A thousand calculations fired at once. Igor. Nadia missing. Anya gone without notice.
This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a pattern.
“Do you still see them?”
“No, I passed them while going in the opposite direction. I’ll try to find them.”
I ended the call and turned to Dominic. He’d heard enough from my tone alone.
“This is connected,” I said. “Nadia doesn’t disappear on her own. And Igor doesn’t suddenly chauffeur Anya without permission.”
Dominic’s jaw flexed. “Want me to put eyes on the road?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We need answers first.”
I turned toward Alexandr’s office. Rurik fell into step beside me without being asked.
Inside, Alexandr stood behind his desk, hands braced against the polished wood, his expression carved from stone. He looked up as we entered, his eyes immediately sharpening.
“You’ve heard,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “And I just received a call that puts Anya with Igor.”
That got his attention. “Igor?”
“Igor knew I was going to take Anya to the theater. He knew I would guard her. Why would he disobey your orders and take Anya himself?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nadia was supposed to tell Anya that I was taking her to the theater. Now Nadia is missing along with Anya.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Alexandr’s control cracked—just a fraction. His fingers curled into fists.
Which meant she’d been taken—or lured.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Tell me about Igor.”
Alexandr’s gaze locked onto mine, weighing something heavy.
“You need to understand,” he said slowly, “Igor didn’t come from nothing.”
“I’m listening.”
Alexandr straightened, his voice turning distant. “His father was one of my most trusted lieutenants. A man who stood between me and death more than once. He died protecting me.”
The shout came from the west wing.
I was already moving before the words fully registered, boots striking marble as a maid stumbled into the hall, her face white with shock.
“They found her,” she said breathlessly. “Nadia—she’s alive.”
Alexandr and I reached the guest bathroom within seconds. The door stood open now, the lock shattered. Nadia sat on the toilet lid, wrapped in a robe someone had given her. Her hands trembled violently.
My chest tightened.
Dark bruising ringed her neck—angry fingerprints already blooming beneath her skin.
“Nadia,” Alexandr said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Who did this?”
