Page 16 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

I haven’t.

I clench my fists, trying to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the cold, hard reality of the business in front of me. That’s what matters. That’s what’s always mattered.

“I’ll get the clean-up crew,” Oleg says, snapping me out of my thoughts. He’s already pulling out his phone, calling in our team to dispose of Viktor’s body.

I nod, my expression unreadable as I walk toward the door. My footsteps echo against the concrete floor, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. As I leave, I can still hear the faint ringing of the gunshot in my ears. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Death is just another part of the job.

As I step out into the night, breathing in the cool air, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about Jennifer. Either way, I need to get her out of my head, or it’ll be a distraction I can’t afford.

I glance down at my phone, pulling up her name in my contacts. Part of me wants to call her, to demand answers forwhy she left, why she thought she could walk away from me so easily.

Instead, I shove the phone back into my pocket, forcing myself to focus on what really matters.

The Bratva. Revenge. Power.

***

The next morning, I wake early, long before the rest of the city stirs to life. The penthouse is silent, the soft hum of the heating system the only sound breaking through the stillness. I sit at the kitchen island, a steaming cup of black coffee in hand, eyes scanning through today’s agenda. The Bratva doesn’t sleep, and neither do I.

Oleg texts me:En route.

I toss my phone aside, finishing the last sip of my coffee before heading down to the building’s underground garage. The morning is cold, the air biting against my skin as I step inside the black SUV where Oleg waits in the driver’s seat.

“Morning,” he says gruffly, nodding as I climb in.

I nod back. Oleg is one of the few men I trust implicitly. He’s never wavered, never questioned me. His loyalty is as steadfast as mine to the Bratva.

“Everything lined up?” I ask, leaning back in the seat as we pull out of the garage.

“Yeah. Got the men ready for tonight’s operation.” Oleg’s eyes flicker toward me in the rearview mirror. “We’ll take care of it cleanly. No loose ends.”

“Good. Serge?” I ask.

Oleg’s jaw tightens for a brief second before he responds. “He’s… still a problem.”

I grit my teeth. Serge has always been the wild card, unpredictable and reckless. After the debacle at the club, I’ve tried to get him back on track, but his mind is still trapped in the past—grieving Anthony, chasing ghosts that don’t exist.

“Where is he now?” I ask, my tone harder than intended.

“Last I checked, holed up in some bar. Drunk.”

I sigh, the weight of responsibility is heavier today. I can’t afford Serge’s recklessness, not with the Italians sniffing around, looking for any weakness to exploit.

“When we finish the meeting, find him. Bring him to me.”

Oleg nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. Serge may be my brother, but I won’t hesitate to deal with him if he continues down this path of self-destruction. It’s my job to maintain order within the family, no matter what.

We arrive at one of the warehouse sites, a shipping front we use to bring in goods. I step out of the car, walking through the entrance with Oleg close behind. Inside, the men are already at work, unloading crates. The scent of sweat and metal hangs thick in the air.

I pass a group of men handling one of the containers. One of them fumbles, nearly dropping the crate. My eyes narrow.

“Watch what you’re doing,” I snap.

The man, Pavel, looks up, visibly startled. He’s new, and it shows in his sloppy movements. He straightens immediately, rushing to correct his mistake, but the damage is done.

“Come here,” I order, my voice low but deadly.

Pavel hesitates, then steps forward, his face pale. He stands before me, trembling slightly, eyes darting nervously around the warehouse.

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