Page 42 of Bratva Menace

He walked back and offered his hand to Autumn. She looked at him, shoved some of the food sitting in front of her into her mouth until it was overflowing, and then placed her hand in his, letting him help her up. They disappeared into the cabin at the back.

My head thumped back onto the headrest, and I closed my eyes, hoping to get some rest. Although my body began to relax, my mind did not. Too many thoughts were plaguing me. There was a ball of pressure sitting firmly on my chest, and I almost felt like it was stealing my ability to breathe.

There was so much riding on the mission. So much riding on me, and while I welcomed the chance to finally show my family exactly what I was capable of, I feared what would happen if I failed. What if Aleksandr is right⁠—

No. Don’t think that way. You won’t fail. You’re going to kill that old bastard for all the pain and suffering he’s caused your loved ones, and everyone will bow at your feet for your masterfulness.

Damn fucking straight.

A rush of determination ran through me. I can do this. I can fucking do this.

The plane landed in Moscow several hours later. Father had been right. The moment the doors opened, there they were, waiting on the tarmac for us.

One car, black, sleek, with a single man holding a place card with the name Volkov on it.

The other a big, imposing SUV, with two hulking, tattooed figures standing in front of it with their hands clasped behind their backs.

I had a feeling I knew which one belonged to Sally Sergei⁠—

“Oh, fuck me, it’s cold!” Autumn screeched behind me, her hands rubbing up and down her arms.

It was late November, which meant we’d arrived right in the middle of Russia’s brutal winter. Decked out in dark trousers, long, thick wool coats, and black leather gloves, Father and I were dressed for the change in weather.

Autumn…was not.

She’d said, and I quote, “I run hot, I don’t need a jacket”.

Father had tried to convince her to change her mind, but she was as stubborn as he was when he had his mind set on something.

“What happened to ‘I run hot’?” Father snapped, even as he removed his coat and placed it on her shoulders. He took off his beanie next, shoving it onto her head, following it up last with the gloves. Autumn shivered the whole time he put them on her.

Once she was dressed in everything my father could offer her, she placed a soft kiss on his lips, her teeth chattering. His face softened, warmth blazing in his eyes despite the cold air.

“Don’t push me down the stairs this time,” he murmured, chuckling softly.

Say what?

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t like it.”

Father rolled his eyes. His features returned to normal. Hard. Stoic. With a touch of I’ll murder you in your sleep and then grab a bite of Chinese food afterward before he turned around.

We made our way down the stairs, Father first, then Autumn, with me bringing up the rear. I was on edge, the weight of my weapons providing little to no comfort at all. Sergei and his men were enemies. They couldn’t be trusted, their true intentions unknown.

Although we’d had lengthy discussions before we left about what could happen, the truth was…we didn’t really know. Father assumed Sergei would never do something as stupid as murder his own son in his home.

What if he was wrong?

It didn’t happen often, but it did happen.

Father could have completely underestimated Sergei, and he could just decide to take the easy option and kill him and Autumn now that they were within his reach.

I would do everything in my power to make sure that didn’t’t happen, but even I knew my own strengths. Grandfather had an army at his back. It was just us three.

Although…so far…he’d been dead on the money. Granted, we’d only just arrived, but he’d said Grandfather would send a car, and the man did.

Maybe my father knew Sergei just as well as he thought.

The stewardess, Tahlia, and her partner, a man who looked to be in his early forties, were unloading the luggage from beneath the plane. They stood awkwardly, staring at the two different cars, unable to figure out where they were meant to put them.