Page 76 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

Behind me, I hear Maxim inhale sharply. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight—but he doesn’t move. I glance at him briefly—just enough to register the pain in his gaze, the hesitation. The slight flinch every time my fist lands.

But not Arina.

Arina stands there with arms folded, face unreadable, watching like it’s just another Tuesday. Their eyes don’t narrow. They don't look away. Their lips don’t even twitch. They watch the blood pour like water from a faucet and don’t blink.

I store that away.

Another punch. Another grunt. Another denial.

“I have been loyal to you since,” Milos chokes out. “I will never betray you. You’ll have to kill me because you’re not getting a confession from me.”

Something is off.

Very off.

My instincts tell me that Milos isn’t a traitor, and I wouldn’t be here today if I had a habit of ignoring my gut feelings. But I keep hitting Milo. At this point, I’m just putting on a show.

I raise my hand again—one more blow and maybe I’ll stop. But then I hear it. That deep, slow voice I haven’t heard in over a year.

“Easy now, Kazimir. You’re gonna kill the poor bastard before you learn anything useful.”

I freeze. The room turns with me as I pivot slowly, blood dripping from my knuckles, chest heaving with restrained rage.

Nikolai Volkov-Rusnak stands at the doorway, cool and unbothered, dressed in all black with his hands in the pockets of his long coat. A faint smirk dances on his lips.

“Niko,” I mutter.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, stepping further into the room and glancing at Milos’s broken body. “But something tells me you might want to let him breathe.”

For a moment, Niko and I simply stare at each other, then I flick my fingers at Maxim. “Take him away.”

Without another word, Maxim hauls Milos up by the shoulder. The man stumbles, blood dripping from his nose and split lip, eyes dazed but still burning with something—pain, betrayal, confusion. I don’t know. I look away from him.

“Get him patched up,” I add. “But keep him locked down.”

“Yes,” Maxim mutters.

Arina follows behind them, silent as always, their expression unreadable. Even the guards that had been posted around the edges of the basement peel off with them, moving like shadows into the hallway, boots echoing on the concrete floor.

One by one, the room empties—until the heavy basement door creaks shut and clicks into place behind the last man. Then, finally, it’s just me and Niko.

I walk over and pull him into a tight, brotherly hug.

“Thank you for coming,” I murmur against his shoulder.

He pulls back with a crooked grin. “You look like hell.”

I laugh. It’s tired, strained. “You should see the other guy.”

Niko chuckles, that signature Volkov drawl slipping through. “Word’s gotten out, you know. They say Kazimir Rusnak’s lost his damn mind over a girl.”

I run a hand through my hair. “I probably have.”

“Had to see this mythical woman myself.” He shoots me a sharp glance. “But I know you didn’t call me here to gush. What’s going on?”

“I need your eyes, Niko. Your gut. Something’s not adding up, and I can’t afford to miss the mark.”

He folds his arms. “Talk to me.”