Page 17

I wondered how the doctor's appointment went today. I could've gone with her, but something came up at work that needed my attention.

Guilt of not being by her side at a time when she needed me had started to build within me. However, I'd spent the whole day suppressing it. I kept telling myself that I had two of my finest men with her.

But deep down, the reason that guilt gnawed at me was because I was emotionally unavailable for her.

Since when did that start to bother me? I'd never been the emotional type, nor did stuff like this get to me.

She was a grown woman and had proven countless times that she could take care of herself. Yet, I couldn't help but feel like I should've been there with her. Maybe choosing to go with her to see the doctor would’ve been a much better option than meeting up with those clients.

The traffic this evening was a nightmare. The highway had turned into a giant parking lot, with vehicles stretching as far as the eye could see.

Buckled in the backseat, I let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing my eyes. Delay was the last thing that I needed right now, but the stupid traffic seemed to be at a fucking standstill.

I glanced at my watch, and my face contorted into a frown. My brows knitted, and a pang of vexation swelled within me. It was almost thirty minutes that we'd been stuck here, amidst this streak of motionless cars.

“I'm sorry, sir.” Gordey's deep voice, filled with regret, cut through my thoughts. I jerked my head and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. He continued, “This is my fault, I should've taken a different route.”

It wasn't his fault; this was the usual route we took most times when driving home. Tonight was different, and neither of us had anticipated that traffic would be this terrible.

“It's fine, Gordey,” I said, my voice low but thick as I withdrew my phone from my pocket.

I texted my wife, fingers rattling across the keyboard on my lit screen. “Hey, how'd it go with the doctor's appointment?” I hit the send icon and clicked the power button by the side to lock the screen.

“Shall I play your favorite music, sir?” Gordey asked, stealing a glance at me through the rearview mirror.

“No,” I replied, my eyes dropping down to my phone. “That won’t be necessary.” I unlocked the screen, waiting for her response.

It never came.

I swiped a palm over my face, my chest rising and falling in anger. I was mad at everything, especially being stuck in traffic—and why the hell wasn't she responding to my text?

This wasn't the first time I'd texted, and she'd never taken this long to reply. Was she not near her phone?

I clenched my jaw and decided to call her instead. But as I dialed her number, I was greeted by an automated voice that said her phone was switched off.

Switched off? That was impossible! Why would her phone be switched off when she never lacked power?

My brows furrowed as I called again. Perhaps there was an issue with our phone signals.

However, I received the same message.

I gritted my teeth, my blood boiling in anger, but a hint of concern crept in. I was unable to fathom what exactly was going on because this was strange.

We both had our differences, but she'd never switch off her phone on purpose. Lorena knew how much this pregnancy meant to me, how seriously I took it. So, what, in the name of God, was going on?

I searched through my contact list and dialed the housekeeper's number. It rang on the other line, and soon, she picked up.

“Good evening, sir,” she greeted me, her voice calm and gentle.

“Good evening, Alex,” I replied, the sound of my car's engine roaring to life catching my attention for a fleeting moment.

The traffic's grip on us had loosened, and the road ahead was starting to clear. Gordey eased the car forward, gradually picking up speed.

“Is my wife home?” I asked Alexandra, hoping for a positive response.

“Yes, sir. She returned from the hospital about an hour ago,” Alex replied.

That was a relief, and I lowered my head, massaging my eyes. However, it wasn't enough because if she was truly at home, her phone wouldn't be turned off.

“Alex, put her on the phone. I'll stay on the line,” I instructed, my heart racing in my chest.

I wasn't sure what I felt: anger or worry? Or maybe even both.

I could hear her hasty footsteps as she hurried to our room, and in no time she reached the door and knocked. “Lorena, you in there?” she asked, her voice polite.

There was no response.

Now, my chest was starting to heave rapidly as a myriad of thoughts occupied my mind.

“Lorena?” she called again.

I ran out of patience and snapped through gritted teeth, “Damnit, Alexandra, open the door!”

She pushed it open on my words and barged inside. Alexandra was silent for a moment, but I could hear her moving around the room. “She's…she’s not here, sir,” she announced, her voice wobbling.

I balled a fist, my jaw tightening in anger. “Where is she?” I questioned, my tone laced with venom.

“I… I don't know, sir,” Alexandra stuttered on the other line, her rapid footsteps and heavy breaths indicating that she was roaming the house, checking other rooms.

“Alexandra, you said that she returned about an hour ago.” I reminded her of her words, my voice almost a menacing whisper.

“I swear, she was home, although later, I saw her going….” She stopped mid-sentence, like she'd just realized something.

“Going where, Alex?” I demanded, my tone impatient.

“Going into your study,” she said, picking up her pace.

“Why would she…?” I wondered out loud and then paused as it hit me.

I understood why Alexandra had gone mute for a moment; she knew there was a secret passage in my study. Could it be possible that Lorena had used it to get out of the house?

It wouldn't be the first time she was leaving the house without my permission, anyway. But something about this time seemed off.

I heard a door open, and Alexandra walked inside. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Sir, she knows about the passage.”

This meant that Lorena had left the house…again. My chest swelled with anger, and my eyes narrowed at her defiance. The last time she pulled a stunt like this, I was able to reach her—at least then I'd tracked her phone.

This time it was different. I had no idea where she was, whom she was with, or how to get through to her.

I knew she didn't like this marriage, but I also knew that she'd never run away like this; she knew better. Something didn't add up.

Lorena might have used the passage to leave the house in hopes of returning within a few minutes. I knew the mansion was somehow suffocating her, and maybe she just needed some time to think, considering the situation with the baby.

She'd never switch off her phone if she went out for a walk.

“Everything okay, sir?” Gordey asked, his tone laced with a hint of concern.

His voice reminded me of the message he'd relayed from Alejandro De la Cruz.

My jaw tightened, and my brows furrowed at Alejandro's threats of burning my empire to the ground.

He had the audacity, the effrontery, to go after my wife?

A low growl rumbled in my throat as I sat rigid, seething with anger, finding comfort in the way I'd make that bastard pay.

Alejandro had crossed a line; he'd bitten off more than he could chew. His quest for attention had led to him kidnapping my wife.

Now, he had my attention. He had my full attention.

My face, beet red, contorted into a snarl, my eyes blazing with fury as I met Gordey's in the rearview mirror. “De la Cruz has my wife,” I spat, my voice laced with venom.

“Son of a bitch!” Gordey growled, his deep voice filled with rage. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

It wasn't until I heard Alexandra's worried voice coming through the phone's speakers that I realized she was still on the line.

“What's going on, sir?” she asked, her voice trembling. She must have heard when I said that De la Cruz had Lorena.

Without a word, I hung up the phone, my hands clenched into fists.

“What do we do now?” Gordey asked, his expression darkening.

“We pay that bastard a visit,” I replied, my jaw tightening. “Gather the men. We're going to war.

Gordey slammed on the brakes, then wrenched the wheel to the left hard, executing a tight yet impressive tire-smoking U-turn that cut off other drivers.

His abrupt move left a chorus of shouted insults, blaring horns, and screeching tires in its wake.

I called the one person I knew would come through for me in times like this: my cousin, Lev Tarasov.

“Hey, man,” he answered on the other line.

“Lev, I need your help taking someone down,” I said, my voice laced with urgency.

“Alright, cousin, I got you,” he said, his response curt and decisive. “Who's the target?”

“De la Cruz,” I replied, feeling my blood boil at the mention of his name.

“It's high time someone taught that bastard a lesson anyway,” Lev growled. “Text me the address.”

Lev Tarasov, my closest cousin and ally, was an embodiment of loyalty. The man was ever willing to go to hell and back with me. He was a brother in every sense, one who would drop everything to stand by my side, no matter the reason.

If I called, he'd come without hesitation or expectation of an explanation. It was a mutual understanding that went both ways.

*****

Dust rose into the air as our cars invaded De la Cruz's warehouse. My men, armed to the teeth, alighted the vehicles, shooting down De la Cruz's guards.

Chaos erupted as Lev and I led the charge, bursting through the rusty metal doors, surrounded by our men.

The dimly lit interior was set ablaze with gunfire, the loud shots filling the air as bullets pelted, ricocheting off the high walls.

De la Cruz's henchmen were no match for my foot soldiers, who took them down without much effort. Gordey laid down half a hail of bullets, clearing a path through the warehouse as we pushed further.

This entire time, neither Lev nor I had withdrawn our weapons. We didn't have any need to do so; my men had everything under control.

Bodies carpeted the floor, and wails wafted through the air, accompanied by the deafening sounds of rapid gunfire.

The enemies moved with precision, taking cover behind crates and pillars, but my men were smarter, faster, stronger, and better skilled.

“De la Cruz!” I bellowed, my voice dripping with anger. My gaze swept across the warehouse, searching for him. “Where are you?” My brows furrowed as I spotted him hunched behind a stack of boxes like the coward that he was.

He raised his head and locked eyes with me, his throat wobbling as he swallowed, fear etched in his gaze.

I lunged at him, lifting him up by the collar as I dragged him out of his hiding place and slammed his back against the wall.

He trembled at my fury, raising his hands in surrender, but I was unforgiving. My fingers clenched into fists and drilled his face with powerful punches.

Each strike dented his head into the wall, his blood spluttering on my face.

My men had taken control of his warehouse, holding the remainder of his goonies at gunpoint.

His face was battered, disfigured from all that hammering, and his broken nose wouldn't stop bleeding.

“You think you can threaten me and live, huh?” I spat, my fists relentlessly slamming into his face. “How dare you go after my wife!” I lifted him into the air and flung him into a nearby table.

The furniture crushed under his weight, and he groaned, wheezing, struggling to catch his breath. I yanked up a piece of the broken wood and sank the pointy edge into his thigh.

The stab was delivered with a deadly precision that sent the edge poking out on the other side.

His body trembled, hands reflexively flying to his wound. His wail echoed through the warehouse.

“Where is she?!” I thundered, my scowl deepening as I pushed the wood further into his thigh, dangerously twisting it, his flesh tearing.

“Where is who?!” he cried out, his legs shuddering, face contorted in agony.

I grabbed another piece of wood off the floor and leaned forward, my voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Start talking, or this is going through your heart.” I pressed the pointy edge against his chest, deep enough to cut through his shirt and prick his skin.

“I don't know what you're talking about, I swear!” he gasped, hands held up in front of him. He was pleading with his eyes.

I squinted, restraining myself from running him through with that piece shaped like a knife. Honesty flickered in his gaze.

I'd played this game long enough to know when someone was lying or when they were telling the truth. Right now, De la Cruz was not lying when he said he had no idea what I was talking about.

Men like him would do anything to save their skin in a life-or-death situation like this. But he wasn't lying.

However, I needed confirmation.

“You threatened me, and not long after, my wife goes missing. Do you see how this looks?” I glared into his teary eyes, disgusted by how pathetic he was.

“I swear to God, Alexei, I had no hand in your wife's disappearance!” he said, his tone dripping with sincerity. “Yes, I did threaten you, but I'd never actually go after you. I might be stupid, but I'm not that stupid,” he added, his eyes wide with terror.

The air was thick with tension as I tightened my grip around the piece in my hand, my chest heaving slowly. His eyes shifted across my face and to the weapon, his breath lodged in his throat.

I could smell his fear as he realized that his life was in my hands— that whether or not he would still be alive by the end of the night was dependent on my decision.

It was pointless killing him; he was just an empty can making loud noises.

I loosened my grip around the piece and fell to the floor. De la Cruz let out a heavy sigh of relief, and I rose to my feet.

“Don't ever cross my path again,” I warned him, my voice firm and expression stoic. “You might not be so lucky next time.”

His response was a rapid nod, hands hovering over the piece of wood stuck in his leg.

Lorena wasn’t with De la Cruz. Where was she then?

I shifted my gaze across Lev and Gordey, my blood boiling at the fact that I had no idea where she was.

Where on Earth are you, Lorena?