Page 83 of Scarred Bratva King

I flip through the file, my mind absorbing every detail: the layout of the compound, the rotation schedules of Vito’s guards, the location of potential weak points. My focus is absolute, every decision calculated.

But beneath the surface, my thoughts drift to Veronica. I picture her at the bookstore, surrounded by shelves of books, her laughter filling the space as she chats with customers.

The thought steadies me and twists the knife in my chest at the same time.

“If we get pinned down, fallback route?” I ask.

Dmitri points to an alley near the compound’s northern side. “Here. It’s narrow, but it’s defensible. The extraction team will be ready to cover us.”

I nod, my fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “Good.”

Ivan gives me a sidelong glance, his smirk fading. “You ready for this, boss?”

I meet his gaze, my voice steel. “I was born ready for this.”

But as the words leave my mouth, a small part of me wonders if that’s true. I’ve spent my life preparing for battles like this,for moments where violence and power collide. But this time, it feels different. This time, I’m not fighting for control or survival.

This time, I’m fighting for her. I may not get to have a life with her, but I can make sure nothing threatens her ever again.

Dmitri straightens, rolling up the map and slipping it into a tube. “We hit at midnight. Until then, rest up. We’ll need every ounce of strength we’ve got.”

The night air is crisp, a biting cold that seeps through my tactical gear, but I welcome it. It keeps me sharp.

The Lombardi compound sprawls ahead, a fortress of steel and stone, perched on the hill like a goddamn castle.

Spotlights sweep the perimeter, cutting through the darkness in predictable arcs. Guards pace the length of the walls, their hands resting on their weapons, confident in their defenses.

They should be. Lombardi didn’t build his empire on arrogance—he built it on paranoia. And paranoia makes men dangerous.

I crouch low behind the thick underbrush, my team fanned out in a perfect formation. Dimitri is beside me, his face hard and expressionless. His eyes sweep over the estate. He taps his earpiece.

“Perimeter team, report.”

A soft crackle before Ivan’s voice comes through. “North team in position. Two guards at the side entrance, rotating every five minutes. No external cameras on this side, but motion detectors on the fence.”

I glance at Dmitri. He nods. We already knew about the motion sensors.

Alexei, from the south perimeter team, speaks next. “South entrance is locked tight. Three guards. Internal cameras active.”

Good. I like a challenge.

I exhale slowly, fingers tightening around my silenced pistol. We’ve planned this operation down to the second, but even the best-laid plans fall apart once the first bullet flies. The key is controlling the aftermath.

I signal Ivan, and he slips forward, hugging the darkness. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a small handheld scrambler. A custom job like the signal replicator.

“It better fucking work,” Dmitri mutters.

“Should do for the amount we paid,” I reply.

“Why didn’t Peter do this years ago?”

“Tech didn’t exist for one. Two, he was happy with his half of the city. Lacked ambition, that man. Watch. He’s almost there.”

Lombardi’s security runs on a closed system—no outside hacking. That means taking apart from the inside.

Ivan has moved fast, crouching beside a junction box embedded in the ground. One cut wire could send the entire estate into lockdown, but he knows what he’s doing. With steady fingers, he attaches a bypass chip to the panel.

“Three seconds,” he murmurs.

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