Page 69 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

He looked at me and smiled. “I’ve seen a lot in this line of work, Vlad. I’ve made enemies more than I’ve made friends, which means with every day that passes, I come closer to my death. If today is the day I die, then so be it.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled.

The man was sick, obviously. His old age might have gotten deeper into his head than I’d thought.

He was called upon, and a heavy round of applause erupted from the crowd. My father was a very influential man, well-known in St. Petersburg and beyond.

I rose to my feet, watching him wave as he mounted the podium. My eyes roamed the hall, and even though everyone was clapping for Udinov Wolkov, I knew half of them hated him for one thing or another.

“Keep an eye out,” I said to my head of security who was standing by my side. “I have a bad feeling about this. Tell your men to stay sharp. All eyes on my father, got it?”

He nodded and shifted, talking into his radio.

I adjusted my suit and checked my watch. Joshua was supposed to have been here an hour ago. I was always comfortable when he was around, safe. Joshua wasn’t just my friend; he was my right-hand man, the only person in the criminal underworld who I trusted with my life, aside from my father, of course.

Both my friends, Paul and Joshua, had their roles to play in the business. Paul handled the legal aspects of the business, and he had my full trust. Joshua was like my second-in-command; he was in charge of everything in my absence, meaning he knew stuff that even Paul had no idea about. He knew all of my secrets and those of the family business. But I didn’t fret about it because he was a loyal soldier.

My father was talking, addressing the crowd, and everything seemed okay, yet this feeling of unease wouldn’t leave. As I looked around, I spotted a couple of cleaners creating a scene at the back of the hall as security stood in their way, probably telling them that they couldn’t be in there.

That was rather suspicious, but before I could give it much thought, I noticed a man in the crowd glaring at my father. Soon, he dug his hand into his pants and withdrew a gun.

My eyes widened as I bolted up to the podium. “Baba, get down!”

The man pulled the trigger, and the loud bang disturbed the peace of the hall, causing the crowd to scatter in fear and confusion.

I slammed into my father, knocking him down before the bullet could hit him. “Are you alright?” I asked, shielding him with my body.

By now, the entire hall was in chaos, people screaming and running around.

“Get off me, boy,” he groaned, pushing me away. “It is not your job to keep me safe; it is mine to keep you safe!”

I got back on my feet, ignoring the man as a gun fight soon ensued. It turned out that the cleaners weren’t cleaners but camouflaged assassins .

“Take him to safety!” I ordered the bodyguards that surrounded him.

Before they could move, two of them were gunned down by the enemy, and I retaliated with three precise shots, each bullet taking down a target. As I ran to aid my father, I froze at the sound of a gunshot that hit his chest; then came another that struck his stomach. My breath ceased for a second as his blood splashed on my suit.

“No,” I said softly, watching him drop, his hands flying in the air. With lightning speed, I caught him before he hit the ground. “Baba, stay with me. You’ll be fine,” I said.

For the first time in my life, I was on the verge of shedding tears.

He coughed, and all that expelled from his mouth was blood. My hands rested on the wounds he’d sustained in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. He struggled, wheezing, and he strained to speak.

“Shh. Save your breath,” I said, watching my old man’s body shudder, the life in him slowly leaving. He was trying to tell me something, but he couldn't; his throat was flooded with blood from his punctured lung.

The chaos around me didn’t matter at all; my focus on this man was dying in my arms. Tears welled in my eyes and almost dropped, but I held them in.

He reached out with his bloody hand and placed his palm on my face. “Live,” he finally said with a voice so faint that I could barely hear it.

Seconds later, his hand fell off my cheek, and he drew his last breath.

I shut my eyes, and those tears dropped into his wound as he lay lifeless in my arms, his blood spreading across the floor. I boiled with rage, my grip around his cold fingers tightening in anger, and I swore then to find who had been behind this and make them suffer before taking from them what they’d taken from my father.

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It had been two days since the assassination, and still no word from Joshua—nothing at all. The assassins had been captured by my men and were undergoing tremendous torture, but none of them had broken yet. I knew that they would, eventually. And then I’d know who had hired them and all those who’d had a hand in my father's death.

I was sitting in my father’s office with Paul in the chair across the desk when the door opened and Simon Olegov, head of my security detail, walked in. He was with one of the assassins who’d been beaten up to the point where his face was disfigured.

“Boss,” he greeted me and pushed the man forward. “Tell him what you told me.”

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