Page 11 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)

The main floor of the warehouse feels tropical compared to the pit, but the cold has followed me, settling into my bones like a parasite.

I walk through the space, my footsteps echoing off concrete and steel.

This building has served many purposes over the years.

Storage, a meeting place, and an interrogation center.

Soon, it will serve as a launching pad for the final phase of my enemies’ downfall.

Bianca and Bennato will come to that construction site expecting leverage. They'll arrive thinking they've won, that Sergey has delivered me to them on a silver platter. They'll expect to find a weakened pakhan ready to negotiate surrender. What they'll find are their graves.

The plans form with mechanical focus in my mind, each detail clicking into place like parts of a well-oiled machine.

Security teams positioned at key elevations, providing overlapping fields of fire.

Snipers on the neighboring buildings, insurance against any escape attempts.

Explosives rigged to the south support beam, where Bennato will likely position his backup.

The man is predictable in his paranoia, always keeping reinforcements on hand.

A false ledger of blackmail documents, hidden in the construction trailer, will serve as bait for Bianca.

She had always had a weakness for secrets that could be leveraged for power or profit.

The documents will be convincing enough to draw her in, detailed enough to make her believe she's found the keys to my kingdom.

I think of Elena. Of her hand pressed to her stomach, protective and fragile.

Of the fear in her eyes when I told her the truth about Sergey and revealed how deep the betrayal ran.

She's carrying our child, our future, and I won't let these parasites threaten that.

I won't let them poison what we're building together.

This is no longer about territory, honor, or the traditional rules of engagement between rival families. It's about ending the threat before it metastasizes and spreads to infect everything I hold dear. Before it reaches her again.

The warehouse office is sparse but functional.

Maps of Miami cover one wall, marked with territories, safehouses, and points of strategic importance.

Another wall displays photographs of key players in the city's underworld, connected by a red string like a spider's web of corruption and violence.

Bennato's face stares back at me from the center of it all, his cold gray eyes promising death to anyone who opposes him.

Every contingency has been accounted for, and every variable is considered. But seeing his face and hearing his confession, knowing that he was willing to trade everything for a woman who never loved him...it changes the equation.

I pour myself three fingers of vodka from the bottle I keep in the desk drawer. The liquid burns as it goes down, but it's a familiar, comforting pain that reminds me I'm still alive. Still capable of feeling something other than cold calculation.

The phone rings. Roman's voice comes through clear and steady. “He's ready to make the call.”

“Put him through,” I order.

There's a moment of silence, then Sergey's voice, clear and steady. No trace of the broken man from the pit. “Francesco? It's Sergey. I have what you've been waiting for.”

I can't hear Bennato's response, but I can imagine his excitement. The Italian believes he has finally achieved what he has been working toward for years. He thinks he's about to claim Miami as his personal kingdom.

“Tomorrow night. The construction site on Biscayne. Renat will be there alone, ready to discuss terms. Bring whatever backup you think you need but keep it small. He's proud. He won't negotiate if he feels outnumbered.”

More silence. Then Sergey continues, his voice carrying just the right note of urgency. “Bianca should come too. There are documents...financial records that could be useful. She'll know what to do with them.”

The call ends, and the trap is set.

I finish the vodka, feeling it settle warmly in my stomach. Tomorrow night, this ends. One way or another, the threats to my family disappear permanently. Bennato, Bianca, and anyone else who stands with them will learn what happens when you threaten what belongs to Renat Rostov.

The next time I see Bennato and Bianca, it will be the last. They'll arrive at that construction site expecting to dance on the grave of my empire. Instead, I’ll put a bullet between their eyes.

And Sergey, whether he dies beside them or crawls away from the fire, will know what it means to lose everything. Not just power, money, or territory. But legacy. The chance to be remembered as anything other than a traitor who sold his soul for a woman's smile.

And me? I'll be the one who watches the light fade from their eyes. The one who ensures that my child grows up in a world where these particular monsters can never reach them.

No hesitation. No regret. Just silence.

I think of Elena waiting for me at home, probably reading or writing, her hand absently resting on the small swell of her belly.

She doesn't know that her future is being decided in blood and fire on a construction site across the city.

She doesn't need to know. Some darkness is mine alone to embrace.

Tomorrow night, I’ll become the monster they always whispered I was. But I do it for love. For family. For the small, perfect life growing inside the woman who taught me that there was more to existence than power and fear.

The irony isn't lost on me. To protect the light, I must become the darkness. To preserve what's pure, I must embrace what's corrupt. To save my soul, I must damn it.

But that's tomorrow's burden. Tonight, I go home to Elena. Tonight, I hold her and pretend that tomorrow doesn't exist. Tonight, I remember what it feels like to be a human instead of a predator.

Tomorrow, I will hunt.