Page 49 of Bratva Baby

A harsh laugh bursts from my throat. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying us and killing Pavel?”

He pales, but a hint of desperation shows in his eyes. “I’m valuable! I know Thorne’s next moves. He’s planning a major strike to destabilize your empire. All I want is safe passage out of the city once I help you stop him.”

I circle the table, towering over him. “You want to help me kill your partner in betrayal?”

Fyodor bobs his head. “Yes. He’s crossing the line, Boss. If he topples your family, he’ll eliminate me too once I outlive my usefulness. This is the only chance I have left.”

Rage coils in my gut, but a sliver of strategic thinking edges in. If he truly has inside knowledge, it could be crucial. But can I trust him? He’s a coward, a turncoat. The kind of rat who will say anything to save his skin.

His gaze flits to the door. “So, do we have a deal?”

For a moment, I pretend to consider. Then I snatch his collar and haul him to his feet. The table screeches against the floor, toppling the empty sugar jar and a chipped mug. He yelps as I shove him face-first into the wooden surface.

“G-Grigor!” he sputters, coughing against the splintered tabletop.

“You want a deal after betraying my family?” My voice reverberates off the walls. “I’ll show you how I negotiate with traitors.”

He thrashes, but I tighten my hold, twisting his arm behind his back. A strangled cry rips from his throat. “Stop!”

“Did Pavel cry out like this when you set him up?” I growl, pulling him upright by his hair. “Did you relish the payoff while he bled out in that alley?”

He trembles, and his eyes bulge with fear. “I… I was just following orders from Thorne. He’s the real mastermind. You have to believe me!”

I drag him toward the door, ignoring his frantic pleas. Outside, my men stand guard by the car. I thrust Fyodor at twoof them, who grab him by the arms. “Get him in the trunk. We’re taking him to the warehouse.”

One of my men nods, and Fyodor’s protests turn into screams as they shove him into the trunk and slam it shut. I slip into the driver’s seat of my own car with adrenaline scorching through me. If he thinks I’m going to let him slither away with a simple confession, he’s dead wrong.

In about thirty minutes, we arrive at a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The overhead lamp gives off just enough glow to see the row of metal tools along one wall. My men drag Fyodor to a steel chair in the center of the space. He fights back, but his battered body can’t match their strength.

I watch impassively as they bind his wrists and ankles with zip ties. He pants, trying to catch his breath. Blood drips from a cut on his lip.

“Stand back,” I tell my men. “This part is mine.”

They nod and retreat to the edges of the room. Fyodor’s eyes dart around as his panic mounts. “Boss, please. Let’s talk. We can handle this civilly.”

“Civilly?” I echo. “You put a bullet in Pavel, or arranged it. Then you sold out your entire Bratva family to Thorne for pocket change. Now you want civility?”

His face pales. “I made mistakes, but I can fix them. I can give you everything on Thorne’s next move. We can stop him together, show the Irish who’s boss.”

“You think I need you to show me anything?” I crouch down, staring into his face. “You said you have direct knowledge of Evan’s involvement. Start talking. The more you give me, the longer you live.”

“He… He’s planning to strike at your distribution centers. The Irish want a foothold in your territory. Evan’s providing them inside intel, resources, plus a scapegoat—your family. They’re forging evidence that you’re behind a series of hits on local politicians, stirring up a war in the city. Once the authorities zero in on you, the Irish swoop in to pick up the pieces.”

Dread pulses in my chest, but I bury it. “How do you fit into this?”

“I was the messenger,” he stammers. “I relayed info from your men, your schedules, your expansions. They used that to sabotage deals, frame certain actions. Evan wants you out of the picture, permanently. He’s always hated the Barkovs—you, Aleksei, all of you—for the way you treated him. Said you never showed him respect.”

My mind races, recalling how we used to deal with Thorne. We cut ties for a reason, but I never thought the resentment ran so deep. “He wants revenge. Is that it?”

Fyodor nods vigorously. “He believes you overshadowed his ambitions and took resources he felt belonged to him. The debt to the Irish is just one part. He’s colluding with them for personal vendettas, too. He’s certain he can destroy you from within.”

Evan Thorne, once a reluctant ally, devolved into a bitter enemy out for blood. My entire family stands in his crosshairs. “And you willingly joined him?”

He grits his teeth, and tears form in his eyes. “I was desperate. Tired of being treated like dirt.”

“Pavel never treated you like dirt,” I remind him. “He welcomed you. We all did, to a point. But your greed took precedence.”

He lowers his head. “I know. I’m sorry, Boss.”

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