I don’t answer right away.
Alina’s face flashes in my mind. She’s tried to be so brave through all of this, even though it’s an impossible situation. She hasn’t complained once or demanded to go home. She’s simply accepted her fate and my protection.
“I’m responsible for her safety,” I say finally.
“Yes,” Nicolai says. “Because you involved her.”
His words feel like a punch to the gut, and I can’t deny that he’s right. I was the one who brought her back to the hotel. I was so sure that she was in danger, I put her safety at risk. She may not have been involved at all until I decided to involve her.
After he closes out of the meeting, I stand alone in the room staring at the dark screen. I run a hand through my hair and exhale slowly.
We have to find Kostya. He’s the missing link in all of this, I know it. When we find him, I’ll finally see what kind of man he truly is.
He will answer for what he did to Alina, and I will make certain he understands exactly why.
I turn off the lights and head down the hallway, my thoughts already narrowing, sharpening, focusing on the hunt ahead. This is what I do best, and I will not fail.
I stand at the narrow kitchen counter of the safehouse with my phone pressed to my ear, staring at the chipped tile floor. The place is quiet.
“Petya,” I say into the phone. “I need you to come to the safehouse.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” he agrees.
I roll my shoulders once, tension popping at the base of my neck, and move into the main room, pacing again. A man doesn’t evade me this easily without help.
Oleg is here as well, standing dutifully by.
Petya arrives quickly, as he usually does.
“Sit,” I tell him.
He does.
I remain standing.
“We’re done waiting,” I say. “Belov has been allowed too much time.”
Petya nods. “Agreed.”
“I want crews dispatched,” I continue. “Every known associate. Every relative. Blood, marriage, business. I want pressure applied evenly and quietly.”
He leans forward slightly. “Alive?”
“For now,” I say.
Petya’s mouth twitches, but he doesn’t comment.
“He’s been sending her things,” he says.
That catches my attention.
“What kind of things?” I ask.
Petya shifts in his chair. “Messages. Deliveries. Flowers. Jewelry.”
I stare at him. “He’s playing the remorseful fiancé,” I seethe.
“Maybe he isn’t playing.” Petya shrugs. “For all we know, this is just as real to him as it was to her. At least now. Or, maybe it’s all an act. Either way, we’ve got a truckload of this stuff.”
