Page 80 of Used Bratva Bride

I don’t remember rising from my chair, but I’m suddenly on my feet, pacing the length of the office. Ivan watches me carefully, but he doesn’t speak.

Smart man.

Vasily clears his throat. “Boss… what do you want to do?”

I let the question hang in the air for a moment, rolling my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension coiling through my body. Then I turn, my voice ice. “Find Uncle Denis. Now.”

A chill spreads through the room at my command. Ivan nods, already pulling out his phone. “We’ll locate him within the hour.”

Vasily moves toward the door, but I stop him with a glance.

“Not just find him,” I explain, my voice is low, dark. “Bring him to me. Alive.”

Vasily hesitates only a second before nodding. “Understood.”

The moment the door shuts behind them, I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingers to my temples.

Denis. That bastard.

The betrayal isn’t just personal—it’s a crack in the very foundation of what we stand for. The Bratva is built on loyalty, on brotherhood. If that fractures, if men start turning on each other, then we become no different from the filth we crush under our boots.

I will not allow that to happen.

I grab my glass of whiskey and take a slow sip, but the burn does nothing to soothe the fury inside me.

This isn’t just about revenge. It’s about correction. Denis is about to learn what happens to those who betray me.

I sit in my chair, staring at the scattered evidence on my desk, my fingers drumming absently against the polished wood. The rage in my chest is a slow burn, simmering just beneath the surface, coiling tighter with every second.

Denis. The name alone is enough to send a pulse of fury through my veins.

I allowed him near Julie.

I picture them speaking at the gathering, Denis with that smug grin, his easy banter, the way he appraised her like she was some kind of curiosity. The memory now turns my stomach. That man—who stood in my home, drank my vodka, laughed at my expense—was the same man who put a bullet in Valeri’s head.

How the fuck did I not see it?

I lean forward, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to push back the anger enough to think clearly. This isn’t just about Denis. It’s about me.

I should have known.

I have built an empire on knowing people’s intentions before they even think them. I can read a man’s eyes and tell if he’s lying, sense a shift in a room before a single word is spoken.Yet, I let this snake slither around me, let him move freely in the same space as my wife.

The thought sends another surge of fury through me, one so sharp my vision darkens at the edges.

I don’t feel like this often—this specific brand of rage. Not since my father.

Not since the day I watched him kneel before the Bratva, his fate sealed by his own treachery, his execution a lesson to every man in that room. I had taken over after him, forced to clean up his sins, to carve out my own legacy in the blood-soaked shadows of his betrayal.

I promised myself I’d never let something like that happen again.

A sharp knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t look up when Ivan steps inside, but I can feel his presence, his usual ease laced with quiet tension.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, crossing the room.

I huff out a breath, shaking my head. “How do you think?”

Ivan exhales through his nose, moving to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink without asking. That’s how I know he understands.

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