Page 34 of The Bratva's Auctioned Bride

Damien grinned, arms crossed as he lounged on the sofa in my office the way he tended to when he had a spare moment and didn’t feel like meandering around the others. “It better not. I can’t lose my edge and end up like you.”

From in that space above the warehouse, I couldn’t help but pick up on a strange moment of silence and eerie stillness—a near imperceptible trickle of uneasiness as dread filled my gut. Like some instinct was triggered in me, all I could do was freeze as I clued into that sensation.

I looked at Damien, about to ask if he could feel it, too, but a loud bang rocked the warehouse.

Instinctively, I gripped the desk as my brother covered his head and braced for some sort of impact from his spot on thecouch. We both tensed, evaluating the situation before I glanced over at him.

When everything seemed fine in the office, I called to him, “You alright?”

After another moment, Damien shook it off and looked at me with mutual concern. “All good. But what the hell was that?”

Reaching for my pistol at the sound of distant shouting and gunfire on the ground level and outside the warehouse, I pushed myself out of my chair, prompting him to do the same. “Whatever it is, we need to take care of it. Now.”

With a nod, Damien followed my lead as we hurried out the door and overlooked the scene below, seeing a cloud of dust and smoke that seemed to cloak everything. I gritted my teeth as I tried to get a grasp on the situation, unable to see through the chaos. Still, there was a flurry of activity from our guys as they ran out, guns ringing through the building and outside.

Without missing a beat, I hurried down the steps, gun raised as I aimed with Damien close on my trail. Through the rush of movement as we drew closer, it was difficult to discern who was who, but as a few men managed to sneak between our guys unseen, Damien and I picked them off, not hesitating the moment they entered our sights.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Damien asked, exasperated, after a wave of volleying gunfire between us.

Jaw clenched as I aimed at another, I watched as his body hit the floor before I uttered, “Take a guess.”

Without needing anyone to give it away, I had no doubt it was the Gromovs. Given how they were pulling back as our manpower forced them out of the warehouse again, there was no mistaking the limitations in their numbers.

The Levovs would never retreat. Not when they commanded so much of the city and had more than enough men to wipe out an entire operation in one sweep. It was tempting to assume Aristarkh might turn his back on me as retribution for dragging his sister into everything even after we reached an agreement, but I knew better than that. He may have been brutal, but I didn’t take him as a dishonest man.

As we kept pushing and firing when needed, the noise eventually subsided, and the dust quite literally began to settle. A few voices shouted, but the gunfire stopped, and as the debris began to clear, we were able to see where one of our bay doors had been blown into.

Gun down at my side, I tried to push away the elevated rage within me while I moved through the warehouse, walking past the bodies littered across the floor. Seeing those weapons and men strewn about felt like such a waste. A waste of time, and a waste of potential.

Reaching the door, I caught the sound of labored breathing to my left and found someone with his arm bent in an unfortunate direction as if he had been caught in the initial mess and was left behind by his comrades. He was curled up, pressed between the wall and a half-ruined pallet of product. He trembled and reached for his gun that was an inch away from his fingertips, expression panicked at the sight of me.

He winced and groaned from the strain as he grabbed for it, but before he could grip the pistol, I closed in and kicked the gun away. My boot came down hard against his wrist, lip curled at him in irritation as I listened to the sickening crack of his bones.

The man cried out, voice hoarse as tears streaked down his cheeks. He shook, caught between which injured arm heshould cradle before settling on both as he brought them to his chest and wept.

“Please…” he whimpered through those ragged breaths. “Please, don’t—”

Too enraged by the scene and damage caused by them to listen to his pleading, I ground my teeth as I reached for the back of his uniform and hauled him out from his hiding place with an agitated rumble from my chest. I yanked him up before I slid him across the floor in disgust, watching as he came to an eventual stop as he clutched his wounds.

Flicking the safety off, I aimed my barrel at him with a finger on the trigger, face set like stone. “Who sent you?”

As the captive shook and pulled in his labored breaths, blubbering over his wounds, Damien and a few other higher-positioned guys drew in closer and observed with straight expressions. The man cowered more as the pressure of their presence set in.

“I…I don’t—”

“Cut the shit and answer me,” I spat, aiming for his chest. “If you don’t, I will make sure this is as long and painful for you as possible. You don’t want me to get my brother, Daniil, do you?”

The faintest smirk pulled on Damien’s lips. “Trust me, you don’t. He takes his time with people like you.”

The hostage flinched, eyes wide as he shook his head. “No...no, wait—”

My gaze hardened. “Then spill.”

He heaved in another shaken breath, unable to keep himself from trembling. “Matvey Gromov…he’s my boss…”

I gritted my teeth at the name as my suspicions were confirmed. “Why would he send such a weak group to hit us? What was he trying to accomplish?”

“I-it wasn’t about getting anything…not a real show of force,” the man managed to get out despite his never-ending fear. “It was a warning—a test…the boss brought his brothers onboard recently and he…wanted them to send a message to you and the Levovs…”

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