Chapter 15 #2
Before I move, I turn to Dmitri, who is already motioning to our stationed guards. “Get Nastya, too. We’re leaving.”
Within three steps, I am at Camilla’s side, my hand wrapping around her forearm with an iron grip that instantly halts her laughter.
"We're leaving. Now," I command, my voice a lethal, low frequency that allows no argument.
"What? Maksim, wait—" she starts, her eyes widening as I pull her toward the secure private exit, Dmitri leading the way with his hand already resting inside his jacket.
We slip out the back before the crowd even realizes the Pakhan has vanished. The armored SUV is already idling at the curb, doors open. I shove Camilla into the back seat, tumbling in right after her as the heavy doors slam shut, the driver flooring the accelerator into the night.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Camilla snaps immediately, turning on me in the dim interior of the car, her voice dripping with pure fury. She yanks her arm away, her veil shifting over her shoulders. "You completely ruined the reception! My sisters were right there, we were finally—"
"A guest I invited is dead," I cut her off, my voice dropping like a guillotine.
She freezes, the anger draining from her face as she processes the name.
"Viktor ambushed his convoy outside the city. He’s dead, Camilla," I brief her, my eyes fixed on the dark streets outside the tinted windows.
"And my northern dock warehouse is currently burning to the ground.
He didn't just strike an important ally; he struck my infrastructure.
On our wedding day. The city is officially a war zone, and you are the primary target. "
She goes completely silent, her chest heaving against the silk of her wedding dress, her dark eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. The reality of the underworld we both belong to settles heavily between us.
“What about Nastya?” She asks suddenly, eyes full of worry.
“In one of the cars ahead.”
The SUV tears through the gates of my estate and screeches to a halt at the main entrance. The door is thrown open by a heavily armed guard.
"Stay here," I order, turning to face her. I grab the back of her neck, pulling her forward until my forehead rests against hers. "The house is completely locked down. I have twenty men on the perimeter and our best shooters in the hall. Do not leave this house, Camilla. Do you understand me?"
She nods slowly, her stubborn defiance temporarily swallowed by the gravity of the threat.
I pull back, unbuttoning my tuxedo jacket to loosen my stance as I step out of the vehicle. Nastya is already alighting a car a few feet away, looking frazzled. But she doesn’t approach.
Leaving both women under absolute guard inside the mansion, I slam the door shut and spin back toward the SUV where Dmitri is waiting.
"Let's go," I growl, pulling a heavy tactical pistol from the hidden compartment beneath the seat. "Let's go see what's left of my docks."
The smell of burning rubber, gasoline, and charred steel hits me the second the SUV screeches to a halt at the perimeter of the northern docks.
Thick, black smoke chokes the night sky, billowing from the skeletal remains of Warehouse Seven.
There are no sirens, no flashing lights, and no authorities—my men have completely blocked off the entire industrial district, ensuring the city's police force knows better than to interfere in Bratva business.
This is our territory, and we handle our own ruins.
Dmitri and I step out of the vehicle, our heavy boots crunching over shattered glass and puddles of soot-stained water. I look at the wreckage, my jaw tight, a cold, calculated rage burning in my chest.
"The fire started from the inside," Dmitri mutters, stepping over a fallen iron beam as we look over the damaged shipment.
As we inspect the scene closer, the grim reality becomes undeniably clear. This wasn't a random hit. It was planned with terrifying, surgical precision. The attackers bypassed the outer security sensors completely, knowing exactly which blind spots to exploit.
They didn't just burn the building; they targeted the specific vault containing our highest-value international contraband, leaving the cheaper freight untouched.
They knew our schedules, our security rotations, and precisely what to destroy to make the financial and structural loss look utterly humiliating for the Bratva.
"They had inside intelligence," Dmitri says, his voice low and tight as he shines a flashlight on a severed security wire. "Only a few people knew this shipment arrived this morning."
Before I can answer, a sudden, unnatural silence falls over the immediate area, the distant sound of crackling flames the only noise. My instincts flare, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
"Dmitri," I growl under my breath, my hand instinctively flying inside my jacket to grip the butt of my pistol.
A sharp click-clack of an automatic rifle echoes from the shadows of the adjacent shipping containers.
"Ambush!" Dmitri yells, diving behind a stack of steel crates just as the night explodes into a hail of gunfire.
Muzzle flashes illuminate the darkness as armed men move out from the smoke, their weapons trained directly on us.
Bullets rip through the air, sparking violently against the metal containers and shattering what little glass is left around us.
I pivot instantly, dropping low behind a concrete pillar, my pistol drawn and raised as the docks turn into a lethal crossfire.
I raise my weapon, peeking out from behind the concrete pillar, and fire three blind shots into the smoke. A heavy thud echoes through the gunfire as my first bullet finds its mark.
"Dmitri, flanking right!" I roar over the deafening noise of automatic rifles.
We don't try to hold the line; we fight to move. This is a kill box, and if we stay pinned down, they’ll surround us. Dmitri pops up from behind the steel crates, laying down a heavy wall of cover fire with his submachine gun while I advance, shifting from the pillar to a rusted forklift.
Two armed men step into the open, trying to cut off our retreat toward the SUV. I don't give them the chance. I fire twice, dropping the first man with a shot to the chest and catching the second right between the eyes before he can pull his trigger.
Dmitri moves fluidly beside me, clearing the blind spots. We drive a brutal, bloody wedge straight through their line, killing enough of Viktor’s men to break their momentum before the trap can fully close around us.
Breathing heavily, we scramble back into the armored SUV. My driver hits the gas before the doors are even fully shut, the tires screeching as we blast out of the burning shipyard and back onto the dark, abandoned highway.
I eject my empty magazine, slapping a fresh one into the pistol with a harsh click, my face an unreadable mask of cold, focused fury.
"Call the secondary suppliers in Chicago," I order, turning my eyes to Dmitri, who is already wiping a streak of soot from his forehead. "I want a replacement package arranged and moved into the city as soon as possible. Use the southern routes. Double the security detail on the transport."
"Consider it done," Dmitri nods, pulling out his secure satellite phone.
I lean back against the leather seat, staring out at the passing streetlights. I understand exactly what Viktor is playing at. This wasn't just a tactical strike on my supply lines; it was a psychological one.
He wanted to hit me on my wedding day to make me look weak, distracted, and incapable of protecting my empire right when I took a wife. He wants the other families to think the Pakhan is vulnerable.
A smile touches my lips as I look down at my hands. Viktor thinks he just started a war to humiliate me, but all he's done is guarantee that when I tear his world apart, I won't leave a single piece standing.
But right now, I need to get back to my house—and my bride.