Chapter 4

POV ILYA KRAVTSOV

Pavel hadn’t specified the size of the package, so I chose to take my SUV. And it was a good thing I did because what awaited me was a large wooden box.

Three men stood waiting for me in the middle of a deserted road, with the package in the trunk of their car.

I stepped out of my vehicle cautiously, armed with a gun holstered at my side, though I doubted I’d need it for what was supposedly a simple task—or so Pavel had told me.

As I approached them, frowning and wearing a decidedly unfriendly expression, I noticed all three grew visibly tense.

"Our business is with Pavel Kiselev."

"I’m Ilya Kravtsov, brigadiry of the Pakhan. Whatever business you have can be dealt with through me," I said firmly, my voice low and threatening.

I wasn’t liking this one bit.

It was about one in the morning, and just the timing and location of this handoff were suspicious enough.

The wind howled around me, whispering in my ears, and I could have sworn it was trying to warn me about something. A strange chill ran down my spine, unmistakably a sign. An intuition I’d always had, one that had saved me countless times and kept me alert in situations that could turn deadly at any moment.

Maybe that intuition was why I’d been so successful in the missions I was assigned.

"We’ll only deliver to the owner of the package," the oldest of the men said, his thick accent revealing he was Mexican.

"Sorry to disappoint, partner, but I’m the best you’re going to get. It’s your choice—easy or hard."

They didn’t take long to decide because one of them made a subtle gesture to someone behind me. It might have been discreet enough to catch me off guard if I hadn’t already been on edge, my reflexes sharp and expecting the moment things would go sideways.

I spun around, my arm extending, gun drawn from my holster in one swift motion, and fired at the man in front of me. At the same time, I twisted my body, delivering a kick to the one coming from behind.

The bullet hit its mark—right between the first man’s eyes—and the second man fell to the ground from the force of my kick, leaving him open for another shot that landed squarely on his forehead.

The remaining two fired at me, but my quick movements shielded me from their aim. Another precise shot took down one more, leaving only the older man who had spoken earlier.

"I should’ve guessed Pavel wouldn’t come. Of course, he’d send the Bratva Beast to collect his precious cargo."

Precious what? What exactly was in this package that warranted so much protection and conflict?

"Bratva Beast" was a nickname I’d earned after a brutal mission about three years ago with my brother. We’d been ambushed by an enemy group, and Kolya was injured by a gunshot. Alone, I managed to get us out, taking down a dozen men in the process.

I’d never told anyone the full extent of what I’d endured in that bloodbath or how I’d saved us, but my reputation was cemented after that. Some of our captors were left so mutilated by the violence I inflicted that photos of the scene spread throughout the organization.

That gruesome display earned me a promotion from Pavel and a fearsome reputation I hadn’t asked for—but one that guaranteed me a certain level of power within the Bratva.

"I’m not stupid enough to go up against you, Ilya," the man said, raising his hands in surrender. It could have been a trap, so I didn’t lower my gun, keeping it trained on him, ready to shoot. "It’s not worth it. But I’ll warn you—they wanted to kill your pakhan. This was meant to be an ambush. Stay sharp."

I stepped closer to him, frisking him thoroughly. I found a switchblade and a revolver, which I confiscated, tucking them into my pocket.

"Kneel," I ordered, and he complied, dropping to his knees on the asphalt.

I grabbed the box by its handle, feeling its heavy weight. It must have been over fifty kilograms.

"What the hell is in here?" I growled, but the man shrugged. He truly didn’t want to get involved, which only confirmed my suspicion that this would turn into more of a problem than I initially thought.

Grumbling, I lifted the box out of the trunk and carried it to my car, walking backward to keep my eyes on the man. I placed the box on the ground, opened my trunk, and carefully slid it inside before slamming the door shut.

I returned to the kneeling man and struck him on the head with the butt of my gun, knocking him out cold.

Sliding into my car, I hesitated for a moment, considering what to do with him. They would have killed me without hesitation. They would have killed Pavel.

Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to shoot a defenseless man in the back. I wasn’t that kind of coward.

I jotted down the plate number of their car, slashed its tires, and sent the location to Kolya, explaining the situation. My brother could send his men to handle it, likely to extract more information about the planned ambush on Pavel.

As I drove along the M10, my mind raced to control my nerves. That could have gone terribly wrong, but that wasn’t the real problem.

Everything about this package was odd. Too heavily guarded. Too heavy in weight. Too shrouded in secrecy, even from the messenger. And worst of all, the box bore an eerie resemblance to a coffin.

A thought began to creep into my mind, growing more insistent with every kilometer I traveled toward St. Petersburg.

The man had said "precious" in the feminine form. Rumors had been swirling that Pavel was engaged, set to marry soon, and that his bride-to-be was Mexican. Those whispers had been growing louder, with talk that the wedding was imminent.

It couldn’t be... could it?