing silence. What could have pushed him to reach out to me now? I lean back in my chair, watching Dimitri. “Read it,” I instruct, curious to see his reaction.

Dimitri picks up the letter, his eyes scanning the elegant script. As he reads, his expression shifts from curiosity to something more serious. “It says here that someone is targeting him. He’s scared, Boss.”

I chuckle, a dark sound that echoes in the luxurious office. “Does he want protection from me?” It wouldn’t be the first time a wealthy businessman turned to the Mafia for protection. Our services, though costly, are unmatched in their efficiency.

Dimitri continues reading, his brows furrowing as he processes the rest of the letter. “It’s not just about protection for himself. He said if I lose my life, I want you to protect my daughter.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “His daughter. What is this about?”

Dimitri hands me the letter, and I read the words myself, noting the desperation woven into Jeff’s usually controlled handwriting.

If I lose my life, I want you to protect my daughter. She is all I have left, and I trust no one else to keep her safe.

I lean back in my chair, my mind racing. Jeff Harrison is a man who always seemed untouchable, is now fearing for his life. And he’s reaching out to me, a man he hasn’t spoken to in years, to safeguard his daughter. It’s a twist I didn’t see coming.

“What do you make of this, Dimitri?” I ask, still staring at the letter.

“It’s clear he’s desperate, Boss,” Dimitri replies. “For him to reach out to you after all this time, he must really believe he’s in danger.”

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