Page 65 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Nikolai enters the room with bandages and antiseptic for the driver and one of the guards with a tense jaw, while Ivan and Sergey look over the truck, supervising as the remaining product is hauled off and counted. The latter has blood staining his arm and face, but it isn’t his.
Despite my attempts to handle the situation on my own, Roman caught wind of what had happened and took it upon himself to come down personally. Of course, he’s less than enthused while he watches back footage we caught and pulled from surveillance on the outskirts of the city.
“This isn’t just bold anymore…this is fully orchestrated,” Roman utters, rubbing a hand against his chin with his brows set.
“It was too fast and clean for Maxim,” Nikolai adds, pointing to the tablet screen as he approaches. “This was coordinated.”
I stand there, lost in thought, while everything unfolds around me. It doesn’t make any sense.
“There are too many bodies,” I mumble, unable to shake the tension lingering in my limbs. “We’ve been picking off Nikolaev men for months. Questioning them, torturing them when we have to, yet none of them are talking. I know damn well Maxim doesn’t have this many men.”
I don’t have to elaborate for the others to understand what I’m insinuating.
Maxim isn’t coming back from exile. He can’t be. He must have something in his back pocket that we haven’t found yet, and it’s starting to pay off in his favor.
Roman glances at me. “You think someone’s helping him?”
“It’s possible. Where else could he be finding numbers like these?” I question, glancing between them. “He may not be causing full devastation yet, but he isn’t exactly striking out either. He’s building momentum.”
“And we don’t know what for,” Roman adds, handing the tablet over to Nikolai. “I want to call him an idiot, but he’s doing more than I expected of him.”
Nikolai tucks the tablet under his arm and glances at the truck. “These last few attacks weren’t just sabotage. They pulled some of our product, and they were aiming to make our guys bleed. Maxim is trying to send a message.”
“And we need to answer before he starts getting ideas,” Roman utters, impatience rising. He looks in my direction. “You said you’d handle it, but this doesn’t look like control to me.”
My chest tightens, and a touch of irritation moves through me. My pride takes a hit.
I’ve always been my brother’s right hand, and knowing I’m not living up to expectations always feels like a fatal blow.
“I know…I’ve been trying to gather as much intel as I can, but the hostages aren’t talking. I need leverage, and I need more to work with.”
“What you need is to contain this shit before it spreads,” Roman says pointedly, not at all pulling his punches. “You’vebeen distracted, and we all know why. It’s reached a point where we can’t risk any more damage. I need you sharp, Mikhail. Don’t let this undo everything.”
I know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
The timing of everything lately hasn’t been ideal, and trying to handle Maxim’s shit while keeping everything at home under control has my mind full.
I’m torn between making Lily and Roman happy, and it’s getting harder to carry on my shoulders.
Regardless, I need to. I can’t fumble.
Roman looks at me for a moment longer, then he sighs. “I haven’t been the biggest help lately due to the baby, but until the situation clears up, I’ll check in more often. We’ll do whatever it takes to get things back on track.”
Even if it feels like defeat, needing Roman to come back in, I can’t do anything but nod. At the very least, it won’t be only my responsibility.
Still, Maxim needs to fall, and I’m just as determined to have a hand in it myself.
***
Walking through the front door, the weight of the day pulls my shoulders down, and while I want to shake it, I can’t.
Not bothering to take my jacket off, I toss my keys onto the tray at the front and undo a few buttons on my shirt, hoping to release some of the tension from my neck. But, of course, it doesn’t do much.
Lily is just leaving the kitchen with a cup of tea in one hand while the other holds a medical book of some sort. An oversized sweater hangs from her frame, making her look comfortable and at ease.
For a moment, I wish I could feel that way, too. I wish I could be completely enveloped in that softness and forget about everything else.
But I can’t. Not while Roman’s words echo in my mind.
