Page 6

6

OLEKSI

Five fucking days.

That’s how long it’s been since they ripped Sabrina out of my life. Since they shoved a knife into my gut and twisted it, leaving me pacing the kitchen of the Morozov farmhouse like a caged fucking animal. Five days of dead ends. Five days of breathing without her.

The floorboards creak under my boots as I turn again, barely noticing Lev sitting at the worn oak table, bouncing Elena on his knee. She’s laughing, a sweet, high-pitched sound that cuts through the thick, choking tension in the room. Her chubby fists grab at the air as Lev makes faces at her, pretending everything is fine.

It’s not fine.

Nothing is fucking fine.

Across the kitchen, Clyde, Syd, and Ivan huddle over the table, a mess of papers, maps, and burner phones spread out like a goddamn post-mortem. Every lead we’ve chased has turned into a brick wall or an ambush. Every contact has gone dark or lied to us. Every minute without Sabrina feels like someone is peeling the skin from my bones.

The only thing we’ve learned? The real reason they took her.

Sabrina’s not just some Vegas showgirl who stumbled into Bratva territory. She’s the granddaughter of Anya Novikov and General Timofey Morozov — two of the most brilliant, dangerous minds Russia ever produced. Her bloodline alone is enough to make her a fucking national asset, a prize worth bleeding for.

But who they really want is Carla. Or should I say Mariya—Sabrina’s mother! She wasn’t just some controlling dancer who liked the high life in Vegas. Carla was a goddamn geneticist working for the RMSAD. That was before she and her late husband, Sol, or rather Leonid Zorin, fled from Russia carrying secrets the Russian government would have killed to protect. They are defectors, and now Sabrina is the bait to lure Carla back to the RMSAD.

Sabrina… My heart jolts, and my eyes fly to Elena, so happy and without a care or a clue about what is going on around her.

I run a hand through my hair, yanking at the strands until my scalp burns. There is so much at stake for the three of us. My eyes dart around the room, glancing over my team. None of them knows that Elena is not Sabrina’s daughter, but the daughter of Gavriil and Tara. None of them knows about the baby growing inside Sabrina right now, so tiny, so vulnerable. I know I should tell them, but something is holding me back.

My stomach knots violently. I have to find her. I have to bring Sabrina home to me, no matter the cost.

I cross the room in three long strides and wrench open the back door, letting the icy air slam into me like a punch to the chest. I stand there, breathing hard, trying to pull the rage and helplessness back under control before I break something I can’t fix.

That’s when I hear the sharp clip of heels on the wood floor behind me.

I turn to find my aunt, Galina, storming toward me, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing with the kind of fury I’ve only ever seen when I was a kid and got caught stealing my father’s cigars.

Without a word, she shoves a thick envelope into my chest.

“This just came from Moscow,” she snaps. “From the acting Dragunov elder.”

I tear it open with fingers still stiff from the cold, my eyes scanning the heavy parchment. It’s written in formal Russian — the kind you use when you’re about to slap someone across the face with a velvet glove.

We are displeased.

Your disrespect toward the Dragunov legacy is an insult to our ancestors.

You have been in Russia for a month and haven’t paid your respects.

You have not mourned Vasily Dragunov.

You have not honored Irina Mirochin.

You are summoned to Dragunov Village to discuss the future and re-cement our alliance.

My stomach drops. I glance up sharply. “Vasily’s dead?”

Galina nods grimly. “A year ago. I just found out myself that he died of heart failure.”

I blink, processing that. Vasily Dragunov wasn’t just an elder; he was a living relic of the old ways. The man who kept the Dragunov Village fiercely loyal to the Mirochin name even after my family nearly destroyed them,

“And who the fuck is this...” I skim the letter again. “Agafon? I don’t remember Vasily having a grandson.”

“He didn’t,” Galina says tightly. “Agafon’s his nephew. Standing in as the elder until Ruslan comes back.”

“Ruslan?” The name itches at the back of my mind. “Irina’s older brother?”

“Yes.” My aunt nods. “Vasily’s eldest grandson.”

“Didn’t he disappear years ago?” My brow furrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him. He wasn’t even at Gavriil and Irina’s wedding.”

“He was studying,” my aunt informs me. “He didn’t disappear, he’s some hotshot Moscow attorney.”

“Figures!” I snort. “Where is he then?” I look at Galina. “Why are we being summoned by the stand-in elder?”

Galina shrugs. “That is exactly what I asked when I called to tell them I would go to the village on your behalf as you’re attending to urgent business.”

“Ah!” I nod. “That’s why you’re so angry. This Agafon pissed you off?”

“You have no idea! That little snot is only thirty-five, and he had the gall to speak to me like he did. I think the Dragunovs are starting to step out of line, twisting who answers to whom!” Her chin rises and eyes narrow to angry slits. “They need to be reminded who is in the seat of power in the dynamic.”

My brows shoot up. “Wow, this stand-in elder really pissed you off.”

“He talks about disrespect…” She seethes. “He disrespected me. I had no idea Vasily had passed away, no one told us, and it was not long after his death that Gavriil…” Her voice catches, and her eyes tear up. “That we lost your brother and his wife.”

“His wife, Irina, Vasily’s oldest granddaughter, whose marriage to Gavriil cemented the alliance,” I remind her. “They lost her too, and not long after their beloved Vasily, it seems.”

“That is no excuse to speak to me the way he did,” Galina pressed. “And the Dragunov’s never sent their respects over Gavriil.”

“No, they did not,” I agree. Instead, they sent Irina’s twin brothers to hunt down Tara Craft. But I don’t say anything to my aunt. She’s pissed off enough.

“I hope they’re not expecting me to kiss their asses to have this alliance reconfirmed,” I warn her. “Because now that I know this interim elder was disrespectful to you…”

“No, Oleksi, you need to be diplomatic here.” My aunt’s anger starts to melt. “We have to remember that the village is a strategic part of our operations for Russia and Europe. If they turn on us, the ports are lost. Dragunov Village controls a huge chunk of the southern coast’s black market trade. While they might be a small village, every other port near them is loyal to them and tends to follow their lead.”

“I know!” I say through gritted teeth. “That’s why grandfather always gave them so much leeway.”

“As much as I would like to punch that snotty interim elder in his face, we can’t afford to lose them,” she reminds me.

I scowl, every instinct screaming that now is not the fucking time for politics. Sabrina is out there somewhere, terrified, alone, carrying our child, and they want me to go bow and scrape to a bunch of villagers with wounded pride?

We’ll take the village back if they break their alliance, by force if we have to. I’m about to tell her exactly where they can shove their summons, when Clyde’s burner phone lights up across the kitchen.

He snatches it up, barking a terse, “Da?”

A beat of silence. Then Clyde’s face goes hard.

He looks at me across the room, nodding once. “We’ve got movement. They’re moving Sabrina.”

My heart stops.

“Where?” I bark, already striding across the kitchen.

“Another RMSAD site that’s deeper south.” Clyde rattles off the coordinates. “Timofey’s men have a team ready to move. But we have to go now.”

I’m already reaching for my jacket when Galina’s voice cuts like a whip through the room.

“Oleksi, stop.”

I freeze, turning slowly to face her.

“How many times have you chased leads that turned into dead ends? How many ambushes have there been?” she demands. “This could very well be another one of those.” She gives me a small smile. “You know it’s true.”

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw creaks. “What the fuck do you expect me to do? Sit here while they tear Sabrina apart?” My anger and frustration rattles through my voice. “Or go pretend to be diplomatic and tell that fucking interim Dragunov elder what he wants to hear so they don’t go to war on us?”

“I expect you to think and act like the Pakhan of a powerful Bratva,” she snaps back, her eyes flicking to my team. “Let Clyde, Syd, and Ivan take a team of Timofey’s men to follow this lead. You go to Dragunov Village to re-cement the alliance and secure our flank.”

My fists clench uselessly at my sides. I know my aunt right. Duty to the Mirochin bratva always comes first.

“Did Agofuck hint at what they were wanting to cement the new alliance with?” I bite out. My skin is crawling as I already know the answer to my question.

Galina’s face darkens. “They want a marriage alliance between the Dragunov line and Mirochins.”

“Of course they do!” The words hit like a slap. “So they are going to offer up the last of Vasily’s granddaughters—Irina’s twin sister, Nadia!”

“Yes.” My aunt gives a curt nod, watching me intently.

I remember Nadia vaguely — Irina’s twin sister. She was shy, always quiet—a ghost in the shadows of the village. Even at her sister’s wedding, she tried to stay in the background.

The bile rises in my throat. Not because the woman is an ogre or anything like that. Nadia is far from it. Like her sister, Nadia has an ethereal beauty about her. But there is no way in fucking hell I’m marrying anyone other than Sabrina. The woman who is carrying my child and I may as well admit to myself, my heart!

Not a fucking chance in hell am I going to consent to that marriage. We’ll just have to come up with another ironclad agreement. I raise my eyebrows—like I’ve thought before, we could always just take the village by force. I’ve always wondered why the fuck my grandfather hadn’t just done that already.

We have an trained bratva army at our disposal, they’re a group of fishermen who as far as I can tell aren’t military trained, which showed when my uncle Dmitri (my aunt and father’s younger brother), during his reign of terror days, stormed the village and nearly wiped them all out.

“Oleksi!” Syd’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “We have to go now. What are your orders?”

“You, Clyde, and Ivan, take Timofey’s helicopter and men to go and check out the lead,” I bark out the order. “But don’t, I repeat, don’t do anything foolish. This is an intel gathering mission until I say it’s not. If Sabrina is there, hold our position and contact me right away. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“What about me, boss?” Lev asks, standing and positioning Elena, who has taken to Lev and thinks he’s here solely to play with her. He puts her on his hip as if he’s been doing it his whole life.

“You will stay here and take care of Elena,” I tell him.

“Of course,” Lev nods. I know he wants to get in on the action and find Sabrina as much as we do. But I need him here, not just to watch over Elena, but to be my eyes and ears while I’m gone.

“So you’re going to Dragunov Village?” My aunt looks at me.

“Like you said, I have no choice,” I reply.

As my team files out, Nikolas saunters in, carrying a file and dressed like he is heading out.

“Going somewhere?” I ask, looking from him to my aunt.

“I’m coming with you,” he says simply. “If it’s an ambush, you’ll need backup. You may just need backup to stop you from killing that fucker that was so rude to your aunt.”

“Oh, darling, then you’re not the right man.” Galina laughs and kisses Nikolas on the lips before taking the documents from Nikolas and turning back to me. “You’re going to need these.”

Curious, I take them and then freeze when I see what they are—the proposed marriage contract I had drawn up about five weeks ago in case the Dragunovs started to get restless now that Irina was dead.

“Fuck that!” I say, shoving the documents back at her. “This is no longer an option.”

“Like you having to go to the village, you have no choice, Oleksi,” my aunt points out. “It’s the sacrifice we make for who we are.”

“Again, fuck that!” I spit and spin away from her, fury blending with my frustration and boiling together into something ugly and feral. “I may have to go to that fucking village but I don’t care if I have to do a hostile take over of that pissant village to secure that port—I’m not marrying a Dragunov—I don’t care how beautiful she is.”

That would mean my child would be born a bastard, and no way in hell I will do that to them or Sabrina.

As I storm out toward the SUV I notice my aunt or Nikolas already has waiting, I start to brace myself to prepare for war against a tiny fucking little village that has such a significant impact on our business.