Page 30 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I usher my brothers out of the Volkov mansion. Faddey is still furious, and I keep a strong grip on his shoulder, afraid he might go back in there and cause another scene.

I managed to settle down the tempers back there, but the more people drink, the more things escalate, and I know peace is just temporary between our families.

Everyone in our group is tense. Everyone is thinking the same thing. Arina is in there, and we’ve left her.

To me, that hurts the most, the ghost of her lips still burning against mine. There was something more hiding in her eyes, but she held out, and it stings to know she’s living with this pain just to save me.

“You should have let me at him,” Faddey mutters when I open the car door for him.

“And start a war in the middle of the Volkov’s party?” I shake my head. “That would have been suicide for all of us.”

Agafon gives me an approving nod. “Ilariy’s right. There’s a time and place.”

We drive home in silence as I stare out the window, replaying every moment with Arina in the library. God, the way she melted against me wasn’t how a woman does when she doesn’t want a man.

Her body spoke from her heart. That wasn’t the kiss of a woman who’s done with me.

When we arrive home, everyone files into the living room, and we pour ourselves some drinks. No one wanted to leave early, but we had to after that humiliating showdown with the Sokolovs.

“What’s our next move?” Rurik asks, bringing the bottle of scotch to the coffee table.

I take another sip before answering. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Bogdan looks at me incredulously. “We storm their compound and take her back.”

“And then what?” I shrug. “We force her to stay? I’m done assuming things, brother. If she wants to be with me, I need to hear it from her own mouth.”

“So you’re giving up?” Melor asks.

“No.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’m trying to find a solution that doesn’t end with more bloodshed, and until I do, I hope she lets her intentions be clear.”

But as I speak, an idea strikes. There is only one thing we can do to prevent more bloodshed, to stop putting Arina in the middle of all this, and that’s a truce with the Sokolovs.

Although a bitter idea to swallow, I can’t see another path that ends with Arina safely by my side willingly.

I’m about to suggest the plan when we hear the sound of tires screeching outside.

“Who is that?” Faddey asks.

Nikandr gets up and moves to the window. Then, he looks back at us with a shocked expression. “It’s the Sokolovs.”

“What?” Agafon exhales.

I quickly rise to my feet, for a brief moment wondering if this is divine intervention, and if Arina spoke to them and told them the truth about us. Without listening to my brothers’ protests to let the guards handle it, I rush to the door and swing it open.

Tikhon, Andrei, and Alexei stand there, each looking furious. I will calm my heart down and deal with the hope that’s just been dashed. I’m about to ask them what they’re doing here when Tikhon shoves past me.

“Where is she?” he demands, walking through my house, his eyes darting around as if I’m hiding her somewhere. His brothers follow right behind, and I grab Alexei’s arm in panic. “What is Tikhon talking about?”

“Arina’s missing,” Alexei spits, jerking away from my grip. “She disappeared from the party. I know you took her.”

I feel a cold dread settle in my stomach.

“I haven’t seen her since our... confrontation,” I say carefully. “I assumed she was with you.”

Tikhon turns to face me. “Bullshit. Your men took her.”

My brothers are now all in the foyer for back-up, picking up on what’s happened.

Agafon steps forward. “We didn’t take her, Sokolov. And if you’re here, that means you don’t have her either. So before we blow each other up over this, can we please focus on what matters? Where the hell is Arina?”

The Sokolovs go quiet. In fact, all of us do. A situation like this is dangerous, and every single person in this room cares about Arina.

I feel the floors and walls spin as horrible possibilities play through my mind.

“When did you last see her?” I ask, panic seeping into my voice.

“I don’t know,” Tikhon growls and throws his face into his hands. “She said she was going to the washroom and she never came back.”

My mind races, piecing together what could have happened. I was the one who saw her last. Where the hell did she go off to?

“Did anyone else at the party seem interested in her?” I ask.

“No…” Tikhon shakes his head.

“Enemies,” Agafon steps forward. “Give us a list.”

“There are so many,” Tikhon, for the first time, looks ashamed.

“Just give me a list,” Agafon shakes his head. “Nikandr.” He turns to my brother. “Make one of our own.”

I want to fall apart. I want to put myself into a hole and wake up from this nightmare.

The world around me disappears, and I feel my knees weaken, my hands tremble, and my breath comes in little rasps.

Rurik walks up to me and puts a soft hand on my shoulder. “We’ll find her, brother,” he whispers.

I nod, because that’s the only thing I can do. Ten minutes later, we’re going over our list of enemies, but none ring a bell.

Until, at last, Tikhon mentions the Kuznetsovs.

Suddenly, I remember.

“Tell me about them, “ I demand.

Tikhon sits up straighter, like he’s got hope. “Micky Kuznetsov was Viktor’s right-hand man. After Viktor died, we thought his loyalists had disbanded or joined us.”

“But they didn’t,” Andrei finishes. “The Kuznetsovs hid low, and we learned recently that they want to uproot us. They think Viktor’s methods were better and that we don’t rule with an iron fist like he did. They hate us. Think we’re weak.”

“Fuck,” Tikhon groans. “Do you think it could be them? For allowing our alliance after Viktor’s death?”

“It’s them,” I say with certainty.

“How do you know?” Tikhon leans forward, his eyes on me.

“Because, when I took her that night, the Kuznetsovs sold her to me. At first, she looked like a girl in trouble, and I realized who she was. Arina Sokolov. It was clear she wasn’t with them; they had taken her, and in a way, I saved her.”

“Fuck!” Tikhon slams his fist into a cushion.

I turn to my brothers. “Call everyone in. We need to find her now.”

For a moment, no one moves, and it seems like the old hatred is freezing us in place. But then, Agafon nods. “Melor, start making calls. Nikandr, get the weapons.”

“We work together on this,” I tell Tikhon. “We find her, then we go back to hating each other.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods. “Fine. I have a lead on where Kuznetsov might be holed up.”

The next hour is a blur of planning and preparation. We review maps, load and check our weapons, and both the Sokolov and Letvin men form cross-functional teams.

All that matters is that Arina stays safe.

Tikhon receives a call just then and joins us back at the table. He points to a warehouse on the east side. “Drone images say there are at least fifteen men at this location, and the vehicle plates are confirmed to be theirs. This is their spot.”

“Excellent,” I say. “We take thirty of our own, and let’s split them to cover every entry and exit.

“Good idea,” Tikhon says, and from across the table, gives me one single nod of acknowledgement. I nod back.

Agafon claps his hands, brings us into motion: “Let’s go get her.”

The convoy of black SUVs moves silently through the night. I ride with Tikhon and two of my brothers. None of us speaks.

When we reach the warehouse, we split into teams. I’m with Tikhon, and for once, I don’t mind. I know no one will fighter harder for her than Tikhon and me. Together, we’ll get Arina back, or die trying.

We keep to the shadows as we move toward the building. A guard stands by the door, and fortunately, he’s distracted by his phone. At Tikhon’s signal, one of his men takes the guard out silently with a knife to the throat.

We slip inside.

The warehouse is dark with stacks of crates providing cover as we advance. I hear some voices of men laughing and chatting coming up from ahead. I signal to my team to spread out, then peek around a corner.

Five men sit around a table playing cards, and there is no sign of Arina. Tikhon comes to my side, and I see him glower at Micky Kuznetsov, the leader of the pack himself.

“You go on to the second floor,” he whispers, pointing to the metal stairway leading up. “She’s not here, so they’re probably keeping her up there.”

“There’s no way to go without them seeing us,” I whisper back. Tikhon looks around and then winces, realizing I’m right on my assessment.

“On the count of three?” I ask.

“Count of three,” he whispers.

We raise our guns in the air and barge onto the floor, taking them by surprise. It’s quick work, killing off the four men, but we need Micky Kuznetsov alive to get to Arina.

He tries to run, but Tikhon puts a bullet in his leg, dropping him where he stands.

“Where is she?” Tikhon demands as he gets on his haunches and presses his gun to Kuznetsov’s head.

“Fuck you,” the man spits back.

I hear gunfire from another part of the warehouse. There must be others coming, and while our men are holding them back, we can’t waste any time. We need to get Arina out safe.

“Tell us now.” I grab Kuznetsov by the throat and put a knife to his throat, “or I’ll let her brother show you what happens to men who touch his sister.”

When he doesn’t answer, I dig in a little until there’s a trickle of blood pooling down his throat.

Finally, fear flickers in his eyes. “Upstairs. She’s in the first room on the left.”

I’m already moving toward the stairs, but I hear a gunshot. When I turn, I see his dead body.

Tikhon runs up the stairs to catch up with me.

“What?” he glowers. “Too harsh?”

“For trying to sell her first and taking her now? Not harsh enough,” I say as I mean it.

I believe this is the first time in my entire existence that Tikhon smiles at me.

We reach upstairs to the room Micky told us to get to, but find the door locked.

I kick it open, and we rush inside to find Arina lying on a small cot. Her wrists are bound, and her face is pale.

“Arina,” I breathe, rushing to her side. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and cloudy. They’ve drugged her heavily.

“Is she okay?” Tikhon pushes past me, kneeling beside the cot.

I check her pulse—steady, if a bit slow. And god, she’s so, so cold. “She’s drugged, but alive. We need to get her out of here.”

Arina’s eyes fix on Tikhon’s face, and something in my chest tightens painfully. “Tik-hon,” she murmurs, her voice slurred. Her hand reaches up, fingers trembling as they touch his cheek with such tenderness it makes my throat close up.

“I’m here, little bird,” he says softly, using what must be an old nickname. “You’re safe now.”

She smiles at him, a genuine smile full of love and relief, and I feel something inside me shatter. This is her family. Her blood. No matter what they’ve done, they share a bond I can never touch.

I cut the ropes binding her wrists, careful not to let my fingers linger on her skin. “Can you carry her?” I ask Tikhon softly.

He looks surprised but nods. “Of course.”

I give him space, and he lifts her into his arms. She nestles against his chest, her eyes closing again. The sight feels like a knife between my ribs, but I force myself to breathe through it.

“Take her,” I say quietly. “She needs her family right now.”

Tikhon stares at me, confusion replacing the hostility in his eyes. “You’re just going to let us walk out with her?”

“Yes.” My hands feel numb, but I feel a warmth in my chest from the sacrifice I’m making. “This isn’t about our feud anymore. It’s about what’s best for her.”

He studies me for a long moment, then gives a single nod. “Thank you.”

“Just take care of her,” I say, the words scraping my throat raw. “And when she’s recovered, tell her... tell her I understand if she wants to stay with you.”

Tikhon hesitates, then says, “Maybe you can call her and tell her yourself.”

It takes everything in me not to let my mouth hang open. Did Tikhon just say that I could call her?

I watch them go and fight against the urge to call them back, to claim her as mine. But she’s not mine to claim. She never was. She’s her own person, with her own choices to make.

And if she chooses her family over me—well, isn’t that what love is? Wanting someone’s happiness even when it costs you your own?

I stand alone in the empty room, and though I made the right choice, my heart aches like never before. Though I got what I wanted, seeing her safe, I feel hollow. For once in my life, I’ve put someone else’s needs before my own. I’ve given her the freedom to choose.

And I know that all I can do now is pray that she chooses me.