Accidental Bratva Daddy (Bratva Blessings)

Chapter 21Luka

21

Luka

T he abandoned warehouse looms in Moscow's industrial district, its rusted walls stained with decades of neglect. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, each drop echoing like a metronome counting down time I don't have. The air reeks of mildew and something metallic, fresh blood mixing with old rust.

My footsteps echo against bare concrete as I stride in, the Italian leather of my shoes too fine for this decay. My men stand at attention around a metal chair, their weapons drawn and ready. The weak light filtering through grimy windows glints off gun barrels and sharp eyes trained on our guest, but my mind keeps drifting elsewhere. To Natalia. To our unborn children.

I pull out my phone for the dozenth time, scowling at the lack of reception. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing. These thick concrete walls block all signals—a feature that usually works in my favor during interrogations. Today it just feeds the unease gnawing at my gut. Something isn't right. I can feel it in my bones, the same instinct that's kept me alive all these years screaming that I'm missing something crucial.

Pushing the thought aside, I pocket the phone and turn my attention to the man slumped in the chair. His expensive suit is ruined, dark patches spreading across the fine wool. Blood drips steadily from his split lip onto his collar, but his eyes still burn with defiance as he glares up at me.

"I've got nothing to say," he spits, fresh blood spattering the concrete between us. His Russian is perfect, but there's an accent he can't quite hide—eastern territories, Viktor's usual recruiting ground.

I take my time cracking my knuckles, the sharp pops echoing in the cavernous space. My men shift slightly, recognizing the tell. They know what comes next. "Everyone has something to say. Eventually."

The first blow lands precisely—years of experience have taught me exactly where to hit for maximum impact with minimum lasting damage. Kidney. Solar plexus. Jaw. Each strike carefully placed, designed to break his resolve without breaking him permanently. Not yet.

He grunts with each impact but maintains his silence. Impressive, really. Most men would have broken by now. But I can see his resolve wavering, the defiance in his eyes giving way to something more primal. Fear.

"Alright... alright," he finally mutters, spitting blood onto the floor. His breath comes in wet, painful hitches. "Viktor... he's not just working with the mafia. He's the leader of it. Viktor is the head of the rival organization."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I grab his collar, yanking him forward until we're face to face. My fingers dig into the expensive fabric, knuckles white with tension. "What?"

He coughs, pain twisting his features. Blood flecks his lips as he speaks. "Viktor... he's the one who put the hit on his brother Igor. Igor figured it out, and Viktor made sure he wouldn't live to tell anyone. Changed hotels last minute, knew you were coming for him. It's been Viktor all this time."

My world tilts on its axis. The iron taste of blood fills my mouth—I've bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it. The man I thought was merely a manipulative opportunist has been orchestrating everything from the shadows. The hit on Igor. The death of my parents. All the seemingly random attacks that have plagued my organization. Years of violence and death all leading back to one man.

"And Natalia?" The name comes out as a growl, my grip tightening on his collar until he chokes.

The rival's smile is ghastly, teeth stained red in the dim light. "He has no issue using his family as bait. Your wife's pregnancy? Best way to lure you in. He's already a step ahead of you."

Ice floods my veins at his words. As if summoned by them, my phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration unnaturally loud in the tense silence. A single voice message. From Natalia.

My hands are steady as I press play, but my heart pounds against my ribs as I hear her voice, followed by the conversation with Viktor's "assistant." The words "taking her to Zavidovo" echo in the cavernous space. Panic surges through me, hot and foreign. I haven't felt true fear since I was sixteen, watching my parents bleed out on our kitchen floor.

"Handle him," I bark at my men, already moving toward the exit. Fresh blood stains my white shirt. Natalia's going to be annoyed, she just had this one custom made. The thought sends another spike of fear through me. "And get me reinforcements. Now."

I burst through the warehouse doors into the fading daylight, my mind racing. Time is running out. Viktor's trap is already closing around Natalia. Around our children.

As I stride toward my car, I pull out my phone again, scrolling through contacts until I reach one name, a number I swore I'd never call. My finger hovers over it as I weigh the cost. Some debts are too steep to repay. But with Natalia's life at stake...