Page 28 of Bratva Baby

Aleksei’s tone cuts through the radio. “Movement on the roof. Possibly a sniper.”

Ice darts through me. The Rossis might very well be waiting for us to show. My teeth grit, but I wave Dmitri to circle around and flush out the rooftop gunner, if possible. The rest of us hold our positions.

Suddenly, headlights wash over the yard, illuminating the men by the crates. I duck behind a container, cursing the flash that killed my night vision. A black SUV rumbles into view, stopping near the warehouse door. Someone steps out. He’s wearing a dark jacket, and though I can’t see his face, my gut says this is our man.

Akim lifts his phone to snap a quick photo, no doubt hoping to match the silhouette with Davide’s known features later. Then the tall figure speaks to the two men, gesturing animatedly.

Nikolai’s voice is urgent in my earpiece. “We’ve got at least three men in the warehouse. They’re armed. I see rifles.”

Aleksei murmurs, “Sniper’s still on the roof. Dmitri can’t get close without a firefight.”

A chill seeps along my spine as I realize we’re likely outnumbered, but I refuse to retreat. “We didn’t come here for nothing,” I hiss. “We take out that sniper first, then push in. Nikolai, can you distract him?”

“On it,” Nikolai replies. A moment later, a faint pop echoes—he’s fired a suppressed shot. The sniper on the roof jerks, flailing. Then Dmitri lunges from the darkness, wrestling the weapon away. The scuffle is brief, and soon, Dmitri’s voice comes back, short and triumphant. “Rooftop clear.”

The men by the crates whirl around, realizing something’s off. One shouts an alarm, fumbling for his gun. “They know we’re here,” I announce. “Move in!”

Gunfire erupts, loud enough to pound in my skull. Maksim roars a war cry as he returns fire with calm precision. Akim sprints forward, weaving between containers. I cover him with shots barking from my pistol, forcing the two men behind the crates to duck. They unleash a volley of bullets in response that ping off metal, one ricocheting near my feet.

Aleksei calls over the comm, “The tall one is running west!”

“After him!” I command.

Akim dashes around the side, determined to intercept. The two men near the crates attempt to hold us off, but they’re outmatched. Maksim lands a shot in one, sending him staggering. The other tries to flee but runs straight into Dmitri’s line of fire.

“Two down,” Dmitri barks.

I pivot, searching for the tall figure who might be Davide. I round a corner, nearly tripping over a fallen shipping pallet, and see him sprinting for the black SUV. Akim emerges from behind a container, tackling him in a flying leap. They hit the concrete with a sickening thud.

“Got him!” Akim shouts, trying to wrestle the man into submission. But he’s strong and cunning. He twists free andsmashes his elbow into Akim’s jaw. Akim reels, giving the suspect a split second to scramble away.

“Don’t let him escape!” I shout.

Another round of gunfire blasts from somewhere behind me—maybe a hidden Rossi ally. Nikolai curses over the radio, calling for backup. I grit my teeth, ignoring the clamor and focusing on the suspect.

He leaps into the SUV and slams the door. I sprint closer despite the bullets whizzing past. The engine revs and the vehicle peels out in a squeal of tires. Without hesitation, I raise my gun and squeeze off a few rounds, but it’s no use. The SUV disappears into the shadows at the far end of the yard.

“Damn it!” I slam my fist against a shipping crate, frustration boiling over. We were so close. If that was Davide, we lost him—again.

Aleksei’s voice crackles: “We need to clear out. Sirens are inbound.”

I scan the area. The men we downed are either dead or incapacitated. One moans in pain near a forklift, clutching a bullet wound in his thigh. Maksim strides up and kicks the enemy’s gun away.

I’m stalking in their direction when something catches my eye—a phone lying near one of the fallen attackers. I pick it up. A cheap burner phone with a cracked screen. This might be something. “Dmitri! See what you can recover from this.”

He hurries over and plucks the device from my hand. “I’ll do what I can. Might help us track who they’ve been calling.”

We regroup, battered but alive, as the wail of distant sirens grows louder.

“Grab your wounded, if any,” I order. “Dmitri, handle that phone. Maksim, help me with the bodies.”

***

By the time I finally step into my home that evening, exhaustion claws at my bones. We spent hours cleaning up our tracks to ensure the cops couldn’t trace the mess back to us. Despite the near miss, the burner phone in Dmitri’s possession might yield the clue we need. The Rossis remain a step ahead, but I refuse to stay in second place.

A few guards linger near the entrance, nodding respectfully as I pass. I wave them off and head toward the living room. I find Seraphina there, perched on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her. She’s reading something, but her eyes snap up the moment I appear.

At first glance, she looks composed. Then I spot the tension in her shoulders, the way her foot taps against the cushion. She’s definitely on edge.

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