Page 5 of Stolen By the Bratva King

I may run my business differently than my predecessors, but I’m not willing to keep corrupting the next generation. I want change and breakthroughs without violence. If that means infiltrating my own circles and cutting them down to size, so be it.

My father’s face flashes in my vision. He did the best he could before he was killed. I must follow his example because he deserves that legacy, minus the mistakes he made. I promised him at his grave that I would make the changes and grow our counterfeit business into a force to be reckoned with.

I will sit on the throne and watch my empire expand to soaring heights, the way it was meant to be.

It’s the status I chase, not the money. I’ve been around money all my life and it’s nothing new to me. The thrill lies in the power, and the kingdom is mine to take if I work hard enough for it.

I glance at Miroslav. His eyes are on the parking lot as we come to a crawl in front of it.

I break the silence by saying, “everything takes a certain amount of blood and sweat, if you want to make it to the top.”

He cuts a glance at me. “Truer words never spoken, boss.”

“The winds are shifting. I can feel it,” I add, trying to stay optimistic.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on going in there unprotected.” Miroslav’s eyes shift to the gun holster next to him.

I take a deep breath and tunnel my fingers through my hair, adjusting my weight in the seat. “Me neither. I feel restless today, like there’s a fire under me.”

“Good. Keep it that way. If they fear you, they can’t hurt you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Sometimes there’s no other way to do business.” Miroslav says it grimly, and I know he’s talking about the gun problem.

A heaviness spreads through my chest, and I feel compelled to spew out my current thoughts. “I don’t want to use violence here. I’m trying to put an end to the violence, to approach things differently this time. If you live by the gun, you’ll die by it.”

Miroslav shoves the gear into park. His eyes skim over me as if he’s my protector and willing to die for it. “I’ll back you either way, boss.” He looks at me. “You know that, right?”

I smash my cigar tip into the ashtray and blow out a puff of smoke. Irritation crawls under my skin like ants. I clutch the door handle and step one boot out onto the pavement. “I know it, and I appreciate it. Now it’s time to get to work, and you’re coming in there with me.”

Miroslav is already out of the car and walking toward the building when he says, “You’ve got it, boss.”

He’s one step ahead of me already. I need to follow his lead and stay one step ahead too, especially when it comes to my enemies.

There are people out there who are betraying me, walking in plain sight. A change needs to happen, before everything falls apart, before my kingdom burns to ashes at my feet. If it takes violence, I’m willing to do it, but I have the vision of a more peaceful future, one where I can start a family and not have to fear that they’ll be used against me.

It feels so distant that I have doubts I can even get there before I die, but I’d be a fool not to try.

3

Hazel

Adull pain pounds inside my head. I utter a low moan and try to sit up. Nausea rolls in my stomach. I swallow bile back down and try to breathe through the sensation. Pain sears between my temples, sending stars bursting across my vision as I try to figure out where I am and what’s happening.

I blink and try to bring the blurry shapes hovering over me into focus. The last thing I remember is looking through a broken window, but as I see a man’s glaring face looming inches from mine and hear the raggedness of his breathing, panic screams to the surface of my brain.

Panting, I scramble to sit, tucking my knees up to my chest, eyes darting around the room. A sudden chill sends goose bumps traveling across my skin. The memory of seeing the guns in the warehouse and being dragged into it races back through my mind.

“What is going on?” I manage to croak out. “What do you want with me? Who are you?”

Six men stare down at me with intimidating, icy scowls.

“We’ll be the ones asking the questions here,” a man with a buzz cut and gold rings on every finger says with a snarl.

The men encircle me. A shiver crawls up my spine and I try to recoil from them, but one of them grabs me by the arm before I can make it even a foot away.

A scream pierces the air, and it takes me a moment to realize the sound is coming from my own throat.

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