Page 1 of Bratva Baby

Chapter 1 - Grigor

Blood covers the pavement in wide arcs, as though someone wanted to make a statement and chose the most gruesome way to do it. It’s five in the morning, and I’ve been on the move for hours, chasing shadows that refuse to settle. My head throbs from lack of sleep, but there’s no time to rest. One of our most dependable allies is lying here, cold and robbed of life.

I stand over the body, ignoring the metallic tang I can sense with each breath. Pavel’s stare is vacant and haunting. Maksim steps up beside me. He rubs a thumb over his watch face, then nudges one of the scattered casings on the ground with the toe of his boot.

“Looks like at least three guns,” he observes with a drawn-out exhale. “He never stood a chance.”

Akim crouches by Pavel’s outstretched arm and brushes his gloved hand along the edge of a torn jacket sleeve. “This was a slaughter.”

Nikolai hovers near the exit of the alley, scanning the quiet street beyond. We agreed to meet here with a skeleton crew in an effort to avoid drawing attention from the local authorities or any potential enemies who might still be lurking. We’ve got bigger concerns than cops—like who had the nerve to gun down a man under the protection of me and my brothers.

The Barkov name carries weight in this city. We don’t ask for respect; we take it. I’m the second in command, and together with my brothers—Aleksei, Nikolai, Dmitri, Maksim, and Akim—we form the backbone of the Bratva. Each of us has earned our place through blood and grit. It’s a name no one crosses lightly, and anyone who dares learns quickly why.

My mind fogs as I fight off a wave of fatigue. Pavel was crucial to our operations. Eliminating him sends a message that someone wants a piece of us, or they want us to believe a certain party is responsible. I scan the area, stepping around droplets of blood that curve across the concrete like some twisted map.

“Grigor,” Nikolai calls from near the street. “You might want to see this.”

I follow him past a broken crate and around a corner. It’s quiet, no spectators, no strays. Not surprising at this hour. Then, I notice something snagged on a row of splintered wooden boards. At first, I assume it’s just another piece of Pavel’s clothing. But Nikolai reaches out and tugs it free, revealing a frayed scrap of fabric about the size of my palm.

“Bring it over,” I instruct.

He hands it to me, and I flip it around. It’s black, with a small emblem in the corner. It takes me a second to recognize it. “Thorne’s crest.”

Nikolai’s brows knit. “Could be a setup.”

“Or it could be Evan Thorne,” I reply, letting my voice drop. “He’s been lying low since our last business deal went south, but he may have decided to strike.” Either that, or someone’s being clever by leaving this here so we go after Thorne. Regardless, I need to look him in the eyes.

Akim steps out from the alley, and his eyes move between me and the fabric. “You think it’s him?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. But I’m not ignoring it. Maksim, organize a cleanup crew. I don’t want any sign we were here once we go.”

Maksim stares at Pavel’s body and sighs. “He was a good man, Grigor.”

I nod. There’s nothing else to say. We’ll avenge him, no question. I give a quick signal to our men waiting in an unmarked SUV. They’ll take care of the remains, and we’ll see that Pavel’s family is compensated. But first, I have a visit to make.

Tall iron gates guard the entrance of Evan Thorne’s estate, flanked by men who pass suspicious looks at me as I roll up in my car. One of them steps forward with his firearm raised, then he recognizes my face and waves me through. Even if our alliance is fractured, I’m still not someone they’ll turn away unless they want a war on their doorstep.

The long driveway is paved with stone and lined with manicured hedges. By the time I reach the main house, a butler or attendant—I can’t tell the difference—hurries to open the door for me.

I make my way into a foyer that’s covered top to bottom with polished marble. Thorne has always liked to parade his wealth, even when it’s built on blood and shady dealings.

A pair of double doors opens at the far end. Evan Thorne steps out, wearing a robe, a mild frown on his face that deepens when he sees me. He lifts his chin, trying to appear composed, but I know him well enough to see through the act.

“Grigor Barkov,” he greets in a stiff voice. “To what do I owe this unannounced visit at dawn?”

I don’t bother with pleasantries. I open my palm, revealing the scrap of fabric. “Familiar?”

He takes a closer look, and his jaw ticks as he eyes the crest. “Where did you get that?”

“Found it on the body of Pavel. He’s dead.”

The man’s mouth parts as I watch for a hint of guilt or surprise, and what I see is something in between. Genuine shock, or a performance? It’s hard to tell.

“Pavel? Killed?” He steps aside, gesturing for me to move into a private room. It’s lined with ornate shelves and leather-bound books, a place designed to impress visitors. The door closes behind us with a near-silent thud.

I let the silence drag for a moment. “As of a few hours ago, yes. We found him in a side alley, bullet-riddled. And this,” I hold up the fabric again, “was found at the scene.”

Thorne crosses his arms over his robe. “I’m sorry to hear about Pavel, but do you really think I’d be foolish enough to leave my family emblem at a murder scene?”

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