Page 50 of Bratva Baby

I press my lips together, stepping to the small table where an assortment of tools lines the surface. My men stand silent, aware that I need no help for this. I pick up a wrench and test its weight in my hand. Fyodor’s breathing hitches.

“You betray your family, kill my ally, then run to me for mercy because Thorne turned out to be the nastier dog? You have some nerve.”

He squirms and begs, “I can still be useful! Let me prove it. Let me help you lure Thorne in. We can set a trap, bigger than what he planned for you.”

His desperation is palpable, but I’m not swayed. “I’m done with your bargains. Start talking about the details of the distribution center attack, or you’ll be praying for a quick death.”

He whimpers, nodding frantically. “Alright, alright. The Irish plan to ambush your supply trucks next week. They have men stationed at the old shipping yard near the canal. Thorne gave them the exact route, times, everything. They’ll pose as your guys and intercept. Also, they’ve bribed a police lieutenant to look the other way.”

I scowl as my mind parses the new intel. If he’s telling the truth, I can reroute or fortify that shipment. “Keep going.”

“Evan wants to make sure you’re tied up in other conflicts, so they’re spreading rumors that you’ve been taking out minor gang leaders. They’re forging documents, emails—all pointing to you. Once the cops see that, they’ll swarm your territories. Meanwhile, the Irish slip into your territory, seizing your assets. It’s a pincer move.”

My blood boils. “What about the murder of Pavel? How does that tie in?”

“That was the first real blow to break your unity. Thorne knew losing him would throw you off balance and keep you chasing ghosts. Then he’d inch closer to dismantling you from behind the scenes. It almost worked, until you got suspicious.”

I stare at him, hatred pulsing. “You destroyed a good man’s life for that snake.”

He lowers his head, mumbling, “I regret it.”

I snap my fingers at two men. “Bring the table here.”

They comply and drag a small metal table next to Fyodor’s chair. I pick up a short blade, letting the threat of it linger. “You regret it now that you’re caught. That’s not the same as remorse.”

He trembles. “I—I can still give you more details about the police ties. Maybe names, the lieutenant’s location.”

“Spit it out,” I order.

He rattles off a name: Donovan, a dirty cop. Then an address for some hush meeting spot. Each word comes out in gasping breaths as if it pains him. My rage bubbles higher. He’s listing everything, no honor among traitors. I wait until he finishes.

“You done?” I ask quietly.

He nods, and tears streak his cheeks. “That’s all. You know everything I do.”

I weigh the truth of his statements, deciding they ring consistent with the fragments we already uncovered. “So it was never a setup to frame Evan, was it? You and Thorne truly murdered Pavel, hoping we’d chase someone else?”

He swallows and nods. “Yes, Boss.”

I exhale as the final puzzle piece drops into place. Pavel died at the hands of a man he considered a comrade, orchestrated by a snake we once called an ally. My knuckles tighten around the blade. “You disgust me.”

“Please,” he rasps. “Don’t kill me. I gave you everything.”

I tilt my head, feigning consideration. “You gave me your confession, yes. But that doesn’t change the fact you killed a brother. That crime can’t go unpunished.”

He jerks against his bonds. “No, please, Boss—”

I move swiftly, pressing the blade to his throat. He freezes, and his eyes go huge with terror. “This is for Pavel,” I whisper, pressing harder until he chokes out a final gurgle. Blood seeps across his collar as the life drains from his eyes.

A hush falls over the warehouse, broken only by the rasp of Fyodor’s last breath. I step back, watching him slump in the chair with his arms still bound. My men remain quiet, respecting the gravity of the moment.

A wave of grim satisfaction courses through me—an avenger’s victory, but an empty one. Pavel is still gone. This only ensures that one traitor won’t walk free.

I wipe the blade on Fyodor’s shirt before tucking it away. “Clean this up,” I instruct the men. “Make sure there’s no trace.”

They nod and step forward to handle the corpse. I stand aside, rolling my shoulders to release the tension. My mind races with what I’ve learned. Evan is no victim, no scapegoat. He’s orchestrating a full-blown coup against the Barkovs. And now I have enough intel to dismantle his plan.

Chapter 21 - Seraphina

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