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I listen to the ringing, and as soon as the operator answers, I say, “My name is Genesis. Dima Morozova kidnapped me.”

“Ma’am, do you know where you are?” he asks.

“No.” My mouth is so dry that I’m shocked I can form words. “Can you trace this phone?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s not coming up as traceable for me,” he says in a cool voice, his words slow, as if he wants to relax me. “Can you describe your surroundings for me, Genesis?”

“I’m in a house.”

I jump to my feet, nearly tripping over the man’s body, and rush to the window, looking out it. There’s nothing distinguishable. We’re on some kind of hidden estate.

“Can you get in contact with NY FBI agent Derrick”—shutting my eyes, I try to remember the last name the prosecutor had said during his speech, and my body shudders when I do. “Green. Agent Derrick Green. Tell him Dima Morozova kidnapped Genesis Bellini and we’re at his house. There are other armed men here. Get here fast!”

46

I’m speedingto Dima’s house—address provided by good ol’ Boris. Before this, I’d left Cindy in the trunk at the Marchetti residence, instructing one of his men to drop her off in the middle of nowhere when I gave him the go-ahead. I’m not letting her go until I have Genesis. Leaving her in the middle of nowhere will give her time to think about her bad decisions as she walks home.

My phone rings, and Derrick’s name flashes on the screen.

“Genesis called 911,” he says when I answer and put the call on speaker. “She’s at Dima’s house.”

I cut a right, following the GPS. “Is she alive?”

“Unless her ghost called, yes, she’s alive.”

“Fuck off,” I grind out. “Is she safe or still in harm’s way?” I slam my foot on the gas pedal. “How many men are there?”

“She told the operator she killed Dima and one of his men in self-defense. She’s upstairs, so she doesn’t know who else is downstairs. She did note that even though it was hard to see outside on the drive there, she thinks there are guards at the gate because they stopped to talk to a group of men.”

“She killed Dima?” Antonio whistles, impressed. “Damn, Genesis.”

“That’ta girl,” Damien comments from the back seat.

“I’m on my way to Dima’s residence now,” Derrick says.

“I’m four minutes out,” I tell him.

“Squad cars are behind me, FYI. If you make it there before I do, don’t do anything stupid that they can put you in prison for.”

“Tell them to turn around,” I instruct. “I got this handled.”

“No can do, Julian. There was a 911 call. It’s on record, and it’s our duty to respond. It’s also the Morozovas, a family we’ve wanted to catch for a while. No way are we losing our chance to rid them from the streets.”

“It sounds like they’re gone from there now anyway. Dima and Yaroslav are dead.”

“Yaroslav is dead?”

“Dima killed him.”

Derrick curses under his breath. “Man, I’d never join one of these families.”

“We’re not all like that,” Antonio corrects. “The rats always end up dying at some point. Those who are smart and loyal survive.”

“Loyalty is subjective,” Derrick comments.

“See you there, Derrick.” I end the call and slow my speed as Dima’s residence comes into view.

It’s private, like Boris said, and spans at least ten acres. The home is made of stone, almost castle-like, and I park on the side of the road when I spot two armed guards at the gate.