Kidnapped by the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #5)

Chapter Three - Maxim

The dim light of my office casts long shadows across the room as I sit behind my desk, phone pressed to my ear. Ivan’s voice crackles on the other end, calm and composed as always, though I can tell he’s just as invested in the topic as I am. Ivan had relocated to another state to expand our operations, leaving me in charge here. He trusted me to handle things, and I’ve taken on that responsibility without complaint, but the weight of it all has grown heavier since my father’s death.

“I’m keeping a close eye on the situation,” I say, leaning back in my chair. The tension from earlier still sits heavy on my shoulders. “Henry’s supposed to show up soon. He claims he has information about Arlo’s death.”

Ivan’s silence stretches for a beat before he speaks again, his voice tight. “If this man has any solid proof, I want you to handle it carefully. No mistakes.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “I’ll get what we need from him, one way or another. He’s already named his price.”

Another pause. “Do what you need to, but keep me updated. This could blow things wide open.”

“Understood.”

I hear the creak of the office door opening, and Artem steps inside, gesturing toward the man waiting in the hallway. Henry. The man Dominik told me about. “Looks like my guest has arrived,” I say into the phone.

Ivan grunts, his tone dismissive now. “Handle it. I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya.” I hang up, sliding my phone onto the desk just as Henry enters, escorted by Artem.

Henry looks nervous, like he’s about to face a firing squad instead of a meeting. He’s a small man, balding, with dark eyes that dart around the room as if looking for an escape. He’s trying to hide it, but the slight tremor in his hands as he takes a seat opposite me gives him away. I’ve seen this look before—people like him always know they’re one wrong word away from disaster when they deal with us.

“Mr. Sharov,” he greets, his voice unsteady.

“Henry,” I say, leaning forward slightly, my eyes narrowing on him. “You’ve got information for me.”

He nods quickly, wringing his hands in his lap. “Yes, yes, I do; but… before I share anything, I need to know I’ll be compensated. This information—it’s not easy to come by. If anyone finds out I’m talking to you—”

I hold up a hand, cutting off his nervous rambling. “You’ll get your money. Now start talking.”

Henry swallows hard, visibly relieved that I haven’t killed him yet. He fumbles with a flash drive in his pocket, pulling it out and placing it on the desk between us. “This footage… it’s from four months ago, outside Arlo Sharov’s mansion.”

I clench my jaw at the mention of my father. Four months of chasing shadows, following dead leads, and dealing with silence. Now, this jittery man might have the key to everything. “I’ve seen the footage,” I say, my voice flat. “A masked man driving away from the mansion. It’s useless.”

Henry shakes his head, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not just that. I have more.”

He pushes the flash drive toward me, but I don’t reach for it. Instead, I lean back, watching him, waiting for him to continue. He knows that the footage alone won’t get him what he wants. It has to be more than just a blurry video of a masked man.

“The footage doesn’t show much, you’re right,” he admits, his voice a little stronger now. “So, I did some digging of my own. I found the car model from the footage, traced the rental records.”

My eyes narrow. This is new.

Henry pulls a photograph from his pocket and slides it across the desk. I glance down at it. The same car—unmistakably the one from the video. A photograph of a car isn’t what grabs my attention. It’s what Henry says next.

“That car—” He clears his throat, his eyes darting to mine nervously before he continues. “—it was rented by Kace Preston. Four months ago, around the time your father was killed.”

I feel a surge of anger course through me, but I keep it locked down, my face expressionless as I absorb his words. Kace Preston. The name rattles through my mind like a bullet ricocheting off walls. I’ve always suspected him, known he had a hand in something bigger, but I never had anything concrete. Until now.

“Go on,” I say, my voice deceptively calm.

Henry shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of my stare. “Kace rented the car from me. He paid extra to keep the rental quiet, even told me not to register it under his name in the official records. I thought it was strange at the time, but… well, I didn’t ask questions. People like him… you don’t get involved.”

My fingers tighten around the edge of the desk, the wood creaking under the pressure. Everything clicks into place, and the pieces I’ve been chasing for months finally form a clear picture. Kace wasn’t just involved—he orchestrated this. The extra money, the secrecy, the timeline… it all fits.

Henry looks at me, his eyes wide, waiting for my response. “That’s all I know,” he adds quickly. “You have to understand, I’m risking my life telling you this.”

I stand, towering over him as the rage simmers just beneath the surface. I want to put my fist through the wall, but I hold it back. Kace. That bastard.

“Don’t worry, Henry,” I say slowly, my voice dark and dangerous. “You’ll get your money.”

I slide the flash drive into my pocket and walk around the desk, stopping just beside him. He flinches slightly as I lean in close, my voice low. “If you’re lying to me, or if this leads nowhere….”

He gulps, his whole body tense. “I’m not. I swear.”

I straighten up, signaling to Artem with a nod. “Get him out of here. He’s done.”

Artem grabs Henry by the arm, pulling him up from his chair. As they leave, I’m left alone in the office, the weight of the revelation settling over me. Kace Preston. The man who had a hand in my father’s murder is closer than ever, and this time, I have proof.

The storm inside me grows, the desire for revenge fueling every thought.

Kace Preston will pay for this.

I lean back in my chair, my mind racing as I stare at the photograph of the car, the proof of Kace Preston’s betrayal. We’ve always had our issues with the American Mafia, but this? This is different. He crossed a line when he took my father’s life. There’s no going back from that. The weight of it presses down on me, the rage bubbling under the surface like a storm waiting to break.

Revenge can’t come suddenly. Dominik was right. Charging in, guns blazing, would only give Kace the upper hand. He’s powerful, and he’ll see it coming if I make a reckless move. No, I need to be smarter than that. I need to strike when he least expects it—when it will hurt the most.

I take a deep breath, the sound harsh in the quiet of the office. My grip tightens on the pen in my hand without realizing it, and it snaps under the pressure, the ink bleeding onto my palm. The small break in my focus draws me back, and I curse under my breath, tossing the broken pieces aside.

Before I can wipe the ink from my hand, my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen. Ivan.

I answer immediately, “Ivan.”

“Maxim.” Ivan’s voice is steady, calm, as always. “You spoke with Henry?”

“Yes,” I reply, leaning forward. “He brought me the proof we needed. Kace rented the car used in my father’s murder. Four months ago. Paid extra to keep it off the books.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can almost hear Ivan’s mind working through the information. “That son of a bitch,” he finally says, his voice dark with disgust. “So it was him.”

I nod, though he can’t see me. “It was. This isn’t something we can act on right away. I need to be careful, Ivan. We both know Kace isn’t stupid. If we move too soon, he’ll see it coming. We need to hit him where it hurts—when he’s vulnerable.”

Ivan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “You’re right. Dominik will want us to play this strategically. Kace is too powerful in New York. The American Mafia is already on edge, and if we make the wrong move, it could start a war we’re not ready for.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. I’ve never been good at waiting. Patience isn’t my strength. But this… this isn’t just about revenge. It’s about doing it right. Ensuring that Kace’s downfall isn’t just brutal—it’s permanent.

“I know,” I say quietly. “It’s hard to sit here knowing he’s out there, living his life while my father’s in the ground.”

Ivan’s voice softens, the sharp edge of his words easing slightly. “We’ll get him, Maxim. I swear it. We’ll do it smart. We’ll gather the intel, build our strategy, and when the time comes, Kace won’t see it coming.”

The promise in Ivan’s words helps, but it doesn’t extinguish the fire burning inside me. I can still see Kace’s face in my mind, smug and untouched by the chaos he’s created. The idea of letting him go about his business, thinking he’s safe, makes my blood boil.

“I want him to suffer, Ivan,” I admit, my voice low and filled with barely contained fury. “Not just for my father, but for all the shit he’s done over the years. The way he toys with people, uses them, and discards them when they’re no longer useful. He doesn’t get to walk away from this.”

“None of them do,” Ivan replies, his tone darker now. “We’ll make sure of that.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm the storm inside me. “I’ll keep working on it from here. See if I can dig up more connections to Kace. If there’s anything we can use against him, I’ll find it.”

“Good,” Ivan says. “Keep me updated. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Dominik, make sure we’re all on the same page.”

I grip the phone tighter, the need for action clawing at me. “I’ll be in touch.”

We end the call, and I set the phone down, staring at it for a moment before pushing back from the desk. The rage is still there, pulsing under the surface, but I know what needs to be done. This won’t be quick, and it won’t be clean. It’ll take time, patience, and strategy.

I head toward the window, looking out over the city. New York is sprawling and chaotic, just like the man who runs its underground. Kace Preston has built his empire, but empires crumble when you hit them in the right spot.

My mind races with possibilities, each one more satisfying than the last. I’ll find his weaknesses, his soft spots, and when I do, I’ll exploit them until there’s nothing left.

For now, I wait. I bide my time.

Just then, Artem knocks on the door and steps inside, his presence always quiet yet reassuring. “Everything good, Boss?”

I turn to face him, nodding. “Henry gave me what we needed. Kace is responsible for my father’s death.”

Artem’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent, waiting for my next words. “We’re going to play this smart. Gather everything we can about Kace and his operations. No sudden moves. Not yet.”

Artem nods, understanding without needing more explanation. He’s always been steady like that—knowing when to push and when to wait.

“Get the word out to our people,” I say, my voice steady. “I want eyes on every move Kace makes. I want to know his routine, who he’s meeting, where his weak points are.”

Artem gives a small nod of respect. “Got it.”

He leaves the room, and I lean back against the desk, staring out into the city again. Kace doesn’t know it yet, but his time is coming. Every move he makes from now on is a step closer to his end.

I can wait. I’ve been waiting for months, and I’ll wait as long as it takes.

Because when I finally make my move, Kace Preston will wish he’d never crossed the Sharovs.