Page 59 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
Maxim is the first to speak. “We traced the breach. It wasn’t an external hack, Boss. It was someone from inside your own command.”
The confirmation of what I already know feels like a knife between my ribs, but I don’t flinch. “We already knew that. The question is, who did this?”
Maxim purses his lips. “We don’t know yet. But the bounty went live three days before the attack.”
“Bounty?” I echo, already knowing I won’t like the answer.
Maxim nods. “Yes. There’s a bounty on Violet’s head. Placed by a rival Bratva. Big one. Could be the Orlovs, maybe the Pavlenkos. They’re keeping it anonymous, but the numbers aren’t quiet.”
“How much?”
Arina flicks their wrist, and a projection lights up from their tablet—the grainy dark web post, the blurred photo of Violet outside a club.
“Two million dead,” Arina says flatly. “Four alive.”
My vision narrows. I cross the room in three strides and look at the image—Violet’s face, circled in red like she’s prey. My stomach clenches, my rage boiling.
“She’s a fucking target,” I mutter. “Someone made her a prize.”
Maxim nods. “And whoever did it had access. They knew where she’d be. They knew the house’s weak points.”
“Could be anyone,” he adds after a beat, eyes flicking sideways. “Even Arina.”
Arina scoffs. “Maybe first check the men who think with their dicks instead of their heads.”
Maxim steps forward, but I hold up a hand.
“Enough.” My voice is calm. Dangerous.
“I don’t care if it’s a brother or a fucking blood bond. If someone in this house betrayed me, I’ll burn them alive. I will not let anything happen to her. Not now. Not ever.”
They’re both quiet.
I look between them. “So stop this pissing contest and do your fucking jobs. Dig deeper. Ask the right questions. Threaten whoever you have to. We don’t eat, we don’t sleep, until we find out who sold Violet out.”
They nod, stiff and silent.
“She’s not just a guest anymore,” I say. “She’s mine. And if someone is hunting her, they’re declaring war on me.”
Maxim hesitates, and I catch it.
“What is it?” I ask, low and sharp.
He exchanges a quick glance with Arina. “I might have an idea who it could be.”
I stalk toward him. “Then fucking say it.”
“I can’t be sure,” Maxim replies tightly. “I want to lay a trap first. Let them think they’re safe and slip up. If we rush it—”
“I don’t care about guesses or maybes!” I roar, slamming my palm against the desk. “You want to lay a trap? While they make another move? While she gets hurt?”
The room is silent except for my ragged breathing.
“I want names,” I spit. “I want blood. Not theory.”
I turn to storm out, but Arina’s voice stops me cold.
“We should move Violet,” they say. “Get her out of the house. Into one of our holding facilities. Somewhere off-grid.”
