Page 123 of Bratva Bidder
I stop again, this time turning toward him. “You’re not here to babysit me, Lev. You’re here to stand beside me. If I wanted someone to second-guess every breath I take, I’d talk to my father.”
He studies me for a long beat, and then his expression softens just enough to let the concern show. “I’m not second-guessing you, Kon. I’m reminding you of the stakes.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Good. Because this isn’t just about Roman anymore. It’s about the war we’ve been pretending isn’t coming.”
The morning sun is already climbing higher in the sky, reflecting off car windows and puddles of last night’s rain, bright enough to make my head ache. Lev and I move swiftly toward the waiting SUV, gravel crunching beneath our feet as we leave the house behind us. He slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before I’ve even fully closed the passenger door, urgency humming quietly in every movement he makes.
I pull the dashboard tablet out of its bracket, activating it quickly and watching as our assets and properties flash across the screen in a neat grid, each address and safe house pinpointed with clean precision. It’s my empire laid bare, each dot representing a possible target, each line a lifeline I need to keep from severing.
“Start with the river houses,” I say, scanning the map closely, squinting slightly against the bright glare reflecting off the screen. “I want two men permanently stationed on the docks and another positioned on the roof for visibility, rotations every six hours. Communication limited to hand signals during daylight hours. I don’t want Dmitry’s men picking up radio chatter.”
Lev nods silently, entering a quick command into his own phone before turning back to me, his expression tight but calm, just as I’ve come to rely on.
“Done,” he says after a brief moment. “What about the garage in Brownsville? Sergei was managing it.”
The mention of Sergei tenses something deep in my gut, but I push the feeling down and keep my voice steady.
“Pull all vehicles immediately,” I say. “Get someone trustworthy to strip the plates and remove any traceable identifiers. Burn any burner phones or ledgers left there—we can’t leave even a shadow behind for Dmitry to sniff out.”
Another quick nod from Lev, another input into the tablet, the bright marker flickering from amber to green, signaling the task’s completion.
“The loft on East 11th?” Lev asks, his voice quiet but firm.
“Go dark completely,” I say without hesitation. “No one goes in or out unless they’re moving families silently, using only the freight elevator. Lights remain off, blinds stay shut—I want it looking abandoned.”
Lev acknowledges silently, continuing his work methodically, his movements calm and precise, never missing a step.
“What about the warehouse in Red Hook?”
“That stays operational,” I say, running my thumb over the marker thoughtfully. “Keep every shipment on schedule, staff present, operations normal. If Dmitry’s men are watching—and I guarantee they are—I want them to believe we’re scrambling and can’t afford to shut down a key asset.”
Lev nods again, entering more commands before turning to glance briefly at me as he steers the car into a busier intersection, the sound of traffic picking up around us.
“Safe apartments in Queens and Jersey—do you want patrols?”
“Every four hours, rotating two-man teams,” I say firmly. “Keep the patrol patterns unpredictable. If any team misses check-in by even five minutes, consider that location compromised, and trigger fallback sweeps immediately. Use an armed van, three-man crew, silent approach—no negotiations.”
Lev exhales slowly, a faint crease forming between his brows. He doesn’t challenge the orders—he never does—but I can feel the quiet weight behind that breath.
“You think Dmitry will hit us this openly?” he asks finally, eyes briefly leaving the road to meet mine.
“I think Dmitry will seize any chance to exploit confusion,” I say quietly, leaning back against the seat, rubbing my temple. “Roman’s death gives him the chaos he needs to move without restraint. We can’t underestimate how quickly he’ll act.”
Lev’s fingers tighten slightly on the wheel. “We’ve been ready for this a long time.”
“Maybe,” I say, feeling the slow burn of tension twisting inside my chest, thinking about Nikolai, about Nadya and Mila. “But readiness isn’t the same as preparedness. Dmitry has been planning this war longer than I’ve been breathing—he thrives in chaos. Our best shot at staying ahead is to maintain order, move deliberately, and trust no one outside our immediate circle.”
He glances at me again, expression hardening. “And if he strikes first?”
“Then we make sure it’s the last move he ever makes.”
He doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip again and keeps driving, sunlight slicing through the windshield, glinting off the passing cityscape. Every street, every corner, every window feels like a potential threat.
By the time we pull up to the first safe house in Queens, the tablet in my lap shows most locations secured, patrol routes activated, and backup plans locked in.
For now, everything holds together—barely. The storm is still coming, and we both know it.
It’s been four fucking days.
