Page 6 of Bratva Baby

A chorus of unsettled chatter fills the space. For years, Thorne’s relationship with the Bratva has been precarious. Officially, we cut ties a while back. Still, more than one man in this room wonders if we should have eliminated him a long time ago.

I hold my hand up until they quiet down. “We found a piece of cloth marked with Thorne’s crest near Pavel’s body. Might be a frame job, or it might be Thorne flaunting his nerve. I don’t care which. Pavel is still dead, and we need to respond.”

I flick my gaze around the table. Maksim is seated on my left, and Dmitri has taken a seat on my right. My brothers aresilent but attentive. Two men—Leonid and Fyodor—exchange looks that set my teeth on edge. They’ve had issues with me taking the lead before. I’m sure they think I’m only in this position because Aleksei is my brother, but the smart ones at this table know that’s not the case. I’ve earned my position as second-in-command.

Maksim speaks first. “What’s the plan, Grigor? An attack on Thorne? We can’t let this stand.”

A few men nod in agreement, but another voice breaks in. “We should be sure before we declare open war,” Leonid suggests. “Thorne’s got resources. We don’t need more complications.”

I point a finger at him. “What’s more complicated is letting Pavel’s murder go unanswered. The streets will see that as weakness, and the Bratva doesn’t show weakness.”

Fyodor shifts in his chair, letting out a low snort. “And what do you propose we do about it? Aleksei should be the one who calls the shots on a matter of alliances.”

I lock eyes with him. “Aleksei handed me this responsibility while he’s occupied. That should be enough.”

He doesn’t mask his disdain. “I’d rather hear it from Aleksei himself.”

My temper stirs. This isn’t the time for a pissing contest. “We can hash it out together, but I’m leading this meeting. Get on board or get out.”

Fyodor lets the chair scrape against the floor, like he’s ready to stand. “Might as well get out, then. I’m not here to take orders from second best.”

A hush falls. Even Leonid looks uneasy. Half the men glance at me, waiting to see if I’ll let that disrespect slide. Istare Fyodor down. “You think you can walk away from this? Go ahead.”

He pushes himself up, and the outline of a sidearm is visible beneath his jacket. The guard at the door tenses, but I raise a hand—my signal to remain still.

Fyodor’s mouth twists into a sneer, and he heads for the exit. The men nearest the door shift in their seats, glancing between me and him.

With one fluid motion, I draw my pistol and fire a single shot. The sound ricochets off every surface. Fyodor’s leg gives out, and he collapses with blood trickling onto the polished floor. He bellows a curse and clutches his thigh.

I lower the gun. “Anyone else feel like leaving?”

Silence hangs in the air, broken only by Fyodor’s ragged groans. I motion to two of my enforcers. “Take him to get stitched up. He’ll live. Maybe next time he’ll think before he mouths off.”

They drag him out, leaving a crimson trail that sends a message to every man in this room: I don’t have time for insubordination.

When the door closes, I press my palm flat on the table. “We’re done with power plays. We have a real threat: Thorne. If he’s behind Pavel’s death, we settle it. If it’s a setup, we need to find out who’s trying to pit us against him. Either way, Pavel’s murder can’t go unpunished, but we’re not declaring full war on Thorne without hearing him out. The plan is to confront him. If he’s guilty, we settle it by force. If he convinces us he’s innocent, we look for the bastard who framed him. Simple.”

Dmitri folds his arms. “Thorne said he’d show up tonight, right?”

Sergei, a wiry captain, taps the table with his fingertips. “He’s late.”

My jaw ticks. “I noticed.”

Hushed comments circle the table. Thorne’s tardiness feels like a direct insult. He knows how serious this is. Maksim fiddles with the corner of a file, Dmitri stares at the clock on the wall, and Leonid glances repeatedly at the spot where Fyodor fell.

I clench my teeth. He’d better show soon, or this might get ugly fast.

Right on cue, footsteps sound in the hallway. Then the door opens, revealing Evan Thorne flanked by two of his own guards. He saunters in, scanning the room like he’s making a grand entrance at a party. My soldiers stationed near the walls grip their weapons, prepared to draw if he tries anything.

He lifts his hands to shoulder level, palms out in a mock gesture of peace. “Gentlemen, apologies for the delay. Urgent matters demanded my attention.”

That smug voice grates on my nerves. He’s wearing a tailored suit in dark gray, unbuttoned at the front, exuding a confidence that’s almost insulting. I rest one hand on my pistol, which is still set on the table. “You’re late.”

A faint shrug. “Sometimes unavoidable. But I’m here now, ready to talk.”

Maksim looks ready to snap. I send him a warning glance.Let me handle this.

Thorne steps forward, not bothering to hide the slight curl of his lips as he addresses the others at my table. “I heard about Pavel. A tragedy, truly.”

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