Prologue
Dmitri…
June 2nd, Moving Day…
“...Then, he says, ‘What’s in it for me?’ It took everything I had not to punch thatPodonok,that fucker in the face.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose to contain the spreading headache, I fight to stay calm. “Was this before or after you presented him with the deed to his new luxury apartment in the Belladonna Highrise?”
Roman is silent, meaning my brother is looking for a good explanation. “I might have given the deed to someone else.”
“You what?” I snap. The elevator doors open and I storm out into the long corridor; the shining marble floors are almost blinding with the light from the huge windows at either end. “This was an easy deal! Frank Kotter's greasy little palm has been aching to hold that deed. Who the fuck has the apartment?”
“I’ll pay the project back for it!” Roman says hastily, “It’s just one apartment. We already have three more ready to sell on that floor alone.”
“Who. Has. The. Deed.” My enunciation is precise.
“Lana,” he says reluctantly.
“The stripper?”
“She comes from a background in ballet!” he protests. “She almost got into the American Ballet Theatre.”
“That may be, but currently she’s dancing in one of our clubs. While the girls make bank, it’s not enough to afford a $1.5 million dollar apartment.”
I check the numbers on the apartment doors, I’m at 1010, Ilya’s is just a few doors down at 1035. Picking this idiot up for my best friend’s bachelor party was not in the plan for tonight, but Adam knew his brother Ilya wouldn’t show up unless someone dragged him out of his apartment. This is shit I delegate. But being the best man means idiotic, time-wasting nonsense is required.
“Get the deed back from the stripper,” I continue impatiently. “I don’t care how talented she is.”
“I told you, I’ll pay-”
“Help me! Please! Help!”
The girl racing toward me is tiny and covered in blood.
Her shirt’s ripped, with cuts and scratches littering her skin, her silver-blonde hair is stained with splotches of gore. Every few steps, her entire body jolts like she’s being electrocuted. Her little arms are reaching for me, eyes wide in terror.
“Please- kidnapped-AH!”
Collapsing against my chest, she covers my pristine white shirt in blood. “Who kidnapped you? What’s-” I get a second-hand shock and realize it’s coming from the band around her neck. Gleaming silver with a tiny pulsing red light.
It’s a shock collar. Someone collared this poor girl.
Pulling my knife out of my ankle sheath, I slide it between the edges of the collar. My blade is porcelain and stops the electric shocks as I twist my wrist sharply, trying to break the connection. She sees the knife, but her terrified gaze doesn’t leave my face. It takes three tries, and by then, her shivering body has gone limp. Ripping the collar free, I frown at the savage red marks it’s left on her skin.
“Dmitri? Answer me! What the hell is-” My phone’s on the floor, Roman is yelling at me.
“Bring a crew to 1152 Broad Street, the McManus property,” I lean down, grabbing my phone and wedging it under my chin as I scoop her up in my arms. “I’m on the tenth floor. A girl covered in blood came screaming out of one of the apartments, saying she’d been kidnapped.”
Roman is furious. “I’m on it. I’ll have a team there in less than ten minutes. Where’s Demid and Kir?”
“I left them double-parked outside,” I admit. “Notifying them now.”
“For fuck’s sake,brat,brother. Please do not investigate until they’re up there! You have a wounded hostage and no backup and-”
One of the doors down the hall is open, blood smeared on the glossy wood finish.
"Text Demid and Kir," I say, "tenth floor."
