Page 47 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

“What was that?” the woman asks. “Change of plans?”

“The fucking Abashins can’t leave a plan alone, I swear to Christ,” the man on the phone man complains. “They want to take over. Want her in their hands. Think we’re going to blow it.”

Two families? This is bigger than we realized. I still don’t know who kidnapped me, but now I know at least one of the names involved.

“It’s hard to get your start with the big families looming over your shoulder,” I say. My words start as a terrified squeak but come out bolder as I continue. They want me alive. I have to remember that. “Small fish in a big pond, right?”

Footsteps on my right grow louder, and someone slaps me across the face. “The Belovs aren’t small, bitch. We’re going to wipe out every last rival and be the only name anyone knows.”

“Shut the fuck up,” the man swears. “There’s time for bragging afterward. Right now, we need to focus.”

From far away comes a third voice. “We’ve got company!”

My heart soars. Anton is here.

Chapter 25 - Anton

The plan went to shit the moment it began. We thought they’d take her when she walked out, but I clocked her at the window paying the bill, then lost her to the back of the restaurant. We had Luka at the back alley, but they blew past him, and for the longest minute of my life, we lost sight of her. Tracking on her phone showed her still at the restaurant, so obviously, those bastards had thrown her phone in the parking lot when they’d grabbed her.

We trailed them to their hideout, a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Watching them drag her into the house and not being able to do a goddamn thing had me ripping my hair out. Now, we’re in deeper shit for waiting.

“I told you we should’ve gone straight in,” I hiss at Viktor.

He insisted we wait and assess the situation before charging in, just in case the place was set up for an ambush. Tucked against the side of the building, we had front-row seats to another group driving up. Four men climbed out and walked into that warehouse with Ella. The surveillance we managed showed eight total inside now. Against three.

“And been in the middle of a firefight when these guys showed up? Yeah, that would’ve gone well. This way, we at least know what we’re walking into.”

“Were those fucking Abashins?” I clocked one of the men from a dossier on the family.

“Looked like it,” Viktor says with a nod, before glancing at his phone. “We’ve got back-up coming. Shevchenko's in the area. Just hold for another five, and they’ll be here.”

There’s no way I’m sitting here for another five minutes doing nothing while Ella is in there, in danger. Anything could happen in that much time.

“Bullshit, Viktor, that wasn’t the plan.” And I’m done with chatter.

I stay low and slink around the front of the house, drawing the pistol I’ve got strapped to my hip. There’s another on a shoulder holster, and a knife strapped to my other hip for when distance closes.

Viktor curses behind me, but I block him out, focusing on whatever stands between Ella and me. Fear roils through me, and my heart races with a feeling I’ve only felt once before: that day in the hotel with Ella, when something more important than life itself was at risk.

Best guess is that the first room inside is where they took Ella, since the other windowed rooms were empty, and I’m praying that’s true because the seconds it takes me to find her could cost me everything.

I kick the door open and hit the man standing guard in the entrance with full force. He staggers backward, and I’m on him before he ever recovers, driving my knife into his throat. He’s dead before he hits the ground, and I’m past him, barreling down the hallway to the first doorway I see.

Luka and Viktor shout behind me, but I ignore them as I knock the door open with my shoulder. It unlocks and swings open more easily than expected, my momentum carrying me deeper into the room. That’s what I want, because there’s Ella in the corner.

Two men turn, surprised. One goes down with two gunshots in his chest before he has a chance to react, and the other draws his own gun, but I don’t give a fuck, because it’spointed at me and not Ella. He’s frightened and wastes time with a shout, jerks his gun because he’s tense when he shoots, and the shot goes wide, hitting the wall behind me. My shot doesn’t miss. The first takes him in the face, and the second in his stomach. He’s down.

“Behind!” Luka shouts from the doorway.

He and Viktor are back-to-back. I run to Ella and check her for injuries as I slice the ropes binding her wrists.

“Stay here,” I tell her when I find none.

I glance out the hallway between Luka and Viktor and see two bodies on the floor—men they took down on their way in. No injuries on our side, but they’re down to three. Even odds, but I know where I’d place my bets.

“So much for your Shevchenkos,” I say to Luka.

A man peeks around the corner down the hall, and two shots follow: one whizzes by us and hits the front door, while the other, Viktor’s, takes the man out. Footsteps pound somewhere in the back of the house, and a door slams.

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