Page 6 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

Before he can press further, I turn to my father. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to find Jennifer. I promised her I’d help with something.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but I don’t care. I need to get away from Jackson and his wandering eyes.

My father nods, his eyes softening a little as he looks at me. “Of course, Sophia. Go ahead.”

Mr. Miller gives me a polite nod, and Jackson, still smirking, watches me with an unsettling intensity as I turn and walk away. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time, and I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until I’m back on the lawn, far from the suffocating presence of both Jackson and whatever expectations my father might have for me.

As I step outside, the cool air hits my skin, calming the storm of emotions brewing inside me. I glance back at the grand venue, at the glittering guests and perfect couples, and feel that familiar tension settle in my chest.

The life my father has built for me is beautiful on the surface, but there’s always something lurking beneath—deals, expectations, and people like Jackson, who only see me as part of the power my family wields. I refuse to let myself be reduced to a chess piece in someone else’s game.

Chapter Three - Maxim

The dim light of my office casts long shadows across the room as I sit behind my desk, phone pressed to my ear. Ivan’s voice crackles on the other end, calm and composed as always, though I can tell he’s just as invested in the topic as I am. Ivan had relocated to another state to expand our operations, leaving me in charge here. He trusted me to handle things, and I’ve taken on that responsibility without complaint, but the weight of it all has grown heavier since my father’s death.

“I’m keeping a close eye on the situation,” I say, leaning back in my chair. The tension from earlier still sits heavy on my shoulders. “Henry’s supposed to show up soon. He claims he has information about Arlo’s death.”

Ivan’s silence stretches for a beat before he speaks again, his voice tight. “If this man has any solid proof, I want you to handle it carefully. No mistakes.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I’ll get what we need from him, one way or another. He’s already named his price.”

Another pause. “Do what you need to, but keep me updated. This could blow things wide open.”

“Understood.”

I hear the creak of the office door opening, and Artem steps inside, gesturing toward the man waiting in the hallway. Henry. The man Dominik told me about. “Looks like my guest has arrived,” I say into the phone.

Ivan grunts, his tone dismissive now. “Handle it. I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya.” I hang up, sliding my phone onto the desk just as Henry enters, escorted by Artem.

Henry looks nervous, like he’s about to face a firing squad instead of a meeting. He’s a small man, balding, with dark eyes that dart around the room as if looking for an escape. He’s trying to hide it, but the slight tremor in his hands as he takes a seat opposite me gives him away. I’ve seen this look before—people like him always know they’re one wrong word away from disaster when they deal with us.

“Mr. Sharov,” he greets, his voice unsteady.

“Henry,” I say, leaning forward slightly, my eyes narrowing on him. “You’ve got information for me.”

He nods quickly, wringing his hands in his lap. “Yes, yes, I do; but… before I share anything, I need to know I’ll be compensated. This information—it’s not easy to come by. If anyone finds out I’m talking to you—”

I hold up a hand, cutting off his nervous rambling. “You’ll get your money. Now start talking.”

Henry swallows hard, visibly relieved that I haven’t killed him yet. He fumbles with a flash drive in his pocket, pulling it out and placing it on the desk between us. “This footage… it’s from four months ago, outside Arlo Sharov’s mansion.”

I clench my jaw at the mention of my father. Four months of chasing shadows, following dead leads, and dealing with silence. Now, this jittery man might have the key to everything. “I’ve seen the footage,” I say, my voice flat. “A masked man driving away from the mansion. It’s useless.”

Henry shakes his head, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not just that. I have more.”

He pushes the flash drive toward me, but I don’t reach for it. Instead, I lean back, watching him, waiting for him to continue. He knows that the footage alone won’t get him whathe wants. It has to be more than just a blurry video of a masked man.

“The footage doesn’t show much, you’re right,” he admits, his voice a little stronger now. “So, I did some digging of my own. I found the car model from the footage, traced the rental records.”

My eyes narrow. This is new.

Henry pulls a photograph from his pocket and slides it across the desk. I glance down at it. The same car—unmistakably the one from the video. A photograph of a car isn’t what grabs my attention. It’s what Henry says next.

“That car—” He clears his throat, his eyes darting to mine nervously before he continues. “—it was rented by Kace Preston. Four months ago, around the time your father was killed.”

I feel a surge of anger course through me, but I keep it locked down, my face expressionless as I absorb his words. Kace Preston. The name rattles through my mind like a bullet ricocheting off walls. I’ve always suspected him, known he had a hand in something bigger, but I never had anything concrete. Until now.

“Go on,” I say, my voice deceptively calm.

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