Page 1 of Bratva Butcher

Prologue

Dimitri Volkov

“Sorry to interrupt, Boss.There are some people here to do some scheduled maintenance?”

I looked up from my notepad with a frown. “Scheduled maintenance? I don’t recall seeing anything in the calendar about work being done?” The damage incurred at my daughter’s wedding a few months before had all been repaired. There was no reason that I could think of to explain why people were there to do any kind of work. No damages needed to be fixed.

“There isn’t, Boss,” Aaron replied, voice shaky with nerves. “I checked, but they said they were hired by your son to repair some kind of wall damage.”

“Which son?”

“Aleksandr, Boss.”

My frown deepened.That doesn’t sound like Aleksandr. If he’d scheduled work to be done on the house, he would have put it in the calendar. He was meticulous with following procedures.

If he had said, “Lukyan”,thatI could believe. My youngest son was the one with the most potential yet the worst drive when it came to applying himself—something I hoped he would grow out of as he got older.

“Send them away,” I told Aaron. The whole thing didn’t sit right with me. Suspicion ran rampant through my mind. How they even got through the main gate without pre-approval was a mystery. If they weren’t on the calendar, if they hadn’t been given prior permission to enter the grounds, then someone should have called up to verify before allowing them entry.

I picked up the phone as Aaron nodded and walked away. Heads were going to fucking roll when I found out who was responsible. I had enough shit to deal with.My brother, Dominik, grew more bold, more reckless in his quest to take my place asPakhanof the Bratva.

Joining forces with Nero to kidnap Illayana, knowing full well what her fate would be, was the final fucking straw. He’d put his foot in my business for the last time.

Then…there was my father.

Sergei Volkov was a terror to grow up with. He wasn’t just tough or strict. He was cruel. Malicious. Vindictive. And he didn’t love anything except himself and his legacy.

A man like that shouldneverhave had children. He didn’t punish to discipline. He punished because he enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering.

The earliest memory I had of my father was when I was roughly three. He’d struck me across the face because I interrupted a meeting with a client to ask for more water.

"Ne bud’ neblagodarnym Dmitriy, i nikogda bol’she ne preryvay menya." Don’t be ungrateful, Dimitri. And never interrupt me again.

Dominik had rushed to my defence, and I think that very moment was what solidified the idea my father had to pit us against each other. Where it all started. Where our rivalry truly began.

He saw what could happen if he allowed our bond to grow too strong. Saw that we could band together againsthim.

So, he made sure we grew to hate each other instead. Always competing against one another. Never—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I bolted to my feet, picking up my gun at the same time as a group of men came barreling into my office.

Seven of them, dressed in black jumpsuits, each one holding a weapon of some kind. We stared at each other from across the room, sizing one another up. The odds were stacked against me, sure. But I never let that shit bother me. I had a quick trigger finger. I’d be able to take a few of those fuckers down with me.

There was only one man with a gun—my first target.

Screaming, crying and gunfire rang out through the house, along with cheers, whoops and hollers, no doubt from the other men attacking my home.

I’d deal with the who, how and why later.

“Come along, old man. Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Our orders are to take you alive.”

It was the man with the gun who spoke. He stood slightly in front of the rest.The leader, perhaps?

I arched an eyebrow. “By who?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He waved the gun back and forth. “Let’s go.”

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