Page 21

CHAPTER 21

Oleksi

Gunner’s knock is sharp. He enters without waiting, jaw tight and eyes flicking from me to Sabrina.

“We have a problem,” he says. “The twins.”

I watch his posture, the way he turns to look pointedly toward Sabrina. I know what it means—he’s hesitant to speak in front of Sabrina. If this was any other person I’d make her leave but she’s now my partner and she came to me with the box, with the truth about the Russian woman. Sabrina has finally chosen to trust me. And now, I won’t shut her out. It’s time for me to let her in.

“You can speak freely,” I tell him. “After all, it was Sabrina’s apartment they tore apart.”

Gunner nods. “I’m sorry, Miss Craft,” he says to her, voice unusually sincere. “If I could, I’d beat the shit out of them just for scaring a mother and child.”

Sabrina blinks, a little taken aback. “That’s... uh... thank you,” she says, offering him a tight smile.

I frown, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean if you could? You didn’t even lay a finger on them?”

He rolls his eyes. “We don’t do things that way anymore, remember? Radomir would have my balls in a vice if I didn’t at least try to find out who they are first. Not after the Enzo incident when I nearly skinned his kid. So Syd did some investigating.”

“And?”

He shrugs and pulls two new looking Russian passports from his jacket. “Syd found these in the room they were holed up in. Figured you’d want to see them before there’s another Enzo’s kid incident.”

I take the passports and flip them open. My stomach drops as their names hit me. A breath hisses through my teeth as I snap the covers shut and slam them onto the desk.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter. “What the fuck do they want with Tara Craft?” Surely they couldn’t know about the affair?

“They won’t say,” Gunner replies, his tone low and tight. “But they keep asking to speak with Carla Craft.”

I glance at Sabrina, who is standing beside me. Her fingers are clenched, eyes locked on mine. She’s pale, but steady.

“Who are they?” she asks quietly, pointing to the passports.

I pick them up and hand her the passports. She flips one open, brows knitting together. “Who are they?” she repeats, looking up at me.

I take the passports and shove them in a drawer then reach for her hand. “Come. I’ll introduce you.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Gunner steps in my path. “They said Carla Craft. Not her daughter. And the dungeon isn’t really the place for a lady.”

“It’s okay Gunner,” Sabrina assures me. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

“And, Carla’s off sipping cocktails with my aunt somewhere in the goddamn Bahamas,” I snap. “Sabrina is the next best thing.”

Gunner studies me for a beat. Then he gives a short nod stepping aside for Sabrina and me to leave the room.

We head to the elevator, descend to the underground level, and pass through the heavy steel door that leads to the dungeon. The air is cooler here, stale with the scent of disinfectant and iron. Along the corridor, security monitors show every hallway and entrance, the feeds flickering in full color. I lead Sabrina past them, toward the old interrogation wing.

“How do you want to play this?” Gunner asks from behind us.

“Bring both of them into the big room,” I tell him, gripping Sabrina’s hand. “But the older of the two first. The one with the scar on his face.”

The hallway ahead is stark, long, and eerily quiet. Metal doors line each side, small square windows offering glimpses into darkness. The overhead fluorescents hum, casting a pale yellow light over the polished concrete.

Sabrina slows, her fingers tightening around mine.

“Which room was Leigh in?” she asks, her voice soft, wary. “The one where she was shot?”

I stop and face her. “My aunt had it destroyed. It leads to the fire exit now. She was here too. She saw what Viktor and Leigh’s mother did. What my uncle—what my father—allowed to happen. She didn’t want any trace of that sickness left.”

Sabrina nods, but the color drains from her face. “You should’ve burned this whole place.”

I squeeze her hand. “This dungeon keeps more than secrets, malenkaya. We don’t just use it for torture. We interrogate thieves, harassers, people who think they can get away with hurting my people.”

“To scare them shitless,” she mutters.

“Exactly.”

We enter the large interrogation room. The walls are bare. No chains, no hooks—just a long steel table bolted to the floor and four reinforced chairs, two with restraints, two without. I pull one of the plain chairs out for Sabrina.

She eyes the metal restraint chairs. “Are those designed for high voltage shocks or just aesthetic?”

I chuckle. “You think so highly of us.”

She shrugs. “If the boot fits.”

I don’t answer because the door swings open again and Gunner strides in, dragging one of the twins with him.

The bastard smirks as soon as he sees me. Then his gaze shifts, settling on Sabrina. He flicks his tongue across his lower lip, eyes moving over her in a way that makes my blood boil.

“I asked for Carla Craft,” he spits in Russian. “Not the slutty daughter. She’s of no use to us. Unless...”

His meaning is clear. I’m across the room in two strides, my hand fisting the front of his shirt as I slam him against the wall and my other hand wraps around his thick neck. Gunner backs off, giving me space.

“You watch your fucking mouth,” I growl in Russian. “That’s my partner you’re talking about. I don’t care who your family is—you disrespect her again, and I’ll let Gunner give you a demonstration of his father’s training.”

The man stiffens, but he doesn’t cower. “Do what you will. You’ll regret it. You’re not in any position to lay a hand on us anymore.”

His eyes slide to Sabrina again, this time filled with amusement.

“What do you want with Tara Craft?” I snap.

His face twists into something darker. “My sister’s son.”

I freeze. “What?”

“In my fucking closet?” Sabrina’s voice cuts in from behind me. Fluent Russian. Sharp and steady.

The man’s eyes move toward her, caught off guard that she understood every word he said. So am I, but not because of her perfect Russian, but because I never even heard her move.

“Sabrina, step back,” I say, keeping my tone low.

She holds her ground but gives the man some distance. “Why would your sister’s child be hiding in my apartment?”

“We were looking for evidence,” the man says. “But that’s all you’ll get from me until we speak with your mother.”

“Why my mother?” Sabrina presses. “What does she have to do with your sister’s kid? And where is your sister?”

He stares at her like she’s a fool. I tighten my grip on his shirt again.

“Answer her,” I demand.

“She’s dead,” he says coldly, his gaze returning to Sabrina. “Because of your sister.”

“Who are you?” Sabrina’s eyes flicker with confusion and hurt. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I let go of him just enough to say, “Sabrina… this is Kirill Voronina. One of Irina’s brothers.”

She goes still. “Then... that means... you can’t hurt him.”

“No,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Her gaze returns to Kirill. “My sister had nothing to do with Irina’s death. And why would she take your sister’s son?” her brow furrows deeper. “Gavriil and Irina didn’t have children.”

“Yes, they did,” Kirill snaps. “A boy. Born shortly before they died.”

My blood runs cold. That’s not possible. We would’ve known.

“Why would Tara take him?” Sabrina murmurs, more to herself. “To protect him perhaps?”

“To protect him?” Kirill snarls. “More like for leverage or because she wanted him for herself. Gavriil and Irina’s child is very valuable.”

“My brother didn’t have a child,” I hiss. “You’re lying.”

“You’re the ones who were chasing her in New York, weren’t you?” Sabrina suddenly accuses as if it just dawned on her, her voice low and certain. “You shot Clyde.”

He says nothing. Doesn’t need to. His silence is confirmation.

“Where’s my sister?” she demands.

“Where’s your mother?” he counters.

“She’s not here. She won’t be for a while.”

Kirill’s eyes darken. “Then bring me Sam Winters.”

“He’s not here either,” Sabrina says. “You’ll have to deal with me.”

“I don’t deal with nobodies,” Kirill says with a sneer. “Your sister has our nephew and we want him back.” His eyes meet mine blazing with a threat. “The Dragon won’t be happy with this. About you aligning with the enemy. He’s your nephew too.”

I step closer, voice like ice. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you. Find our nephew—or the alliance between our family dies.”

“Why do you want to speak to my mother?” Sabrina presses. “She doesn’t know where Tara went.”

“Doesn’t she?” Kirill’s words drip with venom. “Your mother is full of lies. Maybe if she’d told the truth years ago, Irina would still be alive.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sabrina’s voice breaks.

“While your sister may not have planted the car bomb—she’s the reason it was planted.”

His words echo in my head like a detonation and before I erupt physically, I bark, “That’s enough.” My hand tightens around his throat. “Tell us why do you want to speak with Carla Craft?” I growl.

He just stares at me with a smug smile as if daring me to take a swing.

“Tell me,” I add, “or I’ll let Gunner interrogate your brother. Let’s see how long he stays quiet.”

“Stephan won’t talk.”

“We’ll see.”

Gunner grins and heads for the door. “I’ll bring him in and then let you watch.” His eyes hold Kirill’s.

“You’ll regret this,” Kirill calls after him. “The Dragon won’t forgive it.”

“The Dragon answers to me,” I reply.

Kirill chuckles, eyes gleaming. “Keep telling yourself that, mighty Mirochin. Things have changed over the past eight months. You’ve just been too distracted to notice it.”

What the fuck does that mean? “Take him back to his cell,” I snap.

“I was hoping you’d want me to take him to the alligator farm.” Gunner sighs like a disappointed child. “But, sure, boss.” He grabs Kirill and hauls him out.

Sabrina’s voice breaks the silence. “I need to call my mom. I think… I think I was right. Maybe she did steal Tara.”

She bolts from the room and I follow, catching up with her in the parking garage as she paces, phone pressed to her ear. She pulls it away and shakes it. “Why isn’t she answering?”

“Sabrina, breathe.”

She doesn’t stop. “He said—if my mom had told the truth—his sister would be alive. What does that mean, Oleksi? Why would my sister take their child? What the fuck is going on?”

Her voice cracks. The tears come, and I catch her before she collapses. Her fingers curl into my shirt, her body trembling.

“We’ll find out,” I whisper. “I promise. We’ll get to the bottom of this—together.”

I hold her tight, feeling the weight of every unanswered question press down on both of us.

“Come on,” I say finally. “Let’s go upstairs. Have a drink. Call your mother. Elena’s probably back by now, wondering where we are.”

We step into the elevator, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel something shift. Like we’ve crossed a threshold. And there’s no going back.