Across the room, there’s a door. Not the one the old man exited through. Another one, half concealed behind a stack of more crates. A narrow window above it shows a sliver of the sky. If the door is unlocked, it means I might have a chance to get away…unless there’s someone guarding it.
But I have to try. I can’t stay here.
My body screams in protest with every step, but I move anyway, the gun heavy at my side, the crowbar in my other hand. I reach for the knob, and when I try it, it turns. The door creaks at first, and I slowly push it open.
And when I see who’s standing there, I almost drop the pistol.
Every part of me grows numb, my mind refusing to believe what’s in front of me. This can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense.
A smile twists across her face. “Hello, Fiona. Where do you think you’re going?”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ALEKSEI
I can still hearher screaming my name.
That broken sound tears through every part of me, branded into my skull.
I see her face when I close my eyes. Her terror, her desperation, the way her hands clawed toward me as they dragged her away.
My tires screech as I speed, cutting through the streets, horn blaring as I fly through red lights and scream past traffic. I don’t register the ache in my muscles or the cold from my soaked clothes. Just that choking fury swelling like a tide inside me.
She’s gone. And I let it happen.
My fist slams into the steering wheel so hard my knuckles split, but it barely registers over the sound of her screams, like she’s here in front of me.
But I will find her. She’s close. The tracker lit up in Brooklyn, and then it was gone. Which means those bastards found it and either figured out a way to block the signal or took it out of her.
If they hurt my wife that way, they will wish they were dead before I get to them.
As soon as I arrive home, I tear the front door open, heading straight for the basement. Once there, I push a button, andthe wall flips before I enter the hidden room. Lights flicker on, weapons lining the walls. An arsenal, enough to start a war, and that’s exactly what I’m about to do. Duffel bags hit the floor with a thud, and I start filling them—handguns, rifles, knives, grenades. Every tool of destruction I’ve ever owned is coming with me.
Footsteps thunder above me until I register the creak of the stairs.
“Aleksei?” Kirill calls. “You down there?”
I don’t look up as he walks into the room, just zip another bag and move to the next.
He stays there watching me silently for a few seconds before he asks, “Chto sluchilos?”What happened?
My blood simmers in my veins. “They took her.”
“What?”
“They fucking took her. The Volkovs. Or the fucking Italians. I don’t know exactly. But I saw it happen. I was there.” I turn to face him, and the look I give could cut through bone. “I couldn’t stop it. I just let them take her.”
“That’s bullshit. I know you did everything you could.”
“Not good enough.” I grab another duffel and fill it too.
“We will get her back, and we will raise hell to do it.”
He’s already dialing Konstantin and telling him what’s happening. I don’t hear the rest. I’m already gone, lost in the bloodlust of what’s coming. Praying for the moment I finally have her back in my arms and never let go again.
I pack until the bags are full and heavy and the floor beneath me looks like an armory.
An hour later, the jet is fueled and waiting, my brothers and our men all with me. We board without words because there’s nothing to say.
