Page 7 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)

My fingers twitch involuntarily, muscle memory from years of violence threatening to take over rational thought.

I set the glass down with deliberate care, the soft clink of crystal against wood the only sound in the room.

The silence wraps around me like a shroud, heavy with the burden of decisions that must be made.

“Send word to Roman,” I murmur, my voice low but carrying absolute authority. “I want Sergey confined to quarters. Tell him it's a precaution, a procedural lockdown following the dock incident. Make it sound routine.”

Viktor stiffens slightly, his analytical mind already racing ahead to the implications. “You're not confronting him directly?”

“Not yet.” I meet his eyes, letting him see the cold calculation behind my decision.

“He's more valuable to me loose right now.

Let him believe I'm still blind to his betrayal.

He'll lead us to Bennato, to the rest of Bianca's network, and to anyone else who's been feeding information to our enemies. And when he does...”

“When he does?” Viktor presses, though I suspect he already knows the answer.

“I gut them all.”

The words fill the room like a death sentence, which is exactly what they are.

Viktor closes the folder with deliberate care, the sound of paper against paper grating my nerves. His eyes meet mine, and I see my own cold fury reflected there. He understands what this discovery means, not just for our organization but for the personal betrayal it represents.

“How long do you think this has been going on?” he asks.

I consider the question, running through the timeline of suspicious incidents over the past months.

Small things that seemed insignificant at the time now take on new meanings.

Missed meetings, delayed responses to urgent communications, and subtle changes in Sergey's behavior that I attributed to stress rather than guilt.

“Months,” I reply. “Since before Elena and I became involved. This level of coordination, the financial infrastructure they've built...this isn't something that happens overnight.”

How many operations have been compromised? How many of my people have died because Sergey fed information to our enemies? The dock was just a test, but there have been other incidents and other close calls that suddenly make sense in this new context.

“We need to audit everything,” Viktor continues, his analytical mind already racing ahead to damage control. “Every operation Sergey had access to, every piece of intelligence he could have shared, every vulnerability he might have exposed.”

“Do it,” I command. “But quietly. I don't want anyone else to know what we've discovered, not yet. As far as the organization is concerned, we're conducting routine security reviews following the dock incident.”

Viktor nods, understanding the delicate balance required. Too much scrutiny too quickly would alert others that we've discovered the betrayal. Better to let Sergey continue believing he's safe while we map out the full extent of the damage.

“What about the other lieutenants?” he asks. “Nikolai, Pavel, the others who work closely with Sergey. Do we suspect any of them?”

It's a question I've been dreading but can't avoid.

Trust, once broken, spreads like poison through an organization.

If Sergey could betray me after years of loyalty, who else might be compromised?

Paranoia threatens to consume me and turn me into the type of leader who sees enemies in every shadow.

“We watch them all,” I decide. “But carefully. I won't destroy good men based on suspicion alone. We need proof before we act.”

The conversation continues for another hour, covering operational security, communication protocols, and the dozen other details that must be managed when purging an organization of betrayal.

By the time Viktor leaves, we have the framework of a plan that will either save my empire or tear it apart in the process of trying.

Alone again, I pour another vodka and walk to the wall of windows that overlooks the Miami skyline.

The city sparkles below me like scattered jewels, each light representing lives that go on oblivious to the war being fought in the shadows.

Somewhere out there, Bennato is planning his next move, confident that his inside information gives him an unbeatable advantage. He's about to learn how wrong he is.

The hours pass slowly as I refine my strategy, considering every angle and every possible complication.

The art of warfare has always fascinated me, particularly the psychological aspects that separate true victory from mere tactical success.

It's not enough to simply eliminate Sergey and Bianca.

I need to use their betrayal against them, making them instruments of their own destruction.

My father taught me that revenge is a dish best served cold, but he never explained the patience required to achieve that temperature.

The waiting, the careful observation, the restraint needed to let enemies reveal themselves completely before striking.

It goes against every instinct for immediate action, every desire to confront betrayal with overwhelming force.

But I am not my father, and the world has changed since his time. Modern warfare requires subtlety, precision, and the ability to destroy an enemy so completely that they become an example to others who might consider similar betrayal.

I go to the surveillance control room, the technological heart of my security operation.

Banks of monitors display feeds from every corner of my territory.

This digital nervous system keeps me connected to everything under my control.

The room hums quietly with the buzz of advanced electronics, servers processing terabytes of data, and artificial intelligence algorithms analyzing patterns that human observers might miss.

This is where I built my advantage over the old-school bosses who still rely on intimidation and brute force. Information is the true currency of power in the modern world, and I've invested heavily in systems that give me eyes and ears throughout Miami.

I give one nod to the tech on duty, a young man whose loyalty was bought with generous compensation and maintained through the understanding that betrayal would result in consequences too terrible to contemplate.

He doesn't ask questions about why I'm here so late or what I'm looking for.

He just pulls up the live feed from Sergey's quarters.

The monitor flickers to life, revealing Sergey's private apartment within the main compound.

The space reflects his personality: functional furniture, minimal decoration, everything organized with rigid discipline.

But tonight, the usual order has been disrupted by the chaos of a man under pressure.

Sergey is pacing like a man on the edge, his usual composed demeanor cracking under the stress of recent events.

His broad shoulders move with agitated energy, muscles tensed as if preparing for violence.

He looks angry and unsettled, dangerous in the way of men who feel their carefully laid plans beginning to unravel.

I've seen Sergey in combat situations and watched him face down armed enemies without flinching. But this is different. This is the anxiety of a man who knows he's exposed, who understands that discovery means not just death, but the particular torture reserved for traitors.

His hands gesture sharply as he moves, conducting an invisible orchestra of frustration and rage.

Occasionally, he stops at the window, staring out into the darkness as if expecting to see enemies approaching.

The paranoia is beginning to eat at him, which means my psychological warfare is working exactly as intended.

A call comes through on the burner phone in his hand, the device appearing small and fragile in his large grip.

The sudden ring breaks the paralyzing quiet of his apartment, and I watch his entire body language change.

The tension becomes anticipation, and anxiety transforms into something approaching hunger.

I lean closer to the screen, my pulse quickening. It's Bianca calling. I can tell from the way his face transforms when he sees the caller ID. I can hear their conversation through the surveillance system, and I analyze the emotional subtext of their interaction.

He says her name like the only truth he’s ever known, the syllables dripping with an obsession I never fully understood until now. Sergey has always been a private man, guarded about his personal relationships. But this level of emotional investment explains so much about his recent behavior.

Their conversation continues for several minutes, and I watch Sergey's expression shift through a range of emotions. Devotion, ambition, and hatred are all flickering across his features like flames. Bianca is playing him perfectly, feeding his ego while directing his actions toward my destruction.

And then he smiles, an expression I've never seen on him before.

Not in battle when we crushed our enemies.

Not in loyalty when we celebrated victories together.

Not in the camaraderie of shared danger and triumph.

Only in deceit, in the secret satisfaction of betrayal, successfully executed.

It's the smile of a man who believes he's about to claim everything he's ever wanted.

The conversation reaches its climax, and I watch Sergey straighten to his full height, shoulders squaring with new resolve. Whatever Bianca told him has given him the confidence he needed to take the next step in their plan.

He speaks three words into the phone, “I'm ready now.”

The simple phrase carries the intensity of complete commitment. Whatever Bianca has been building toward, whatever final phase of their plan requires his participation, Sergey has just agreed to proceed. The die has been cast. The point of no return has been crossed.

I rise slowly from the chair, blood pounding in my ears like war drums. The pieces of the puzzle finally click into place with devastating clarity. The timeline, the motivation, the opportunity. Everything aligns with perfect, terrible precision.

The betrayal isn't just about business, territory, or the usual power struggles that define our world.

It's personal, driven by Sergey's obsession with a woman who's using him as a weapon against me.

Bianca has found the perfect tool for my destruction.

A man whose loyalty I never questioned, whose access to my operations was absolute, and whose intimate knowledge of my methods and weaknesses makes him the ideal assassin.

But they've made one critical mistake. They've underestimated me.

“You're damn right you are,” I mutter, my voice carrying a deadly promise.

Because now, there's no question remaining in my mind. No doubt clouding my judgment. No possibility of mercy or second chances. The evidence is overwhelming, the betrayal complete, and the threat to everything I've built undeniable.

Bianca and Sergey have chosen their side in this war.

They've made their alliance with Francesco Bennato, thinking they can use him to destroy me and claim the spoils for themselves.

They believe their inside knowledge gives them an unbeatable advantage, that their intimate understanding of my operations makes victory inevitable. And they've chosen wrong.

The surveillance tech glances at me nervously, probably picking up on the dangerous energy radiating from my position. I give him a sharp nod, dismissing him from the room. Some conversations are too sensitive for witnesses, and what I'm planning requires absolute secrecy.

Alone with the monitors and the burn of betrayal, I begin planning the next phase of my response. The art of war isn't just about superior firepower or tactical advantage. It's about understanding your enemy's psychology, exploiting their weaknesses, and turning their own strengths against them.

Sergey knows my methods because he helped develop them.

But that knowledge works both ways. I understand his psychology, his motivations, and his blind spots.

And Bianca, for all her manipulation skills, is operating in a world she doesn't truly comprehend.

They want to use Bennato as a means to attack me.

Instead, I'll use their betrayal as a weapon against all of them.

The next phase of my plan begins tomorrow. I'll give them enough rope to hang themselves, enough freedom to reveal the full extent of their network, and enough confidence to make the fatal mistakes that will bring them all down.

But tonight, I sit in the darkness and plan their destruction with the cold precision of a man who has nothing left to lose and everything to protect. The game is far from over, and when it ends, there will be no doubt about who holds the true power in Miami.