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The front door’s screen is ripped, one of the windows has cardboard covering a hole, and there’s a yard sign that saysNo soliciting, assholes.

I tuck my Glock into one pocket, grip my pistol, and slip out of Antonio’s car. He and Damien do the same. I stalk straight to the door, taking long strides, and kick it open.

How’s that for soliciting, assholes?

“Denis?” a raspy, feminine voice calls out from down the hall. “Is that you?”

Damien clicks the front door shut, and none of us says a word as we walk through the living room and into the kitchen.

A woman wearing a stained SpongeBob robe stops, mid-bite of a slice of toast. “Can I help you?”

Her eyes are droopy, but she looks nowhere near fazed that three armed strangers are in her home. It’s like this is a regular Saturday for her.

“Where is she?” I demand, aiming my gun at her head.

“Who?” Her gaze slips between us three men, and it dawns on her. “Oh, you’re here forher.”

I take a step closer. “Her?”

“Genesis,” she spits, as if the name makes her sick. “Carlisle’s golden daughter, the only one he cared about.” She stretches her arm across the table to snatch a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Where is she?” I push.

She sticks the cigarette in her mouth, lighting it, and doesn’t say a word.

I lower the gun to pluck the cigarette from her mouth, throw it on the floor, and kneel in front of her. “Tell me where she is, or I’ll light this house on fire with you inside it.”

Ignoring me, she grabs another cigarette. When she goes for her lighter, I throw it off the table.

She blows out a spent breath. “She’s withher husband, Dima.” Her upper lip snarls. “Son of a bitch thought she was better than my sweet Sage. She deserved to be with him, to be the Bratva queen.”

I raise my gun, holding it to the woman’s head. “What’s Dima’s address?”

“How am I supposed to know?” She attempts to jerk away, but I don’t allow it. “You think Dima just hands out his address to people? No one knows where Dima lives because that’s how he wants it.”

I click the trigger. “Where’s your husband?”

She scoffs. “Working. Fucking a mistress. Snorting coke up his nose. How am I supposed to know? His location is just as much of a mystery as Dima’s residence.”

“She’s useless,” Damien comments.

I swipe her phone from the table and push it into my pocket. “Come on,” I tell her. “We’re going for a ride.”

I don’t tell her until we’re outside that her seat is in the trunk.

For years, I was trained to hunt and kill.

To trace and hack.

I’ll find Genesis, and I’ll kill every motherfucker in my way.

43

Kidnapped.

A secret sister.

Secrets.