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“Fuck,” I growl in anger. “Try her again.”

“We should go straight there,” he says, pressing to dial again.

My tires grind against the gravel when I spin out of the parking area and turn, skidding again, into the road.

Ulyana doesn’t answer the second time either, and my heart has sunk into the pit of my stomach.

Roan says nothing, setting his phone down, he pulls his gun out of the holster and places it on his lap.

After a tense moment of silence, he mutters, “We’ll find her, sir.”

When his phone rings, we both jump, and he grabs it.

“Ulyana?” he says, sounding angry.

“Hi, Roan. I have two missed calls from you. Did you dial me by accident?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home with Mom. Why? What’s going on? Where is Nestor?”

“I’m here. Has anything happened? Are you two safe?” I say, tilting my head towards the phone in Roan’s hand.

“Yes, what is going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Sorry, I—I don’t know. Just—stay in the house, okay? I want to make sure everything is okay. Just be safe.”

We end the call, and Roan dials the head of security at my mother’s place. He informs him of what we suspect, and the guy confirms he will get another team on the property.

“Call Lara,” I say, suddenly realizing my family has grown. And while our marriage is still new, she would be as much of a target as Ulyana.

Roan dials Lara.

He dials her again.

And again.

He dials the security team on my property at home, and they confirm she hasn’t been back since she left early this morning.

“Track her car. And her phone,” I yell in terrified frustration.

Turning the steering wheel, I change direction, heading home instead of to my mother’s place.

Roan sends instructions out to our team to prepare. We don’t know what for yet, but we need to be ready.

“It has to be Miron,” I say, nausea churning in my stomach.

“I agree,” Roan says darkly. “But, Nestor, we need more men. Half of them are guarding your mother’s place. If Miron has decided he’s bold enough to take your wife, then he’s lost his mind, and we need to go in there prepared for the worst—over-prepared. We need more men.”

“You better track Miron’s phone as well. And I need to contact Benedikt. I never wanted to owe that man anything, but it seems there are some things worth being in debt for.”

At my mansion, men are rushing back and forth, fitting Kevlar and unpacking crates of weapons.

I’m pacing, waiting for them to find out where Miron is, and I’m about to make a call to Benedikt, asking him a favor.

Roan stops in front of me. “Her phone and her car were parked outside Angel Memorial Park. She was driven off the road. There wasn’t any blood on the scene, but there was a struggle.”

My jaw clenches tightly as the muscles twitch over my face.