Page 22 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

We spent the rest of the evening cooped up here, strategically cornering Joaquin from every angle until we lost track of time—leaving us to assess the damage we had inflicted on the bastard well into the night. And I was pretty sure I wasn’t going back to Arlette’s side.

I could still catch whiffs of her intoxicating scent on me, her words soothing and echoing in my mind every now and then.

I knew she wanted us to talk. I didn’t have to ask to understand what she was thinking in that scheming mind of hers, but as much as I wanted to tell her about myself, I kept distracting her instead.

She already knew the kind of man I was—the sort of things I could do and had done in my past—but I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye and say it. And sure, her upbringing wasn’t all rosy like I had once assumed, but it was still a better evil than mine.

I didn’t want to know how she’d react if I told her about how I was raised. I had never felt shame in it—in the bloodlust, the illegal money laundering, and everything the Bratva stood for. And even now, I still didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

But she knew enough. There wasn’t any need for her to know more.

I forced my mind out of the depths of my thoughts, drawing myself back to the present situation.

Joaquin Saavedra.

The blueprint before us was for a shipping yard where Maxim believed Joaquin was transporting drugs hidden in containers labeled as toys.

Thanks to Maxim, we managed to get someone at the port to swap Joaquin’s containers with fake ones and reroute the destination of his third shipment without raising any suspicion among the dock workers.

Now, not only was Joaquin’s cargo suddenly missing, but he couldn’t track them either—because Maxim had managed to hack into the shipping logistics system and blocked off all tracking on the goods.

So to Joaquin, his shit, worth over millions of dollars, was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, it had been dumped into the ocean—his hard work of laundering money drowning deep into the sea.

It was a waste of money, though I’d rather it sank than find its way back to Joaquin.

I marked the third cargo on the map, which was now headed into the Atlantic Ocean, with a red Sharpie as my lips curled into a devilish smile. “Bullseye.”

But rerouting Joaquin’s containers was only the tip of the iceberg of what we had done to the bastard.

Within a week, I secretly took control of Joaquin’s shell front in Tangier, Morocco.

His shell front was a jewelry dealing company that served as a cover for him to launder illegal money.

I gained control of the company through three intermediaries who bought shares and transferred them to me—giving me full authority over Joaquin’s business without him knowing.

The intermediaries had been powerful men whom Joaquin usually made deals with, but his relationship with them wasn’t as strong as he must’ve thought it was.

All it took was for Maxim to offer them a grand amount of money, promises of protection from the Bratva, and a few women to fuck—and we had them by the leash, like the dogs they all were.

His Moroccan laundering route had also been compromised by Maxim, so whenever Joaquin tried cleaning his dirty cash through that channel, the money was being rerouted back into my accounts.

It was the least I could do for myself, seeing as I had already thrown millions of dollars into the sea. I couldn’t waste any more money.

And it wasn’t just a casual financial blow to Joaquin. This was sure to make him lose his mind and give his accountants a heart attack.

But I wasn’t done with the bastard.

I turned the blueprint, tapping the area of the Moroccan route. “Flag one of the payments, Maxim. I want Joaquin on every federal radar from Barcelona to Boston.”

Maxim nodded and immediately got to work on his tablet, while a malignant grin formed on my face, as the red Sharpie I had used to circle Joaquin’s weak points bled into the paper.

And immediately after I had instructed him to get the Feds on Joaquin’s ass, Maxim returned with a grin of his own as he said, “It’s been done. ”

A dark chuckle rumbled from my chest as I threw my head back, laughing at how fucked Joaquin was.

But this was only the beginning.

There was more incoming for him. If he wanted to play this stupid game with me, I assumed he was ready for all the losses he was about to incur.

“Wow,” Cassandra exclaimed, walking over to the wine cabinet at the far end of my office and grabbing three shot glasses. “Did we really just drain him of over twenty million dollars?”

“And more,” Maxim replied with a laugh, shrugging off his tie as he opened the Oban 21 bottle—its cork flying open with a resounding pop that felt like music to my ears.

Maxim’s smile grew wider as he looked at the tablet by his side, buzzing with notifications.

“Confirmation just came in. Joaquin’s crypto laundering node crashed.”

After pouring the amber-colored drink into our glasses, we each clinked our shots before downing them in one go.

The burn on my tongue was smooth, filling my taste buds with fruit, oak, and a smoky undertone.

I set the empty glass on my desk, leaning against the table with a smug smile as I watched Cassandra and Maxim get comfortable on the office sofa. Cassandra kicked off her shoes, curling her legs onto the sofa before pouring more wine into her system.

She and Maxim then conversed on how easy it was to poke Joaquin where it hurt most.

But it wasn’t all too easy. Maxim had been the one to pull the difficult strings and hack into systems that needed to be hacked—on my command.

Any wrong move would’ve resulted in Joaquin being on our tails, but Maxim had been smart enough not to let any slip-ups.

But then again, Joaquin was a smart man. It wasn’t going to take him long before he realized who had sucked him dry. And I was waiting—for his retaliation and whatever blow he thought he had in store for me.

Knowing Saavedra, if things weren’t working his way, he turned to eliminating the source.

Too bad I wasn’t an easy target to get rid of.

My mind drifted back to Arlette as I sat on my table, taking another shot of Oban 21 that Cassandra had poured into my cup before she went to the sofa, where she was now chattering away with Maxim.

She had asked me to meet with her brother officially. She wanted me to see that there wasn’t anything suspicious about him. The way she spoke about him was odd. Arlette hardly spoke of anyone so fondly, yet I thought she shared a stronger bond with her half-brother.

I guess I was wrong. And as much as I wanted to be happy for her, the kid gave me a bad feeling.

At the back of my mind, I discarded it as a feeling of jealousy.

Seeing Arlette with another male other than myself irked me—but that wasn’t just it.

It felt like there were secrets he was hiding about himself.

There was something he wanted from Arlette, but she was too blind to see it.

Rather than forbid her from ever seeing him again, I figured there were other ways I could go around it.

But first, I needed to know more about him.

The quick background search Maxim had provided me wasn’t enough.

“I’m going to need both of you to do something for me,” I said, cutting through Cassandra and Maxim’s chatter.

Their attention was now trained on me. They seemed buzzed but alert—patiently waiting for the next instruction I had for them.

“Brandon Orozco.”

“Arlette’s stepbrother?” Cassandra asked, and I nodded before continuing.

“I want to know everything about him. And by everything, I mean everything. Where he schools, where he lives, who he fucking talks to.”

“You don’t trust him,” Maxim mused, setting his tablet aside and grabbing the almost-empty shot of wine on the glass-accented coffee table in front of him.

“I don’t trust anyone besides the Bratva, Maxim. And besides, that kid just showed up out of nowhere. I understand him trying to bond with his sister—but why just her?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

It made no absolute sense. And sure, Arlette wanted us to meet, but I needed to gather as much information as possible about him beforehand.

“Alright, sir. We’ll get some men to trail him and fish out as much information as we can,” Cassandra assured me, and a satisfied smirk formed on my face as I stared out the large glass pane windows, viewing the midnight city lights.

This war with Joaquin was gradually reaching its end.

And in wars, there could only ever be one victor.