Page 55 of Deadly Knight (The Bratva’s Elite #2)

Dinner is spent with Nora, after weeks of avoiding any outings since returning to Toronto. Besides the occasional drop-in to my office, which always seem to get interrupted, we haven’t had time to talk in length.

She tells me Caleb abruptly quit days after I went on what she’s referring to as ‘a random vacation’. His email still remains unanswered because I never did anything with it.

Now that he’s quit, his company email would have been deactivated, and the knowledge of it lets me breathe. I’ll never be expected to answer him, and hope I never run into him on the street.

Ivan gave him a choice between two women in his life, and he chose the one he loves, even if they’re not together any longer.

Realistically, if the choice were between him and Dimitri, even with Dimitri out of my life again, Caleb would have been sacrificed.

So, I get it, but I’m pleased the pressure to respond has disappeared.

After dinner, I’m walking the long way back home when my phone rings, the Unknown Caller label making me pause. Typically, I ignore those calls because they’re probably spam or annoying telemarketers, but this one, something has me clicking to answer.

“Hello?” A greeting underlined with an unspoken who is this?

“Katya, privet .” Hello. “It’s Vanessa.”

A person I never thought I’d hear from again. The past immediately slams into me with every memory from a month ago. Of him .

But instead of panicking, I find myself smiling into the phone’s mouthpiece. “Oh, hi?”

“Sorry for bothering you, but have you heard from or seen Dimitri?”

At the sound of his name, my steps falter. I barely remember to move over to the edge of the sidewalk so other pedestrians can pass. The moment she greeted me, I should have realized this would be about him. The fact she’s asking tenses my nerves, sweeping me towards that panic I narrowly avoided.

“Not since leaving your place.”

“If you do hear from him, could you let me know? Just call or text this number. Or have him reach out to one of us, since he’s been ignoring all contact. Sorry to bother you, and thanks. Bye.”

My hand tightens around the cell, my shout immediate before she has a chance to hang up. “Wait! What do you mean you don’t know where he is? He should be with you.”

There’s a moment of tense silence before she admits, “He went to Toronto looking for you.”

My stomach drops, but this time it’s not because he followed me again, but because he hasn’t contacted me.

Logically, it’s likely him giving me space like he had been for the past decade, and I scan the street around me, the shadows along the buildings and even the windows above; anywhere he’d be hiding.

Unlike all those times, I feel alone. There is no sensation prickling at my spine indicating otherwise.

“He left the Bratva,” she continues in a low voice.

If my stomach could drop lower, it would. It’s what he offered, and exactly what I didn’t want him to give up. His family, his friends, and his home.

All because I’m too scared.

“What are you talking about? Why? When?”

“Pretty sure you know the answer to that one. A month ago. He wanted out. Didn’t give me much of a choice on the matter either.” Her tone turns sharp, bitter.

“But that’d be his death, wouldn’t it?” Cupping my hand around the phone, I lower my voice in case anyone walking by overhears.

“I’ll never be able to do that to him, no matter what protocol deems. He’s family.

The only real family I’ve ever had. I’ll be damned if tradition says otherwise.

He left immediately following our meeting, after grabbing a small bag of his stuff, and then hopped a commercial flight back to Toronto.

It was a week after you left. But something’s happened recently; something he should be made aware of, so I need to talk to him, but he’s not answering his phone. I assumed he was hiding with you.”

What if he’s in trouble? The phone feels colder in my hand, my knuckles turning white from my tight grip as I do the math on her story. “A week after I left…that was a month ago.”

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of him on and off for a few days. Figured he was ignoring us, but now that it’s been nearly a week since our first attempt, I’m worried. Even when Dimitri’s having one of his fits, he doesn’t usually take this long to check in, so Lev tracked his cell.”

No, no, no. What if ? —?

“Where did it lead?”

“Um, give me a sec.” Papers ruffle in the background before she answers, rattling off an address. One I know all too well. Have typed into shipping addresses countless times and have written on official forms.

My address. It’s my apartment building.

Is he nearby? Fuck, I don’t know, but I immediately start speed-walking, more eager to get home, to help Vanessa figure this out.

“Do you recognize the address?” she asks, her hope making her tone of voice higher.

Right, I went silent—stunned he’s so close by. “Yeah, uh…that’s my address. It’s my building. Could you figure out where exactly? There’s a lot of apartments.”

“That’s way beyond my abilities. Messaging Lev ’cause he’s the only one who will be able to answer that. You don’t mind staying on the phone?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you, Katya. Lev’s here. Hang on, I’ll put you on speakerphone.”

“Hey,” a masculine voice comes through the speaker, one that’s virtually unfamiliar since I’d only really seen him in passing in the Volkov mansion before he left for Rome.

Guess he’s back home. “To answer your question, I can’t see which floor his phone’s on, but I did find something particularly of interest. Katya, you said you live there too? ”

“Yeah.”

More papers ruffle, and then Vanessa whispers something low I don’t catch. The two share a brief conversation in Russian before she asks, “How long have you lived in that apartment?”

“About five years. Why?”

“Five years ago, Dimitri bought that building.”

“What?” I slam to an abrupt halt before remembering I need to reach home quickly, to hopefully find answers.

“We’re staring at the building’s bill of sale. It’s his signature.”

If Dimitri bought the place, it must have been his way of staying close. This entire time, he’s been moving undetected while remaining close. No wonder he knew my day-to-day activities. How to always find me.

He wasn’t only stalking me.

He was living near me.

I’ve always been safe.

“403. That’s my apartment number. Check the names on the leases for the surrounding apartments.” I rattle off numbers for the ones beneath, above, and on either side of me. If my guess is right, he’d be as close as possible.

Lev and Vanessa are talking back and forth in a tone that’s practically a murmur, and overlaid with my breathy pants as I all but run home, finally making it when Lev speaks louder, this time to me.

“303. Beneath yours. It’s registered to his name. Go there.”

Heart hammering, I stab my finger into the elevator button, willing the agonizingly slow decline of the numbers descending to quicken. Finally, the elevator dings, reaching the ground floor and I lunge inside, stabbing the shut button before anyone lingering in the lobby dares to join me.

“How do I get in?”

“Hopefully he’s there, so no breaking in will be necessary.” Vanessa’s tone doesn’t exactly strike confidence in me.

When reaching the correct floor, I find the apartment in the same place as mine is, one floor beneath. As I approach the door, my stomach does a somersault.

“Door’s open,” I whisper aloud, glancing up and down the empty hallway. “Cracked, like he never shut it.”

I approach slowly, knocking a fist against the door, wondering exactly how long it’s been like this.

Dimitri wouldn’t accidentally leave his door unlocked and open where anyone could wander in, especially in this city.

My gesture pushes the door open another inch and after a moment of tense silence, I enter.

“Shit.”

Not that I knew what this place looked like before, but I bet it didn’t look like this .

What little furniture there is—a couch and a table—has been knocked askew.

The table’s flipped onto its side, the couch having lost its cushions.

Clothes stream from the bedroom into the living room, as though kicked around.

“What’s there?” Vanessa’s urgent voice comes through the speaker.

“It’s a mess. Furniture’s flipped over.” I scan the room again, landing on something I missed the first time. “Wait, there’s something else.”

Stabbed into the couch’s backing with a switchblade is a ripped sheet of paper, black angry writing scrawled on it.

I snap a picture of the scene to send to Vanessa before approaching and taking another of the note so they can read it themselves.

Once sent off, with shaky hands, I dislodge the knife and read the note.

Volkov,

Sins of the father. Sins of the son.

Need we list your failures? Your father would never have allowed one of his own to be overthrown by his son. Dimitri deserves everything that is coming to him for attempting to destroy his own flesh and blood. The Bratva is nothing like it used to be.

You want your cousin, we want Ivan.

Find us, bring our next rightful Pakhan, and we’ll spare Dimitri.

This too is a test. How long will it take for you to realize he is missing? How long until you come and save him, knowing each day will bring him more and more pain? Take too long, and a corpse may be all that remains.

Signed,

The Bratva’s Elite

There’s a date scribbled on the bottom. He was taken two weeks ago .

The paper flutters from my hand.

Two weeks of torture.

Two weeks of…fuck, I can’t even imagine. Nor do I want to.

I scan the room again, landing on the flipped table, but now also catching on the other little things. The dent by the door, the paint scratched on the far wall.

He fought. They came for him, and he fought.

“Katya? Katya!”

“I’m here.” Physically. Mentally and emotionally is another case.