Semua Bab Arranged To The Bravta King: Bab 161 - Bab 170

176 Bab

160

MikhailThe crack of gunfire reverberates off the walls of an abandoned mall, drowning out the frantic shouting inside. Shattered glass and debris litter the floor as men stomp through storefronts with bare shelves. Flashes of gunfire light up the darkness, casting eerie shadows on graffiti-covered walls. A blast punctuates the panicked screams of those caught in the crossfire.On an upper level, I stand beside Zakhar, watching as my trustworthy men, fueled by the Lanzzare's additional firepower, carry out our war against Gunsyn with ruthless efficiency. The scene is frenzied yet calculated among the mildewed building debris. Calmly, I watch a clash of destruction orchestrated by an expert plan.Tense, I observe from a distance like a general not allowed to race into the fray. I clutch my hands around night-vision binoculars and force my feet to stay planted where they are. Apparently, Gunsyn has also chosen to stay out of the line of fire. But if I see him, I will run into the madnes
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161

MariaThe penthouse was like living in a gallery, but living in the castle is like living in a museum. I wander freely from room to room, and the only thing that stops me is the occasional locked door. I admire paintings of landscapes and saints that are centuries old. Paintings in carved gold frames of bearded men in cloaks, caught in the throes of ecstasy. Landscapes of the West when it was first settled. I gasp loudly when I find a room of Madonnas. A wall covered in icons, ancient and breathtaking.I walk in a trance toward the serene faces and smell a whiff of incense in the air.But a guard materializes like magic when I step too close to a door leading to the outside. I'm always reminded when I forget I'm not really a guest. My life is ironic. I made plans to find freedom and ended up being held captive. A pawn in a strategy controlled by a Bratva I didn't know existed.I laugh bitterly at a painting of a small, naive girl holding a bouquet. Well, I wanted to spend my days visi
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162

MariaAs I crouch behind the tapestry, I listen intently for any signs of movement. The sound of footsteps comes nearer, and I hold my breath, praying they'll keep going. For a moment, it seems like they have, but then I hear a low chuckle.The voice says something in Russian, taunting me as its owner searches. My heart leaps to my throat. Bitter fear fills my mouth as my breath quickens.Panic won't save me, only action. As I prepare to face whatever is out there, I hear a single gunshot and then a voice. "Ublyudki!" Natasha sneers before I hear her footsteps run away. I slip out from behind the tapestry and tiptoe down the corridor, searching for her.The back door is wide open, and she must have headed for the range. I run full speed toward the low, squat building, ignoring the cold on the soles of my feet. The door is open, and I get on the ground, crawling, alert to any movement. As I approach the stalls, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots echoing. I hold my breath and for
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163

MariaNo one tells me where I'm going. I am shuttled around like an unwanted child from relative to relative. My lips tighten into a scowl as the SUV heads south, and I know enough to know that they are not returning me to Mikhail. The SUV exits the Thruway and passes through a small town. Nothing is exciting or unusual to see—strip malls and fast food. I wonder if I will be kept in another warehouse like a cardboard box stacked on a shelf.Sorokin's estate received a lot of damage from Gunsyn's ill-fated attack. Only a few men were able to penetrate the house itself, but they did serious damage to the exterior and, from what I understand, set fire to a few outer buildings. Sorokin didn't experience the heavy losses that Gunsyn did, but Gunsyn got away.In a sick way, he has emerged the winner in spite of a failed attack.My brow furrows when I think about that coward escaping again. I wanted Sorokin to catch him. I would've demanded that I be allowed to watch while he was tortured. M
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164

MikhailI return to the Lanzzare mansion, unsure of the reception I'll receive. Christian Genovesi looked delighted to get rid of me the last time I was here. A bodyguard opens the door and immediately steps aside to let me in. At least the truce is still intact after all these weeks. Waiting in the hall, I look around the mansion, opulent but impersonal. A show of wealth without any personality. It feels cold and sterile, like a showroom rather than a lived-in home.The bodyguard shows me into the living room, and I look even closer. The furniture is sleek and modern, with no signs of wear or use. It almost feels more like a luxurious film set than a lived-in space. I keep displays of my personal life hidden, as anyone in my position would. But this is different.Christian enters the room, increasing the atmosphere of pretentiousness and artificiality."Mikhail," he grasps my hand before sitting across from me. "What brings you back? Is there something else we can help you with?""Ye
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165

MikhailWe turn off the Thruway and begin our approach to Sorokin's estate. The castle comes into view before we pass through the iron gates. After Gunsyn's ill-fated attack, trespassing is not tolerated. At the gatehouse, we are made to step out of the SUV and are patted down thoroughly. The SUV is then left at the gate, while a different car takes us deeper inside.We're shown in without much fanfare and taken immediately to the dining room, and as we walk, I look around for Maria. My gaze shifts to the top of the stairs, hoping to see her. Even a glimpse. But if I see Maria, I risk doing something stupid and rash. I have to be cautious. So, I shove my anger down my throat, swallow it, and force it to stay in my gut. She's carrying my baby, and I will repeat those words to myself whenever my anger threatens to appear.Sorokin, Popov, and Dmitri are waiting in the dining room, and their expressions are as grim as the atmosphere. Their judgment of me is already decided as I sit down.
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166

MariaFrom an empty bedroom, I watch Mikhail being taken away. The red backlights become smaller and smaller as I press my forehead against the cold glass. My mind races with scenarios as I struggle to accept what has happened.Deep down, I know leaving wasn't Mikhail's decision. He would never willingly abandon me like this.I race down the stairs toward the front door as if I'm not too late. I reach out for the doorknob, and two scowling guards pull me away. I fight against them, shouting that they better let me go. It's not fair. I'm doing what's expected of me to become a pakhan's wife.Sorokin steps out of the dining room to investigate the shrieking commotion. His gun is drawn, but he quickly slips it under his jacket when he sees it's only me. What was he thinking? What was he planning to do to Mikhail?I elbow a guard, breaking out of his tight grip, and hurry toward Sorokin."Please," I beg him, "just let me see Mikhail one more time." I point at the door. "Before he reaches
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167

MariaCHRISTMAS EVEA few cards sit on the mantel among a twisty wire of bright lights. The Christmas tree stands in one corner, its branches covered in twinkling lights and ornaments from the attic. For the first time in a long while, the living room furniture is draped in cozy red-and-green throws, and a plush white rug adds to the holiday style. The scent of cinnamon and cloves fills the air downstairs, but none of this is enough to put me in the mood.The only thing that makes me smile is a sonogram of my baby propped up on the mantelpiece.Dad sits in the kitchen wrapping gifts. The sound of paper folding and the cut and the hiss of tape being pulled off the spool is calming, like white noise. I stare at the colorful presents crowded under the tree with big loopy bows.I want to care that Christmas is tomorrow, but I just don't.It's hard to care when I can only think about Mikhail."You don't mind that they're coming over?" Dad enters the room, picking at a roll of tape, trying
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168

MikhailThe penthouse is a mausoleum of her memories, taunting me wherever I look. I stare at the spiral staircase, waiting for Maria to come down. I wait, hoping I'm wrong, but I know she'll never appear. I wander aimlessly up the stairs into her old bedroom, and my gaze falls on the Kuzma Fedorov painting I gave her. I remember that day and how proud Maria was to tell me it was hanging upside down.I, the art expert, was being schooled by a woman who had only seen art in books.But Maria spotted the hidden image of the face in the brushstrokes so clearly. The same way she spotted the light imprints in my father's journals. The same way that she still spotted a glimpse of the man I could have been.I close my eyes, dreaming that when I open them, she'll still be next to me. But I turn and the fantasy gives way to harsh reality.Many of the paintings I owned were destroyed during the attack. And I haven't stepped into my office since she left. I haven't touched a pencil, a pen, or a b
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169

MariaCHRISTMAS NIGHTIt's only eight thirty on Christmas night, and all day I haven't been in the mood for presents or holiday cheer. I finally give up and go upstairs to sit by my bedroom window. I don't have the energy or desire to do more than watch the snowflakes fall gently to the ground below. I glance over at the closed door and feel a little guilty for not being downstairs. But I can't imagine Dad is too eager to keep celebrating either. The last time I saw him he was sitting in the kitchen listening to a true crime podcast.I take a look around at the hot pink walls, the neatly arranged art books, and the plush stuffed animals on my twin bed.Nothing's changed in my pretty cage, except for me.Soon, I'll have a little girl of my own. I stare at the latest sonogram pictures again and that's the only thing that makes me smile.The world outside is cold and unforgiving, but it's warm and safe in here. In Holtsville, my father will keep me safely tucked away from what's out ther
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