"Thank you, Yuri. This information is valuable."
"Be careful, Dimitri. Viktor is cornered, and cornered animals are dangerous."
I end the call and stand there, staring at my phone. I should have seen this coming. Viktor Popov has always been ambitious, always willing to sacrifice anything for power. I've known that about him for years. But I underestimated how far he'd go, how little his own daughter's life meant to him.
The thought of Alina in that house, surrounded by her father's men, possibly discovering the truth about his betrayal, makes my chest tight with something that feels uncomfortably like fear.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and this time it's not a call or a message. It's an alert from the panic button app. The pendant is transmitting an emergency signal.
Alina pressed the button.
Everything else falls away, the careful planning, the strategic positioning, the need to maintain appearances. None of it matters. Alina is in danger, and I'm going to get her out.
"Move!" I shout, already running toward the garage. "Everyone, move now! We're going to the Popov estate!"
My men respond instantly, years of training kicking in. Engines roar to life. Weapons are checked one final time. Within sixty seconds, we're pulling out of the estate in a convoy of three SUVs, all of them armored, all of them carrying my best soldiers.
I'm in the lead vehicle, driving myself because I can't sit still, can't let someone else control our speed. My foot presses the accelerator to the floor, and the powerful engine responds, pushing us through the streets at dangerous speeds.
"Dimitri." It's Borge, one of my lieutenants, in the passenger seat. "What's the plan?"
"We get her out. Whatever it takes."
"Viktor's men will be armed. This could turn into a bloodbath."
"Then it turns into a bloodbath." My voice is cold, flat. "But we're not leaving without Alina."
The drive feels like it takes hours, though it's probably only ten minutes. Every second that passes is another second Alina is in danger. My hands tighten on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. If Viktor has hurt her, if he's laid one finger on her, I'll tear him apart with my bare hands. Slowly. Painfully. I'll make him beg for death before I'm done.
The possessive rage that floods through me should concern me. I've killed dozens of men in my life, but always with cold calculation, never with emotion. Emotion makes you sloppy. But right now, I don't care about being sloppy. I care about getting to Alina.
We turn onto the street where the Popov estate sits, and I see immediately that something is wrong. The gates are open, which they shouldn't be. Viktor's guards who were positioned around the property are gone. And there, in the driveway, is Alexei's SUV with the driver's door hanging open.
I slam on the brakes, and we're out of the vehicles before they've fully stopped. My men fan out, weapons drawn, covering all angles. But there's no resistance. No guards rushing out to stop us. Just eerie silence. Why hadn’t the men stationed nearby notified me? How could they have missed this?
I run up the front steps, my Glock in my hand, and burst through the door into the foyer.
Alexei lies on the marble floor in a pool of blood.
For a moment, my heart stops. Then I see his chest rising and falling, shallow but steady. He's alive. I drop to my knees beside him, my hands already checking for injuries. There's a bullet wound in his shoulder, another graze across his temple.Someone hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious, then shot him for good measure.
"Get the doctor!" I shout to my men. "Now!"
Mikhail is already on the phone, calling our private physician. Two of my soldiers carefully lift Alexei, preparing to move him to one of the vehicles.
I stand, my eyes scanning the foyer. There are signs of a struggle. A broken vase. Scuff marks on the floor. And blood. Not just Alexei's blood, but drops leading toward the back of the house.
"Search every room," I order. "Find her. Find Alina."
My men scatter, moving through the house with practiced efficiency. I hear doors opening, furniture being moved, voices calling out as they clear each space. But I already know what they're going to find.
Nothing.
Alina is gone.
I move through the house myself, my weapon ready, my eyes taking in every detail. The kitchen is empty. The living room untouched. Upstairs, I find what I assume is Alina's bedroom. The door is open, and inside, a suitcase sits on the bed, half-packed. Clothes are scattered across the floor. Her phone lies on the nightstand, abandoned.
She was packing to come back to me. The realization hits me hard. She was choosing to return, choosing me over her family. And then something happened.
