Page 39 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

I move to the head of the table, my gaze sweeping over the men gathered around. The Americans, rough and sharp, theireyes flickering with unease as they look at me. The Russians, calm and calculated, knowing exactly where their loyalties lie. This is our territory, and they all know it.

I take my seat, the room falling into a heavy silence as everyone waits for me to speak.

“We’re here to finalize what we’ve all agreed upon,” I begin, my voice firm and commanding. “The Russians will finance the American Mafia. In return, I expect nothing less than absolute loyalty. There will be no question of where your allegiance lies.”

One of the American men, a grizzled veteran with deep-set eyes, nods. “You have our loyalty, Sharov. We serve you, just as we served Kace.”

I nod, acknowledging his words. “Good. Then you understand that this isn’t just about money. This is about unity. We stand together, or we fall.”

The men murmur in agreement, and I can see the tension in their faces easing slightly. They’re nervous. They should be. They’ve never been in a position like this before, where their survival depends on the Bratva. They know that without us, they’re finished.

One of the younger American men, his suit too crisp, leans forward, eyes sharp. “We’ve heard about your marriage to Sophia Preston,” he says, his tone cautious. “She’s respected by our people. If she stands by you, then so do we.”

I nod slowly, my gaze shifting to the man who spoke. His words are measured, but there’s an underlying current of something else there—respect, perhaps, but also a reminder that my marriage to Sophia solidifies this alliance. She’s their connection to me. Their tie to power.

“She is my wife,” I say simply, my voice calm but firm. “Which means she’s under my protection. You serve her, you serve me.”

There’s a ripple of agreement around the table, the American men nodding, reassured by the mention of Sophia. I can’t help but find it amusing. They respect her because of her father, but she’s mine now. They’ll learn soon enough that I’m the one who holds the real power.

“We’re ready to move forward,” one of the Russian men, Ivanov, speaks up, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “This alliance is the strongest move we can make against the Italians. With the Americans on our side, Fernando won’t stand a chance.”

I lean back in my chair, my mind briefly wandering to Sophia again. The look in her eyes when she asked me to avenge her father. The way her body trembled underneath mine last night. She’s more involved in this than I ever intended her to be, but that’s how it is now. She’s a part of this world—my world—whether she likes it or not.

“I expect this to be a clean operation,” I say, my voice cutting through the room. “The Italians are smart, but we’re smarter. We’ll cripple them, cut off their resources, and then we’ll take them down. Piece by piece.”

There’s a murmur of approval from the Russian side of the table, and I can feel the energy in the room shift. They’re ready. We all are.

“You have our loyalty, Maxim,” one of the American men says, his tone resolute. “You married into our family. We’ll follow you.”

I nod, satisfied with the response. This alliance is more than just a business transaction—it’s a consolidation of power. With Sophia at my side, I now control both the Russian and American Mafias. And with that kind of influence, there’s no stopping me.

I rise from my seat and make my way over to the group of men still lingering by the door. Artem is speaking quietly with Timur, discussing details about Don Fernando. As I approach, they both turn their attention to me.

“We need to move carefully with Fernando,” Timur says, his voice low. “He’s got resources, but his kids are all back in Italy. He’s more vulnerable than he lets on.”

“He doesn’t know we’re coming for him,” Artem adds with a smirk. “He thinks the Russians and Americans are still at each other’s throats. That’s where we’ve got the upper hand.”

I nod, considering the information. Fernando may be a cunning bastard, but he’s grown comfortable in the belief that the Russians and Americans are too preoccupied with each other to pose a real threat. That comfort is going to be his downfall.

“We wait for the right moment,” I say, my voice firm. “There’s an event coming up—one of those charity galas Fernando loves to attend. He’ll be exposed there, out in the open. That’s when we strike.”

“Smart,” Artem agrees. “He won’t expect it. He’ll have security, but nothing too heavy. It’ll give us the perfect chance.”

Timur glances around, making sure no one else is listening. “We’ll set everything in place for the event. Make sure we have eyes on him at all times leading up to it. When we take him, it’ll be clean and fast.”

I like the way Timur thinks. Fernando has been operating unchecked for too long, stirring up trouble between us and the Americans to grow his own power. But he made one fatal mistake—he underestimated me.

“Keep me updated,” I say as the men nod in agreement. They start discussing further details, but my focus is already shifting. We’re on the right path now, and soon, Fernando will fall.

As the meeting wraps up and the room empties, I reach for my phone. A notification flashes across the screen, and the name on it stops me cold.

Hailey.

I sigh, my finger hovering over the screen before I quickly hit the button to silence the call.

Artem notices, raising an eyebrow as he walks past me. “Who’s that?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I mutter, sliding my phone back into my pocket. Hailey has been a complication for a while now, one I don’t have time to deal with. She’s always calling, always needing something.

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