Page 26 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

It doesn’t take long before we spot him—Don Fernando. He’s standing near the bar, exuding calm confidence, his sharp suit tailored perfectly to his frame. He’s not just any Mafia boss; he’s smart, calculated, and ambitious. Fernando is one of the few men who could be a real problem if left unchecked. Now, with the Italians growing in power, he’s someone I need to keep an eye on.

“Maxim Sharov,” Fernando greets, his voice smooth, carrying the weight of someone who knows his influence. He extends his hand, and I shake it firmly.

“Don Fernando,” I reply, keeping my tone respectful, but guarded.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” he says, a smile playing on his lips. “I’ve heard much about you.”

“And I, you,” I respond, careful to maintain the balance between pleasantries and caution.

Fernando’s eyes gleam with a quiet intelligence as he glances around the room. “It’s interesting, don’t you think? How our paths are always parallel, yet we never quite cross… until now.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his subtle approach. “We’ve always had… different priorities.”

“Perhaps,” Fernando agrees, his smile widening. “That doesn’t mean our priorities can’t align. The Russians and Italians have a long history of competition. Maybe it’s time we explored something more… mutually beneficial.”

I nod, considering his words. He’s not wrong. The Italians have been strengthening their foothold, and with the Americans growing more desperate, there’s potential for a shift in power. “It’s possible,” I say carefully. “As long as our interests are protected.”

Fernando chuckles softly, sipping his drink. “Of course, Maxim. It’s always about protecting what’s ours. But I think we both know that working together could bring more opportunities than working apart.”

Before I can respond, my attention is drawn to a familiar face in the corner of the room. Kace Preston. He’s standing near the wall, pale-faced and clearly tense, his eyes darting around like a man on the verge of collapse. The sight of him almost makes me laugh. He’s barely holding it together.

Fernando follows my gaze, and a faint smirk touches his lips. “Ah, Kace. I’ve heard he’s been… under some stress lately.”

I don’t say anything, but my grin widens.Under stressdoesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I also heard something unfortunate happened to his daughter,” Fernando continues, his tone casual, as if we’re discussing the weather. “Too bad. She seemed like an innocent girl.”

I don’t respond immediately, my mind flashing to Sophia again. Her innocence won’t save her, not in this game. Still, the way Fernando mentions it, like she’s a side note in Kace’s story, rubs me the wrong way. She’s more than just collateral damage. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Such is life in our world,” I say finally, my voice flat, masking the thoughts swirling inside me.

Fernando nods, his smile never faltering. “Indeed. Well, I must attend to other matters. It was a pleasure, Maxim. Let’s stay in touch.”

He excuses himself, leaving me standing there with Artem. I glance back at Kace, who’s staring at nothing, his face pale and his hands clenched tightly around his glass. He’s crumbling, and it’s only a matter of time before he completely falls apart.

Artem watches Kace for a moment, then turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

“More like he knows he’s being haunted,” I reply, still grinning. “He’s losing control, and he knows it.”

“His daughter?” Artem asks, his voice low.

I glance at him, my grin fading slightly. “He knows nothing of our involvement.”

As much as I want to focus on the downfall of Kace Preston, I can’t help but think of Sophia. The way she looked at me, the way she trembled under my touch, the way I keep wanting more of her.

It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. Damn it, I want her.

“Let’s keep an eye on him,” I say, my voice firm as I tear my gaze away from Kace. “His desperation will lead him to make mistakes. Now, let’s see if we can’t stir the pot a bit.”

I approach Kace slowly, weaving through the crowd with purpose. His back is turned to me, but I can sense the tension radiating off him like a furnace. He’s trying to play it cool, but I know better. Kace Preston is unraveling, and all I need to do is pull one last thread.

“Preston,” I say, my voice low but firm as I step beside him.

He tenses, his grip tightening on his glass. Slowly, he turns to face me, and for a moment, we just stare at each other. His face is pale, his jaw clenched, but it’s his eyes that give him away. Fear. Anger. Desperation. He’s a man hanging by a thread, and he knows it.

“Sharov,” he replies, his voice forced, strained. “What do you want?”

I smile, leaning in slightly so only he can hear me. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

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