Page 48 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

I slam my fist against the roof of Sophia’s car, anger coursing through me. I’ve been too soft. Too fucking soft with her. I let my guard down, thinking that maybe—just maybe—things could be normal between us. That I could keep her safe without hovering over her every second.

I should’ve known better.

“Boss,” one of my men calls out, walking toward me. “Artem’s sending more footage. Looks like the car was seen heading toward the old docks outside of town.”

The docks. It makes sense—secluded, no traffic, and plenty of places to hide. My gut tightens with renewed determination.

“Get the men ready,” I order. “We’re going to the docks.”

***

The car speeds down the dark, narrow road, the engine roaring as we push it to its limits. My thoughts are racing just as fast, my jaw clenched tight with the frustration burning inside me. It was the Italians. Has to be.

Of course, it was. They’ve been a thorn in our side for too long, and now, with the alliance between the Russians and theAmerican Mafia, they’ve got even more reason to strike. They see Sophia as the key to weakening us. If they kill her, the alliance crumbles, and we lose everything.

“They’ll want to kill her,” Artem says from the passenger seat, his voice tight with tension. “That’s the only way to end the alliance.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I won’t let that happen. I won’t lose her.

“Drive faster,” I growl.

Artem presses harder on the gas, and the car surges forward, the tires screeching as we take a sharp turn. My mind races, thinking through every possibility, every way this could end. The Italians had a reason for taking her—they’re sending a message. And if we don’t get to her in time, that message will be her dead body.

I can’t let that happen. Not to her.

Beside me, Timur sits in the back, staring out the window, his face calm but his eyes focused. He knows what’s at stake. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension radiating off him too. We’re all thinking the same thing—this alliance is on the edge of a knife, and if Sophia dies, the entire foundation of our power crumbles with it.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and I snatch it up, putting it on speaker. Artem and Timur both glance at me as I answer.

“Boss,” a familiar voice says. “We found more footage from the docks.”

“Go on,” I say, my voice sharp, my patience already thin.

“There’s a warehouse at the edge of the dockyard. From the looks of it, that’s where they took her. We’ve got men heading there now, but it looks heavily guarded.”

I grit my teeth, frustration bubbling over. “I don’t care how many men they’ve got. We’re going in.”

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Timur responds before hanging up.

I toss the phone aside, the tension in the car thickening. Artem glances over at me, his foot still pressed down on the gas pedal.

“Ten minutes,” he says quietly. “You think she’ll make it?”

I don’t answer, not because I don’t know, but because I refuse to entertain the thought of her not making it. I refuse to let that possibility exist.

“She has to,” I mutter, my eyes narrowing at the road ahead. “She fucking has to.”

Timur speaks up from the back, his voice calm but laced with cold determination. “It’s not just the alliance we’re saving. If the Italians think they can pull this off, they’ll do it again. We need to send a message just as strong.”

“Agreed,” Artem adds. “We take them down hard.”

I nod, my mind already locked on the plan. This isn’t just a rescue mission—it’s retaliation. A reminder that no one crosses the Bratva and lives to tell the tale. Fernando Vinci and his men are about to learn that lesson the hard way.

The lights of the dockyard come into view as we approach, the silhouette of a sprawling industrial complex looming ahead. This is it.

The car screeches to a stop a few blocks from the warehouse, hidden behind a row of abandoned containers. My men are already here, blending into the shadows as they prepare for the ambush. Artem, Timur, and I step out, the cool night air biting at my skin as I survey the scene.

Timur approaches, his face set in grim determination. “The warehouse is guarded. Heavy security, probably about fifteen men inside, give or take.”

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