She’s on the concrete floor of what looks like a warehouse. Her wrists and ankles are bound with zip ties. Her dress is dirty and torn. Her hair is tangled. Her face is pale, streaked with tears and dirt.
And her stomach—eight months pregnant, impossibly round—strains against the fabric of her dress as she lies on her side.
“No,” Alexi whispers beside me.
The camera moves closer. Savannah’s eyes are closed. She’s either asleep or unconscious. I can’t tell which.
Then Dmitri’s voice comes from off-camera. “Mrs. Volkov. Wake up.”
She stirs. Opens her eyes. Sees the camera and tries to turn away.
“Look at the camera.”
“No.” Her voice is hoarse, broken. “Please don’t?—”
“Look at the camera and tell your husband how you’re feeling.”
She doesn’t move.
Dmitri walks into frame, crouches beside her. Grabs her chin and forces her face toward the camera. “I said look at the camera.”
Her eyes meet the lens. Red-rimmed. Terrified. Exhausted.
“Ledger—” Her voice cracks. “Ledger, I didn’t leave you. I didn’t run. They took me. They?—”
“Enough.” Dmitri releases her face and stands. The camera follows him as he walks around her slowly. “Your husband needs to see what happens to the people he loves.”
He stops filming. The video freezes on a close-up of Savannah’s face—pale, terrified, crying.
Then it cuts to black.
I stare at the blank screen.
“Dad.” Alexi’s voice sounds far away. “Dad, we’ll find her. We’ll?—”
The phone slips from my hand and clatters on the desk.
Three days.
She’s been in that warehouse for three days. Bound. Alone. Pregnant. While I searched the wrong locations and doubted her, wondering whether she had left me or not.
While I wasted time.
“Ledger.” Silas’s hand is on my shoulder. “We need to?—”
“Get everyone here.” My voice comes out flat, emotionless. “Every man we have. Every contact. Every person who owes us a favor.”
“What are you planning?”
“War.” I look up at him. “I’m going to burn the Kozlov family to the ground. Everything they’ve built, I’m going to destroy.”
“That’s going to draw a lot of attention. The FBI, local police?—”
“I don’t care.” I stand. “I’m done pretending to be legitimate.”
Alexi is on his phone, making calls. “I’m getting the Chicago family on the line. And New York.”
“Tell them I’m calling in every debt, favor, and alliance we’ve ever made.” I walk to the windows and look out at the city. “And tell them that anyone who helps the Kozlovs dies with them.”
