Page 37 of Bratva Stalker Kidnaps His Bride

“That,” Anton observes, deceptively simple, “sounds like a reason you have been carrying around for a while, waiting for it to still be true.”

My stare turns to him and he meets my eyes head on. Anton Korovin has never once, in the entirety of his twenty-nine years, flinched from anything directed at him, which is both his greatest strength and the primary source of every significant problem he has ever created.

“She will not stop searching, and I do not trust what she will do when she has the full picture. I cannot protect her from that as effectively once she has full knowledge. The way she moves will change.”

Nikolai’s lips part, his words on the tip of his tongue.

The door opens to reveal Timur Sokolov carrying a folder of security revisions I had asked him to compile, his expression neutral.

“But—”

“Time’s not right,” I assert sharply, hand curling into a fist. Nikolai and Anton quickly take note of it, understanding what it means.

Not now.Later.

In the half second before I shut the conversation down—I see Timur’s eyes move once, quickly, across the faces of everyone at the table like he’s taking a reading on a temperature he was not invited to measure.

He sits and begins opening the folder.

Nikolai picks up his phone, commenting on something about the Zurich accounts while Anton leans back, folding his arms across his chest.

Timur had been there during the network’s dismantling, which means he knows the names, the outcome. He knows what was found, what was lost, and what was decided about what to do with both.

He knows what happened to Arman and Samira Khan.

He had also been there when Zara was attacked three days ago.

The folder on the table contains security revisions for the next forty-eight hours. Timur opens it to the third page.

The warehouse reports are laid out cleanly—dates, locations, damage assessments, casualty counts. Three Korovin-controlled storage facilities in the past six days; the first two I had beenbriefed on separately. I had assessed them as pressure tactics—a weakened animal testing the perimeter.

The third report blindsides me completely.

Last night, Brighton Beach. The facility hit with pure coordination, multiple entry points accessed simultaneously. Two of my personnel are in the hospital. The structural damage to the facility is extensive but secondary to what the attack actually communicated.

Retaliation is reactive and unorganized. What is being described on the third page in Timur’s folder is an organized campaign, moving confidently.

“Timeline on the Brighton Beach strike?” I ask.

“Between 2:00 and 3:00 AM,” Timur says. “Clean entry, clean exit. No witnesses beyond our own personnel, none of whom were positioned to intercept before the damage was done. The entry points suggest pre-acquired intelligence on the facility’s security rotation.”

Anton’s tongue pokes against his cheek while Nikolai’s eyes harden.

Pre-acquired intelligence on the security rotation means a source, which means this can be both outside threat and inside operation. I do not look at Timur when I think this, keeping my eyes on the page, at the damage assessment column, at the numbers.

“This is—they have finished testing.”

“Which means they believe they have what they need to move,” Nikolai concludes for me.

Someone gave the intelligence on the security rotation to them. I close the folder.

“I’m handling this personally,” I announce, no room for negotiation.

Anton looks up. Even Timur’s carefully maintained composure cracks slightly.

“The Brighton Beach facility and the two prior targets follow a geographical pattern. They are moving in a direction and I want to be ahead of it.” I stand up. “Reassign the detail rotation. Full internal review of the security personnel who had access to the Brighton Beach schedule. I want the review completed before morning.”

I look at Timur when I say the last sentence.