Page 33 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
These men were discussing a territorial dispute with a rival syndicate and how to resolve it. It appeared that the other gang was encroaching on Bratva territory, hijacking shipments, and cutting into their profits.
A good number of the men in this room advocated for violence while resisting suggestions. I didn’t expect anything less from men shaped by the flames of war. Of course, their first instinct would be to fight fire with fire.
“Those assholes have messed with the wrong people,” one of the men said, his voice deep and gravelly. “I say we send them a message.”
“Yes,” another concurred. “Let’s burn their trucks and gut their fuckin’ drivers.”
“Take their men off the damn streets. Leave their corpses where everyone will see.”
“They only understand one language. Fear,” another chipped in. “Let’s make it louder.”
It was the same refrain repeated again and again. Violence, death, destruction, blood. Nobody else suggested anything different—not a single soul. I was expecting Lev to speak up and maybe offer a more reasonable approach, but he remained silent.
They were all so focused on retaliation that they lost sight of the opportunity sitting right in front of them.
I lowered my head, fingers gripping the smooth edge of the table as I muttered under my breath, “You’re all circling the same grave.”
Voices fell silent immediately, as though they’d all heard me.
I felt their gazes on me, and when I raised my head, they were all staring at me.
One of the older ones, with a scarred, wolfish face and narrowed eyes, looked at me. “What was that?”
I braced myself, my throat wobbling as I swallowed hard. A cold shiver ran down my spine, but I still managed to hold his gaze. “I’d rather not overstep. It isn’t my place to speak.”
The man glanced at Lev, then returned his gaze to me. “You have permission to speak then.”
I shot a quick look at Lev, but he said nothing, and the intrigue etched on his face told me he was curious to hear me out.
I exhaled softly and straightened my spine, then said, “You’ve already lost shipments. Retaliation will only bleed you further.”
“Why is that?” one of the other men asked me, his voice laced with condescension, as if I had no right to suggest anything to them.
“Because they expect you to strike back,” I answered, eyes meeting with his for a split second. “In fact, they’re counting on it. It’s a game—their game—and you’re playing right into it.”
“We’re familiar with the game too, child,” said another.
“My point exactly.” I glanced at the man. “Violence breeds velocity. You burn their trucks, they’ll burn your warehouses. You shoot their men, they’ll hunt yours down.”
At this point, I could feel that my words were starting to take effect on them.
“So, what’re you saying?” the older man asked me.
“That you do something they won’t expect,” I replied.
“Which is?”
“Choking them without lifting a gun,” came my response. “I know someone who used this method and succeeded.” Iglanced at Lev, hinting at the way he manipulated my father and me into taking his deal.
A faint grin tugged at the corners of his lips, almost as if he was impressed by my suggestion.
“And how do you propose we do that, genius?” another asked me, his voice carrying a hint of sarcasm.
I looked at him. “Tighten the noose on their supply lines, cut their access quietly, and let them starve.”
The men exchanged glances but said nothing, although I could tell they were beginning to accept the idea.
I continued, “Do that until they can’t move their goods, until their partners start to lose faith and their profit bleeds out on its own. Then, they’ll come crawling. And you…won’t have spent a single bullet.”
