Page 9 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

“Yeah,” I lie, plastering on a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

I’m not. Every time I hear the name Makar Sharov in my head, my chest tightens. What am I supposed to do now, knowing I’ve been working underhisroof this whole time?

Chapter Four - Makar

The Ember House glows like a dark jewel against the Chicago night, its sleek black-and-gold facade both inviting and foreboding. Inside, the bass-heavy music thrums through the building, muffling the conversations of those too drunk or too arrogant to care who might be listening.

I step out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel as Andrei and four of my men fall into step behind me. The sharp winter air nips at my face, but it doesn’t cool the fire burning in my chest.

Kris has been running this club like it’s his personal empire, and tonight, he’s going to remember whose name is on the deed.

“Don’t make a scene yet,” I tell Andrei as we approach the bouncer.

Andrei smirks. “When have I ever made a scene?”

I glance at him, unimpressed. The bouncer stiffens as soon as he sees us, his shoulders squaring. He’s a big guy, but even he knows better than to stand in my way.

“Mr. Sharov,” he greets, his voice wavering just enough to betray his nerves.

I nod once, dismissively. “We’re going in.”

He steps aside without hesitation, and we enter the club.

Inside, the music pounds, the lights flash, and the air smells of money and desperation. My men fan out slightly, their presence enough to turn heads as we move through the crowd.

Patrons glance our way, some curious, others uneasy. They don’t know me by name, but they can feel the weight of who I am, what I am.

Andrei leans in as we near Kris’s office. “What’s the plan?”

I glance at him, my voice cold. “We start nice. Then we finish however he deserves.”

Andrei nods, his hand brushing the grip of the gun tucked under his jacket.

We reach the office door, and I don’t bother knocking. Andrei pushes it open, and I step inside first, my eyes immediately locking on Kris.

He’s lounging behind his desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a glass of whiskey in hand. The man looks up, startled, but quickly masks it with a grin that’s as fake as the gold chain around his neck.

“Boss!” he exclaims, spreading his arms like I’m an old friend dropping in for a drink. “Didn’t know you were stopping by tonight.”

I say nothing at first, taking in the room. The desk is cluttered with papers, and the faint smell of sweat clings to the air. Kris’s tie is undone, his shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a hint of his flabby chest. He reeks of someone too comfortable, too confident.

“Kris,” I say finally, my tone smooth. “How’s business?”

Kris chuckles nervously, glancing at my men, who remain silent and still behind me. “Business is great. Couldn’t be better. You know me, always keeping things running smoothly for you.”

I nod, stepping further into the room. “That’s good to hear. I like when things run smoothly.”

Kris’s grin falters for a split second before he recovers. “Of course. This place is my priority. You can trust me on that.”

“Trust,” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air.

Kris shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Uh, yeah. Trust. Absolutely.”

I motion to Andrei, who steps forward and quietly shuts the door. The click of the lock echoes through the room, and Kris’s smile disappears entirely.

“What’s this about, Boss?” he asks, his voice a little higher now.

I lean against the edge of his desk, my eyes boring into his. “Let’s stop pretending, Kris. You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Using my club to run your own side operation.”

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