Page 2 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

TWO

PAVEL

“Budem zdorovy. ” Maxim raises his glass, and Roman and I follow suit. The clink echoes through the office before we knock back the ice-cold shots of vodka. It’s the proper way to handle both victories and disasters in our world.

Based on Maxim’s expression, I’m guessing this falls into the disaster category.

He called this meeting without explanation, which happens often enough when you’re running an empire like the Belov Syndicate. What started as a small Moscow street gang has grown into one of Russia’s most feared bratvas, with reach across Europe and beyond.

Maxim has led the Syndicate for over a decade, though he’s recently stepped back from the day-to-day to spend more time with his wife, Kira, and their young son.

Roman Vasiliev and I have taken up the slack—Roman handles logistics and shipping while I run counterfeits and operations. We’re the trinity that keeps this machine running.

They’re also the closest thing to family I have.

“So what exactly are we drinking to?” I ask, setting down my empty glass.

“A mistake,” Maxim says flatly, pulling a folder from his desk. “One that needs to be rectified soon.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. “Your mistake or ours?”

“Pavel’s.” Maxim slides the folder across to me. “Take a look.”

Interest piqued, I flick the folder open and—fuck. It takes my brain a second to connect the image in front of me with the memory of her.

My beautiful attacker.

A young woman stares back from the photograph. Glossy dark hair frames a face both soft and striking, with sharp cheekbones, warm brown eyes, and a sweet smile. She’s wearing a summer dress that skims over graceful curves.

I’d recognize her anywhere, but I don’t know her name.

I set the photo on the desk. “Who is she?”

“Hope King,” Maxim says, lighting a fresh cigar. “Daughter of Lai King. The woman you let escape.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I stare at the photograph, pieces falling into place. Three months ago, during an attack on her father’s villa, I thought I was sparing some terrified maid or assistant. Instead, I’d let the daughter of our most dangerous enemy walk free.

Roman leans over to study the photograph, and I fight the urge to pull it away from him.

He shakes his head in amusement. “Shit, this is her. This little thing put six stitches in your side.”

I shoot Roman a dark look, but he’s right. This young beauty is the same woman who appeared from the shadows the night we stormed her father’s Swiss hideout and buried a knife in my ribs.

And now I’m realizing she cost me a lot more than stitches.

For months, we’d been at war with her father’s triad. The Hong Kong–based Black Company controlled the international wine forgery market. It was a market worth hundreds of millions that we wanted in on.

What started as a healthy business rivalry became war when King planted a mole in our operation and began intercepting shipments. But when he orchestrated a public attack on us, nearly killing Maxim’s wife, Kira, we went after him with everything we had.

When someone leaked their location to a remote villa in the Swiss Alps, we struck fast and hard.

Lai King chose suicide over surrender, but his top lieutenants, and anyone who could rebuild the organization, were killed by us that night.

Everyone, except her.

Because I let her go.

We move silently through the halls of the villa, the fighting downstairs masking any hint of our approach.

Maxim takes point, Roman close behind, and I cover our rear as we advance toward Lai King’s office.

Everything is going according to plan. His guards are occupied, his men scattered. We have him cornered.

We clear the staircase, our footsteps barely audible over the distant violence. We’re a well-oiled machine, a brotherhood forged in fire, bonded by loyalty. Tonight, it’s Lai King who’ll learn what happens when you fuck with us.

Roman signals, and we move forward again. We’re halfway down the hallway when pain explodes through my side. It’s sharp, searing, and unexpected.

“Fuck!” The curse tears from my throat as I stumble sideways, warmth seeping through my tactical gear. My weapon is aimed at the attacker, finger on the trigger, but I freeze when I come face to face with the person who stabbed me.

It’s a woman. A young woman.

She’s trembling, dark hair spilling around her shoulders. Her eyes, wide and glassy with tears, stare at me in raw terror. The knife shakes in her grasp, but it's not the weapon that stops me. Something about her is achingly familiar, a flash of the helpless girl I couldn’t save.

For a split second, I see my sister.

The illusion breaks as I register Maxim moving beside me, his weapon aimed at her chest.

“Don’t shoot!” The command rips from my throat.

Maxim and Roman stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. So does she.

And maybe I have, but all I know is I can’t stand by and watch her die right in front of me.

Go, I mouth to her.

She stares at me for another heartbeat, confusion and panic in her gaze. Then she’s gone, racing down the darkened hallway, away from us.

Roman crouches beside me, assessing my injury. “Can you move?”

I nod, breathing heavily. My side feels like fire, a sharp contrast to the slow, warm seep of blood. “Yeah. She got me good, though.”

“You know who that was?”

“No fucking idea,” I say grimly. But I know what I saw in her eyes. It’s the same broken devastation that’s been eating me alive for years.

Roman looks up at Maxim. “Go. Get King. I’ll patch Pavel up and meet you in the office.”

As Maxim moves on, Roman pulls out a field dressing and presses it hard against the wound. “You’re fucking bleeding everywhere.”

I let my head thump back against the wall, breath hissing out through my teeth. I’m used to pain; it’s nothing new. But everything else that happened is. The hesitation. The urge to protect her. It rattles me more than being stabbed ever could.

As if he can read my thoughts, Roman tilts his head, watching me carefully. “Why did you let her go?”

I grimace but don’t let any other emotion show. “You’d rather I killed her? An innocent woman?”

Roman lets out a short laugh. “Innocent? She stabbed you.” He pulls a flask from his inner jacket, offering it to me for the pain. “It was too dark to get a good look at her, but it could’ve been Lai King’s daughter.”

“Maybe.” I take a sip, letting the burn of whiskey chase the tension in my gut. “Could have also been a maid, someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Maybe because it was the first time I chose mercy over duty.

While the wound has healed, other parts of that night remain branded in my memory. I’ve taken many lives, but she’s the first one I saved.

There’s a strange satisfaction in the fact that I didn’t add her name to my list. Maybe it proves there’s still a line I won’t cross. Although I have a sinking feeling, whatever comes next is going to test that belief.

“Hope King is a loose end.” Maxim doesn’t say the words, but his expression makes the meaning clear. “You need to finish the job.”

My collar suddenly feels too tight. I tug it and lean against the window frame. “What do we know about her?”

Maxim pulls out another file, flipping it open.

“She’s twenty years old, a first-year history and literature student at Cambridge until she went into hiding with her father.

Her mother, who was British, met Lai King at Oxford, fell in love, and moved to Hong Kong for him.

She was killed by his enemies when Hope was eight, which is when King sent her to the UK.

She was raised in elite boarding schools, occasionally visiting her father during summer holidays, but he kept her as far from the triad world as possible. ”

The thought of an eight-year-old losing her mother hits closer to home than I’d like. I push the feeling down and focus on what needs to be done.

“Smart move,” Roman observes, crossing his arms. “Keep the heir safe until she’s needed.”

“Not exactly.” Maxim’s frown deepens as he studies the file. “Our intel always pointed to Simon Lau as the successor.” Lau was King’s right-hand man, practically a son to him.

“But Simon’s dead.” Roman shrugs. He died with the rest of King’s inner circle when we attacked and then torched the place. “Which leaves Hope as next in line to the Black Company throne.”

“Throne? Are you fucking serious?” I almost laugh. “She was a university student. She studied history and books. You just said so yourself that she didn’t grow up in the triad. What does she know about running a criminal empire?”

“Maybe nothing,” Maxim admits, rolling a cigar between his fingers. “Or maybe her father prepared her for the role more than we think. Either way, we can’t afford to take a chance and find out.”

I stare at the photograph while my thumb traces the edge unconsciously. She looks so innocent, so full of life here, and now it’s my job to snuff that out.

Maxim exhales slowly, his expression softening.

He studies his cigar for a moment before speaking.

“I know she’s not our usual target, but the King name still carries weight in the triad world.

Her great-grandfather chose it deliberately back when he was pushing into Western markets because it commanded respect in any language.

Even with Lai King gone, there are still many loyal to the family.

And as his only child, if Hope ever decided to rebuild and come for us, she’d have support. ”

A bad feeling twists in my gut. “Where is she now?”

“This was taken in Madrid three weeks ago, but we’ve already lost track of her.

Her father must have warned her that we’d hunt her down, which is why she's been on the run ever since Switzerland, not staying in one place for long.” Maxim’s eyes cut to mine.

“It might take some time to track her down. Have the hackers help.”

I’ve never questioned an order from Maxim, but this feels like I’m being asked to undo the one bit of good I’ve done in this world.

“I’ll find her,” I say finally, the words scraping against my throat like broken glass.

I turn over her picture, but her face is already burned into my memory. Here, she’s beautiful, smiling, alive. Soon, if I do my job right, that will change.