Page 71 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

The confrontation is brief and brutal. Volkov moves with a speed that belies his bulk, and Sofia—for all her spirit—is no match for him physically. I watch in horror as he overpowers her defense and attack strategies, her limp form cradled almost gently in his arms as he carries her away.

"Track that vehicle!" I roar, pointing at the black SUV that pulls up moments later. "I want satellite imagery, traffic cam footage, anything! We are not losing them!"

Yuri nods curtly, barking out orders to the tech team as they scramble to bring up satellite feeds and enhance the grainy images of Volkov's vehicle.

As for me? I can’t think straight. My mind races with scenarios of what Alexei could do to Sofia. The fear clenches at my gut, a cold dread that sucks the life out of me.

In this moment, I know that life would cease to exist without her. In such a short time, she’s already become my world. My family.

She’s the woman I love, god damn it.

"She's strong, Vlad," Denis says quietly beside me, a hand resting on my shoulder in a rare show of brotherly comfort.

My jaw tenses as I watch the screen, willing Sofia to be okay. "She shouldn't have been there in the first place. Damn it, she's too impulsive."

Rage burns hot in my veins—at Volkov for daring to touch her, at Sofia for her reckless bravery. But beneath it all, fear coils like a cold snake around my heart.

"Damn it, Sofia," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Why couldn't you just stay put?"

Denis squeezes my shoulder and Mark comes and stands next to us in solidarity.

Mark catches my eye, his expression grim. "Brother, we'll find her. Sofia's tough."

I nod, trying to draw strength from his words. "She is. But she's also in over her head."

My hand moves instinctively to my phone. “I should call Abram, get the full weight of the Bratva behind this. Ivan, Mikhail, Sergei—they have resources that beat ours,” I tell my brothers.

My finger hovers over the screen, but something in Denis and Mark’s expression holds me back.

"Vlad," Mark's voice cuts through my indecision. He steps forward with Denis at his side. "Let us handle this. We've got contacts, skills—we can track them down faster than any official channels."

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. Can I really entrust Sofia's safety to these two? My instinct to protect her wars with the memory of her icy glares and her stubborn insistence on proving herself.

I think of how hard she fought to be deemed worthy, and how she surpassed even the best of the best. Now, my brothers stand where she once did.

It’s a strange turn of events. How Sofia, even when gone, is turning me to be a better man.

I eye them warily. "You're sure about this?"

Denis nods firmly. "We're your best shot at getting to Sofia quickly and quietly. Trust us."

"Alright," I say, pocketing my phone. "Let’s hear it."

Denis steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence I've never fully appreciated before. "We start with Volkov's known associates. I've got a contact in the port authority who owes me a favor. If Volkov's trying to move Sofia out of the city, we'll know and block those routes."

Mark nods, already pulling out his phone. "I'll activate our network of street informants. Someone will have seen something through the CCTV blind spots, and for the right price, they'll talk."

I listen, impressed despite myself. Their plan is methodical, leveraging connections I didn't even know they had. As they continue, outlining backup strategies and contingencies, I feel a grudging respect growing.

"And if we locate them?" I interject, needing to hear the endgame.

Denis's smile is cold. "Then we go in hard and fast. I've got a personal team on standby I’ve been experimenting with—ex-military, very discreet. We’ll make sure Volkov pays.”

I nod slowly, picturing Sofia's face—how afraid she must be, how brave a front she must be putting on. "Get your guys on it. We move in fifteen minutes."

***

The tent buzzes with activity as our men spring into action. Denis hunches over a laptop, fingers flying acrossthe keyboard as he taps into the street surveillance network. Mark barks orders into his phone, coordinating with his street contacts. I pace the length of the tent, overseeing it all, my mind racing.

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