Page 53 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

I get up and text Paul to confirm, along with a screenshot of a wire transfer. “Your son’s debt is cleared.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles, relief changing the color of her cheeks ever so slightly.

“Just do yourself a favor and send that boy to rehab, otherwise, you’ll keep ending up in the same place.”

I walk out of the house with a weird sense of accomplishment. It didn’t turn out exactly the way I had hoped, but I still got something out of it. Technically, it’s a rumor, but rumors aren’t born from thin air.

Someone in that campaign office saw something. Someone heard something. Conclusions were drawn, whispers were cast into the wind until one of them made it into Annie Knowles’s ear. The woman is bitter and disgruntled, desperate enough to pass it on.

Whether it’s accurate or not remains to be seen. It’s better than nothing. We’ve got a different starting point for what comes next, and I intend to see it through to the end. I need this nightmare to be over. I want our lives to be ours again, without the Feds tailing us everywhere. I want Lyric to feel safe with us. She deserves love and happiness, peace and room to flourish. We can’t give her that, not with Smith, Bowman, and Phelps grilling us from every direction.

They came after us, looking for a fight.

We’re coming to them now, and we’re bringing the war to their doorstep.

I’m done playing it clean and safe.

17

Max

We’ve been making encouraging progress on our side of the problem. Ivan is following up on that intel regarding Shelby—unbeknownst to Lyric, of course.

We agreed that there’s no point in causing strife between the two women without any concrete proof. We need evidence that there’s an actual affair going on there. Fortunately, Ivan’s street connections are panning out, and we’ve got plenty of useful and discreet eyes focused on Phelps’s campaign.

Artur and I are having trouble getting the Bratva elders on board. Old man Larionov is adamant about marriage. We’ve had two conversations with him already, both in Polina’s absence, and both have ended in a stalemate and a promise to think about it some more. The other families are split evenly between the traditional ways and the new ways that we’re trying to implement.

“Unsurprisingly, it’s the younger generation that’s more eager to get on board,” Artur mutters as we drive through the city. Ivan is in the backseat, checking CCTV footage of Phelps’s office on his phone, having tapped into the system with Lyric’s remote help. “Amir, Vlad, the whole Petrovski clan, they’re all happy to try new business ventures.”

“They’re tired of having to clean up after these other relics,” Ivan says. “Gone are the days of making people disappear without a trace for the tiniest inconvenience or slight. It’s the age of the internet, fellas. It’s no longer easy for people to go missing with cameras everywhere.”

“That, and the fact that the Feds have gotten better at boxing us in,” I say. “It simply doesn’t work like it did in the old days, but we can’t exactly do everything we want to without the majority’s support.”

“Has Lyric said anything about Shelby lately?” Artur asks, changing the subject.

The neighborhood rises ahead, with Lyric’s apartment building sparkling against the sunset sky. I shake my head slowly.

“She hasn’t been saying much these days,” I reply.

“Yeah, she’s been quiet,” Ivan adds. “Not her usual self. I wonder what’s going on.”

“I don’t know. It’s what I’m hoping to figure out tonight.”

Artur gives me a worried look. “We’ve got eyes on the building, right?”

“Oh, definitely. We’re going through the back door anyway just to be safe.”

“We could’ve had dinner at the penthouse,” Ivan says.

“True, but Lyric never confirmed. So I figured we’d bring dinner to her instead.”

I can feel Artur and Ivan’s gazes drilling holes into my head. All I can do is let out a heavy sigh as I keep my eyes on the traffic. It was a last-minute decision and I’m not a fan of popping up unannounced either, but Lyric’s noticeable absence has me thinking unpleasant and confusing thoughts. I need to see her.

“Are we sure she’s home?” Ivan asks.

I nod again. “Yeah. The boys confirmed that her car is parked out front.”

Twenty minutes later, I park the SUV behind the apartment building. Ivan, Artur, and I sneak through the back door and make our way up, carefully checking every floor. There’s no sign of hidden agents lurking in the shadows, so we stop outside Lyric’s door and knock.

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