Page 25 of Prince of Control (Bratva Heirs #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Baron

Fuck.

I yank on a pair of jeans and shove my phone with my ID in the back pocket. “Let them in,” I call through the closed door. “We’ve got nothing to hide. Everything was on the up and up.” I tug a T-shirt over my head and throw the door open.

“Okay,” Leo answers. “You coming down?”

“Right behind you.” I shut the door again, remembering the state I left my wife in.

I climb back on the bed and kiss her temple. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Do you need help removing the plug?”

Lara sits up, looking deliciously mussed. Her eyes are glassy and bright, her face is flushed, and her bedhead is spectacular. Her eyes are wide. “I’ve got it. You go.”

I kiss her swollen lips and jam my feet into a pair of flip flops to run downstairs. Eight cops are scattered through the downstairs, walking around like they’re looking for something.

I jog down the stairs. It’s just past two in the morning. I heard the music go off about ten minutes ago. Any party-goers who remained are now streaming out the doors as fast as they can. My house members are all gathered, my soldiers standing at attention.

Except they all look worried. I don’t want any of them to worry about this–whatever it is. I can handle it.

“I’m Benjamin Baranov,” I say to the first cop I see, trying to project calm authority. “How can I help you?”

“Mr. Baranov, do you mind if we have a look around the premises?”

“No warrant,” Leo mutters as a reminder to me. His dad, Maxim, is my dad’s fixer. He knows the laws and how to avoid getting caught or how to get out of any situation.

“May I ask what you’re looking for?” I ask.

“We’re doing a wellness check on the party-goers in the house.”

My brows fly up. “Wellness check?”

Does that mean they’re checking for drug use?

The police officer doesn’t respond. He and his partner walk through the rooms of the house, looking into the faces of the guests rushing out, stopping the more inebriated ones to ask questions.

I trail along. “May I ask what this is about?”

They ignore me, and one of them attempts to open one of the first-floor bedroom doors. “What’s in here?” He knocks on the door.

“That’s a bedroom.” I raise my brows. Someone could be sleeping in there, for all he knows. There’s someone beautifully naked behind my bedroom door.

The thought of them knocking on that door makes me grind my teeth. I need to warn Lara if they make their way upstairs.

“Can you unlock it for me?” the cop asks.

It’s Alex’s room. My thumbprint will open the door, but I look around for Alex.

“I’m right here.” Alex steps up to my side.

“They want to look in your room.”

He gives me an oblique look and shrugs, then unlocks the door and pushes it open. One cop goes inside and another asks for the next door to be opened.

“You’re Benjamin Baranov?” A detective asks, entering the living room. He shows me his detective badge.

“I am.”

“Come with me, please.”

Anya and Zoe stand together, hovering. Glaring at the cops. Clearly worried.

I show them I have this under control. “Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet. We’d just like to ask you some questions down at the station.”

Fuck. Fine. The sooner I find out what they’re looking for, the better.

“All right. Let’s go.” I spread my hands.

“I’ll call Lucy,” Zoe says, meaning my mom.

“No one calls Chicago,” I order.

My mom is the best criminal defense attorney in the state, but the last thing I want is to wake her in the middle of the night with the news that the police took her son to the station for questioning.

All my life, she’s tried to keep me out of the bratva business.

When Lili and I got dragged into the violence as children, it rocked her marriage to my dad.

They recovered, but it was part of me getting sent away to Swiss boarding school.

I showed too much interest in the business.

Calling my mom will be a last resort.

I’ve got this covered. They have nothing on me; otherwise, I’d be in handcuffs with my rights being read to me.

Still, I don’t like it.

Some more of my confidence slips away when I catch sight of Lara at the top of the stairs, watching me being ushered out the door.

I stop and look up at her, heaviness descending around me like an iron prison.

Her seeing me this way feels even worse than my mom knowing. My wife should be able to trust in me to keep this kind of shit away from her. I should be able to control every situation to avoid this kind of embarrassing scene. I somehow missed something tonight, but I have no idea what.

“Let’s go,” the cop says, pulling my arm to urge me through the front door.

I glance back as I walk out, but someone shuts the door behind us, blocking the view of my wife.

At the station, I’m ushered into an interrogation room. I swear I glimpse Chancellor Ogden talking with a man in a black t-shirt and jeans in the doorway of the room next door, but they disappear before I can be sure.

I sit down at the table in the seat the detective indicates and lace my tattooed fingers. There’s a mirror positioned on the wall opposite me that must be a two-way. Which means Chancellor Ogden is watching this interview.

My stomach turns sour. Whatever this is about is important enough that the chancellor of Thornecroft University was brought in. Does this go beyond Titan House’s vendetta against us? Is it bratva related? Does it have something to do with the Rostovs?

Fuck, I need more information to problem-solve.

The detective sits on the opposite side, opens a file folder and produces a photo, which he pushes across the table. “Do you know this woman?”

I glance at the photo and adrenaline crashes through my system. The warrior in me surfaces, ready to kill or die. To battle for her safety.

Now I understand why the Chancellor would be involved.

I lift my gaze with my eyes blazing. “What happened to Melinda Tracy?”

“So you are acquainted.”

My brain tumbles down a cliff. Was she kidnapped? Murdered? I need to know so I can fix it.

I look at the two-way mirror and lift my chin in its direction. “So he’s secret service? Or secret ops?”

I hear the bang of a door, and the guy stalks in. He’s the type who wears his t-shirt two sizes too small, so it shows off the muscles on his torso. He yanks a chair up and turns it around to sit backward, like a cowboy. I imagine he thinks he’s a bad-ass.

“When was the last time you saw Ms. Tracy?” he demands.

My mom would tell me not to answer questions without an attorney present.

I should call her. Or at least call the young law professor who occasionally purchases drugs from me.

I’m being stupid by answering their questions, but I need to know what happened to Melinda.

“Two hours ago at Baranov House. Is she missing?”

She may still be there. Maybe Anders took her to his room after they played in the dungeon. Is this just about her not returning to her dorm last night? I try to slow my pounding heart.

She might not be dead. Not murdered and lying in a pool of her own blood. I might not have to live with the anguish of failing to protect someone else I care about.

“Was she in your company at Baranov House?” the detective asks.

“No. I didn’t even talk to her. I just saw her toward the end of the party.” I scrub a hand across the stubble on my face. “Is she hurt? Dead? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“How would you define your relationship with Ms. Tracy?” Black Shirt asks.

I wouldn’t care to.

“We’re friends.” That’s as accurate as any definition gets.

“Did you leave Baranov House at any point during the night?” the detective asks.

“No.”

“Did you give Ms. Tracy a drink tonight?”

“Me personally? No.”

“Did you have sex with Ms. Tracy tonight?”

“No. I’m married.”

This seems to surprise both men.

Well, yeah, it was a surprise to all of us.

My eyes narrow. Why would they ask that question?

“Would you be willing to give a DNA sample to clear you as a suspect in this case?”

I sit and stare at both men, showing nothing on my face as I process the magnitude of what’s going on here. It sounds like Melinda was raped or murdered.

What if I could have prevented what happened?

I’m the one who left the party unsupervised in favor of playing in the dungeon with my wife.

What if in neglecting my duties, something slipped by the rest of the team?

Some danger that resulted in something terrible happening to arguably the most important young woman–at least politically–on campus?

I try not to picture Melinda crumpled in a pool of blood.

Not like Valentina. That’s over.

We’re not there anymore, as Lili would say.

Would my mom advise me to give a sample? No. She would tell me not to answer any questions without a lawyer present. She would tell me I’m being set up.

This definitely could be a setup.

I blow out my breath. “Sure.”

Black Shirt nods at the detective, who goes to the door and says something to the people outside.

“Is she alive?” I try to sound cool, but my voice cracks.

Black Shirt studies me. After a long, agonizing moment, he nods. “She’s in the hospital. She was drugged and sexually assaulted at your party.”