Accidental Bratva Daddy (Bratva Blessings)

Chapter 23Luka

23

Luka

T he sleek black SUVs pull up to Viktor's private resort under cover of darkness, engines purring quietly as we kill the lights. Through the windshield, I take in the sprawling estate, all stone and glass gleaming in the moonlight, surrounded by dense forest on three sides. A fortress disguised as a luxury retreat.

My men fan out silently at my signal, taking positions in the shadows. Years of working together have honed us into a precision instrument—each man knowing his role without need for words. But tonight feels different. The usual ice in my veins has been replaced by something hotter, more primal. Natalia is in there. My wife. The mother of my unborn children. And Viktor has her.

The thought sends a fresh surge of rage through me, but I force it down. Anger makes men sloppy. Gets them killed. And I can't afford mistakes, not with so much at stake.

Through my night vision scope, I count at least twenty of Viktor's men patrolling the grounds. Heavy artillery, tactical gear—not your typical security detail. My lips curl in a grim smile. The old fox knows we're coming, and he’s prepared.

"Boss." Alexei's voice is barely a whisper beside me. "Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures inside. Looks like they've got her in the study on the second floor."

I nod, processing the intel. The study has a clear view of the front approach. Viktor will see us coming. But the back of the house backs up to sheer cliff face, presumably secure. Amateur mistake.

"Team One takes the front, draw their fire," I murmur, my voice pitched low. "Team Two circles wide, comes in from the east garden. Team Three scales the cliff face, breaches through the study windows." A beat. "No survivors."

My men nod, faces grim in the darkness. They understand what's at stake. Viktor isn't just another rival to be eliminated—he's a cancer that needs to be cut out at the root.

The first shots ring out exactly as planned, Team One engaging the front guards in a thunderous exchange of gunfire. Flash bangs light up the night like artificial lightning, casting strange shadows across the manicured lawn. Through my earpiece, I hear the controlled chaos of combat—short bursts of automatic fire, the meaty thud of bodies hitting ground, the sharp crack of sniper rifles from our perimeter positions.

I lead Team Three to the cliff face, our climbing gear barely whispering against the rough stone. The sounds of battle echo strangely off the rock wall, creating the illusion of a much larger force. Good. Let Viktor think we're throwing everything at the front while we slip in behind.

The study windows loom above us, warm light spilling out into the night. Through the glass, I catch glimpses of movement—shadows passing back and forth. My jaw clenches as I recognize Natalia's silhouette, her distinctive auburn hair glowing like fire in the lamplight. She's alive. Relief floods through me, quickly followed by fresh determination.

We reach the window ledge in silence, my men taking up breach positions with practiced efficiency. I check my weapon one last time—more habit than necessity. The familiar weight of the gun is reassuring in my hands.

"Three," I breathe into my comm. "Two. One."

The windows explode inward in a shower of glass and flash bangs. We swing in through the chaos, boots crunching on broken glass as we clear our sectors. But instead of the resistance we expected, we find only empty space.

My combat instincts scream a warning seconds before I feel the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of my head.

"Drop it," Viktor's voice comes from behind me, dripping with smug satisfaction. "Unless you want your pregnant wife to see exactly what a hollow point does to a man's skull."

I let my weapon hang loose from one finger, mind racing as I assess options. Where are my men? A quick scan of the room shows them face-down on the floor, disarmed. The whole thing was a trap.

"Hands where I can see them," Viktor continues. "Slowly now."

I comply, raising my hands in apparent surrender. But my fingers stay curled just so around my gun, balanced perfectly on my pinky. Years of training have prepared me for moments like this.

"Turn around," Viktor commands. "I want you to see this coming."

I pivot slowly, careful to keep my movements smooth and unthreatening. Viktor stands before me in an impeccably tailored suit, his silver hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. Always the gentleman gangster. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of Natalia—pale but unharmed, her green eyes wide with fear as they meet mine.

"You know," Viktor muses, his free hand straightening his tie, "I expected more from the great Luka Volkov. The man who's been a thorn in my side for so long, brought down by simple bait." His eyes flick to Natalia. "Though I must admit, my niece played her part beautifully. Always so trusting, aren't you, Detka?"

"It was almost too easy," I agree, letting a smirk play at the corners of my mouth. Something flickers in Viktor's eyes—uncertainty, maybe even fear.

"What are you—" he starts, but the sudden buzz of his phone cuts him off.

Still holding the gun steady, he pulls out his phone with his free hand. I watch with satisfaction as his face drains of color, his usual composure cracking as notification after notification floods his screen.

brEAKING NEWS: PROMINENT BUSINESSMAN VIKTOR ORLOV LINKED TO ORGANIZED CRIME.

FEDERAL INVESTIGATION UNCOVERS MASSIVE MONEY LAUNDERING OPERATION.

SOURCES CLAIM ORLOV IS NOTORIOUS CRIME BOSS KIRILL BARANOV.

"What did you do?" Viktor snarls, his cultured veneer falling away to reveal the beast beneath.

"I learned from the best," I say coolly. "You taught me the value of patience, of planning ahead. Did you really think I didn't have contingencies in place? That I wouldn't be ready when you finally showed your hand?"

The distant wail of sirens filters through the broken windows, growing steadily closer. Viktor's face twists with rage as he realizes the trap he's fallen into. His finger tightens on the trigger.

"You're too late," he spits. "I may be going down, but I'm taking you with me."

Time seems to slow as I watch his finger squeeze the trigger. I could drop and roll, maybe even get a shot off with my concealed weapon. But the angle is wrong—the bullet might ricochet, might hit Natalia...

The gunshot cracks through the room like thunder, but the pain I expect doesn't come. Instead, I watch in shock as Viktor stumbles forward, red blooming across his expensive white shirt. He turns, disbelief written across his features, to face Natalia.

My wife stands with my dropped gun in her hands, her aim unwavering despite the slight tremor in her fingers. Smoke curls from the barrel as she stares down her uncle, her face a mask of determination and grief.

"That's for my father," she says softly, her voice steady despite the tears tracking down her cheeks.

Viktor slumps to the ground, still conscious but severely wounded. Blood seeps through his fingers where he clutches his chest. His eyes find Natalia's, and something passes between them—a lifetime of love and betrayal crystallized in a single moment.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then Natalia steps forward, the gun still pointed at her uncle's prone form. Her hands shake, but her aim doesn't waver.

“You saved me,” I say, in awe and full of love for my wife. “Oh, kitten, you saved me.”

Sometimes love means pulling a trigger. Sometimes it means watching your past burn so your future can rise from the ashes.

And sometimes, like tonight, it means holding each other up as you walk away from the carnage, knowing that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

For better or worse. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.

We meant every word.