"What kind of situation?"
"The Petrovics. They hit us about twenty minutes ago. Six men, heavily armed. They came through the service entrance—had codes, knew the layout."
The world tilted. I grabbed the side of the SUV to steady myself, my knuckles going white against the metal.
"Keira. Where's Keira?"
Silence on the other end. The kind of silence that told me everything I needed to know.
"Dimitri. Where is my wife?"
"They took her, sir." His voice cracked. "They came in fast, professional. We held them off as long as we could, but they had the numbers. Viktor's dead. Sasha's wounded. And they—" He stopped, took a breath. "They have her. They have Mrs. Rysev."
The phone felt like ice in my hand. Everything around me—the street, the vehicles, my men waiting for orders—faded to static. All I could see was Keira's face. All I could hear was her voice, asking me to come back to her.
I'd promised. I'd promised I would come back.
And while I was here, killing her uncle, the Petrovics had walked into my home and taken her.
"How long ago?"
"Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. They had a van waiting. We tried to follow, but—"
"Direction?"
"North. Toward the bridge, then the highway. Sir, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We didn't—"
I ended the call. My hands were shaking. I couldn't remember the last time my hands had shaken.
"Rodion." Yegor's voice, sharp with concern. "What is it?"
"The Petrovics." The words came out flat, dead. "They took Keira."
Yegor's face went pale. "When?"
"Twenty minutes ago. They knew. They knew we'd be here, knew the penthouse would be vulnerable." I slammed my fist against the side of the SUV, the pain barely registering. "It was a setup. Cormac was bait."
"Or they were watching. Waiting for us to make a move."
It didn't matter. None of it mattered. What mattered was that Keira was gone—taken by the same men who'd tried to buy her, who'd allied with her uncle, who saw her as nothing more than a commodity to be owned.
And she was pregnant. Pregnant with my child. Alone and terrified and in the hands of people who would hurt her without hesitation.
"Get everyone to the vehicles," I said. "Now."
"Where are we going?"
"To get my wife back."
***
The drive felt endless.
I made calls—to Demyan, to Kirill, to every contact I had who might know where the Petrovics would take her. Information came in fragments, maddeningly slow.
"Branko Petrovic," Kirill's voice said through the phone, cold and precise. "He's been in New York for a week. Staying off our radar, waiting for his moment."
"Where would he take her?"
