Page 6 of Bratva Knight

I glanced over my shoulder to see Drea in Aleksandr’s lap, his head buried deep into her chest, his arms wrapped around her tightly as she whispered something to him and him alone.

The whole thing shocked me. Aleksandr was not an affectionate person. Not the Aleksandr I knew. Who was this woman?

I helped Nikolai to his feet and he looked at them with the same shock I’m sure was on my face. He cleared his throat awkwardly to get their attention and Aleksandr lifted his head. Some of that darkness was gone. He seemed to be back in control.

Good.If he hit Nikolai again, I was going to fucking hithim.

“Is there anyone left alive?” Aleksandr grunted, his voice thick.

“If they are, they won’t be for long,” Nikolai said, glancing around at the numerous bodies littering the ground.

“Find out what you can from them quickly before they die.”

Nikolai nodded. “On it.” He paused, hesitating. “I’m sorry, Zander.”

Aleksandr’s jaw clenched. He said nothing, only jerking his head once in acknowledgement.

I followed Nikolai out of the room and back into the kitchen. “I need to start checking the bodies, see who’s alive and who’s dead.”

“I can help you.” There was no way I was going to leave. Yeah, I wasn’t in the Bratva technically, but I could still help out with things like this. Plus, I didn’t feel comfortable leaving just yet.

We worked together to move the dead bodies into a pile. It was a tiresome and tedious task, especially when we started dragging bodies down from upstairs. Anyone who was still alive was carried down to the warehouse and put in the pit—the place the Bratva kept all their prisoners.

We didn’t talk while we worked. He didn’t ask me why I was staying. I was thankful for it, because evenIdidn’t have an answer to that question. Not one I was willing to acknowledge just yet, anyway. Roughly ten minutes or so after we started checking the bodies, Lukyan came barrelling into the room, his face a mask of fear and distress.

Nikolai uncaringly dropped the body in his hands and rushed over to his brother. “What? What is it?”

“It’s Father,” he whispered, so softly I could barely hear him. “He’s been kidnapped.”

Chapter Three

Tatiana Andreeva

“Howareyouholdingup?” I looked at my best friend sitting on the floor of her old bedroom, the blank expression on her face making worry clutch at my chest.

She was totally checked out. Gone. The lights were on but nobody was home. It was clear that she was in shock, having trouble coming to terms with the events of the last twenty-four hours. Not that I blamed her. I was having a hard time believing it too.

Dimitri Volkov was like a nightmare. The “John Wick” of our world. A literal boogeymen in expensive Armani suits. He was the type of manmonstersran away from. How was it that such a powerful and fearsome man had been kidnapped? From his own home?

It was something all of us were finding difficult to accept, but especially Illayana.

She had that “No one can beat my dad, he’s a superhero” kind of mentality. Except, Dimitri was more like a supervillain.

When Illayana didn’t answer, I climbed off the two-seater couch I was sitting on and crawled towards her. My arms wrapped around her tightly, squeezing, trying to give her as much comfort as I could. My touch snapped her out of her daze and she returned the hug earnestly, her grip almost painful. She sobbed into my shoulder, her emotions spiralling.

Loud banging came from her bedroom door. “Illayana? What’s going on? Are you okay?” a deep voice boomed.

I rolled my eyes. Her guard dog of a husband was still standing outside her room. Her cries had been loud enough for him to hear, and now he was losing his mind with worry. It took physically shoving him out of the room to get him to leave the first time.

I knew my best friend. Shehatedshowing weakness in front of others. She tended to keep her feelings close to her chest, not revealing them to anyone. I understood that Arturo was her husband, but the relationship was still relatively new. All it took was one glance at Illayana’s face to know she wouldn’t let go until she was alone.

Well, there was no way I was going to allow that to happen. I wasn’t going to let her sit there all by herself and try to deal with the emotions I knew would bubble over at any moment.

She clung to me tightly like I was her lifeline, keeping her grounded. Her tears soaked into my shirt, her cries muffled as she buried her head deeper into my shoulder. I let her cry for as long as she needed, not rushing her. After a few minutes, she leant back, her eyes red and puffy.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, sniffling. “I haven’t cried like that since—” her words abruptly cut off. Pain flashed in her eyes.

I didn’t need her to finish the sentence to know what she was talking about.

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