Page 78 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
The desperation vanishes.
What replaces it is pure hatred.
He leans forward suddenly and spits.
The saliva lands on the front of my shirt.
The guards shift instantly, ready to move, but I raise a hand slightly.
I don’t even wipe it away.
Sergei laughs hoarsely.
“You think you’re strong,” he sneers. “But you’re not the same man anymore.”
I tilt my head slightly. “No?”
“No,” he says, eyes burning. “You were ruthless once. Untouchable. But then you got obsessed with that woman.” He nods toward the ceiling, toward the floors above where Ellie is somewhere in the house. “She made you weak.”
My expression doesn’t change.
“You built an empire,” Sergei continues bitterly. “And now you’re risking it all for one woman.” He leans back in the chair, breathing hard. “Kill me if you want,” he says. “It won’t change anything.”
His smile becomes vicious.
“Even if you kill me…more people will come for her.”
The words hang in the air.
“They already know she’s your weakness,” he says. “Your enemies are watching. And now they know exactly where to strike.” He chuckles darkly. “You can’t protect her forever, Mike.”
I don’t flinch. “Who are you working for?”
He shrugs, a lazy, careless motion. “All I know…is it’s a woman. A powerful woman. She only contacts me…anonymously, through encrypted means. She wants Ellie, Mike. She’s someone stronger than you…someone cleverer. And she’s…persistent.”
My hands tighten into fists at my sides. My voice drops, controlled, steady. “No one will ever have Ellie.”
Sergei laughs, bitter, venomous. “Oh, Mike…I already sold her out. She’ll die, and it will be…gruesome. Painful and—”
I raise my hand.
The shot is precise. Clean. Between the eyes. His body crumples instantly, disbelief frozen on his features. Silence follows, heavy, suffocating.
I turn to the guards, voice calm. “Clean this up.”
They move immediately, practiced and efficient. Nothing is left behind except the truth—Sergei’s betrayal is now undeniable and final.
Without hesitation, I leave the basement and jog upstairs. My heart thunders, not with rage, but with certainty. I need to see Ellie, to hold her and ground myself in her presence.
I reach the suite and pause just outside the door, taking a moment to feel the weight of the world outside fall away. Then I step in.
The room is quiet. Ellie isn’t here.
My eyes sweep the suite instinctively—bed perfectly made, personal items untouched—but then I notice a folded letter on the table. My pulse spikes. I grab it, my fingers trembling slightly.
I unfold the paper. The words hit me like ice water:
“Someone reached out to me. Turns out they’re the mastermind of this case. They just want to talk. I’m tired of seeing you risk yourself. I’ll talk to her and put an end to this. Ellie.”
