Page 52 of Bratva Vow

Red velvet isn’t a dessert. Not when it’s boxed and sent to a politician’s office.

It’s a message.

Blood.

Death.

Someone’s name is about to get carved into a headstone.

And Wilson doesn’t move without me. He doesn’t breathe without me.

Which means this order didn’t come from him.

I grit my teeth, shoving my hands into my pockets before I do something that makes a scene in broad daylight. My brain already starts connecting dots.

Nikolai.

Who else would try to pull strings this way? Who else would use my girl’s bakery as a front to send out a hit?

My brother’s unhinged, ambitious, and worst of all, he’s reckless. He thinks chaos is a ladder. That fear is power. But I’ve spent years proving order is what keeps this city on its knees.

If he’s using Sienna’s name, her work, to make his move…I’m going to break him.

Arlo studies me, waiting for orders. “What do you want to do about it?”

I start walking again, slower this time, jaw locked so tight it aches. “I want eyes on Wilson. Every move, every call, every shadow he casts. If he’s being played, I want to know by whom. If he’s not…” I trail off, already thinking through contingencies.

Arlo doesn’t interrupt. He knows better.

“I want Nikolai found.”

“We need to move, Ben. He’s here for a reason.”

I know that.

He’s looking to take what’s mine. What I’ve worked at and for for years.

“Find him.”

“Find him how?”

I shoot him a cold look. “Alive.”

Because play time is over.

16

Benedikt

I’ve been staring at the same line of numbers on my desk for twenty minutes. Doesn’t matter how many times I go through the books; my head keeps circling back to this morning.

Campbell.

Sienna’s bakery.

And those fucking cupcakes.

Arlo’s out tearing through the city, trying to track down Nikolai, and until I hear from him, I’m stuck here pacing holes into the rug.