Page 29

DIMITRI

I crash through the mansion's front doors, my heart in my throat. My men move with urgency as they patrol the halls with weapons drawn.

Abram meets me at the entrance to the kitchen, his expression fearful. “She's gone,” he says.

Every cell in my body goes cold, a numbness spreading from my core outward as the words momentarily steal my breath.

“What the hell do you mean gone?” I snarl, already moving past him before he can explain. The marble floors echo beneath my boots as I storm toward the staircase.

Talia appears in the hallway, breathless and pale.

Her normally immaculate appearance is disheveled, her eyes wide with fear.

“She was waiting for you. I checked on her not long ago.

Then all hell broke loose outside—alarms, shouting—and when I went to get her, she was nowhere to be found.

Elena said she took her to the panic room, but when I checked, Sandy wasn't there.”

Elena.

The name evokes a visceral response within me. Russo's words on the rooftop replay in my mind with perfect clarity. “Elena. Started a couple of months ago. She was supposed to ensure access through the east wing security system.”

I don’t wait. I turn and storm down the west corridor toward the servant quarters, my body moving with deadly purpose. Ivan follows closely, his hand resting on his holstered weapon. The household staff scatters before us, pressing themselves against the walls to avoid my path.

I find her near the back stairwell, alone, trying to sneak her way toward the garage. Her movements are furtive. She has a small bag clutched in her trembling hands. She jumps when she sees me, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard I can see it in her throat.

“Where is she?” I growl, advancing slowly.

Elena backs away until she hits the wall, her face draining of color. She doesn’t answer.

“Try again.” I slam my hand against the wall beside her head, my face inches from hers. Her breath catches in a gasp.

“Please, Mr. Popov,” she sobs, her voice breaking. “I didn't have a choice.”

I grab her arm with enough force to make her wince and drag her through the mansion, fury pulsing in my veins. The staff avert their eyes as we pass, no one daring to intervene. I shove open the doors to Aleksandr's office without knocking.

My brother stands behind his massive desk, arms crossed over his chest. Talia is already inside, phone in hand, speaking rapidly to someone on the other end.

“She helped them,” I growl, pushing Elena forward. “She took Sandy out of the mansion.”

Aleksandr's gaze sharpens to a razor's edge directed at the trembling maid. “Sit,” he hisses.

Elena collapses into the chair across from his desk, visibly shaking.

“Talk,” Aleksandr commands, his voice deceptively calm.

Tears stream down her face, creating dark tracks of mascara on her pale skin. “They have my daughter, Juliana. Morozov...he showed me pictures of her tied up. Said if I didn't help him get Miss Sandy out, he'd kill Juliana. I didn't know what else to do.”

My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding. “Where did they take her?” I demand, every word laced with the promise of violence.

“I don't know! They didn't tell me.” Her voice rises hysterically. “They just gave me instructions. A burner phone. A gun. A van would be waiting by the north perimeter. That's all I knew, I swear it.”

“You betrayed this house,” Aleksandr states flatly. “You put a pregnant woman in the hands of monsters.”

“They gave me no choice,” she repeats, clutching her hands together.

“Just this morning, they sent me a video of Juliana. She was crying, begging for me to help her.” She fumbles in her apron and pulls out a small phone and a crumpled slip of paper.

“This has a number he said to use after it was done. And this was in the packet he sent me.”

Talia takes the paper and hands it to Lev, who appears silently in the doorway. He vanishes with it, already making calls.

“Where is the gun?” I bellow, startling Elena out of her tear-stained confession.

“It is in my room,” she cringes away from me. “Hidden under the mattress.”

Ivan moves without being asked, slipping out to retrieve it.

I turn to Aleksandr, my mind racing through possibilities. “We trace the number. Every known property Morozov has touched—we raid them. No more waiting. No more games.”

Aleksandr nods once, decisively. “We hit them hard. And we don't stop until we find her.”

“He touched what's mine,” I snarl, my voice like gravel. “I'm going to bury him for it.”

Aleksandr looks at me, something ancient and violent in his eyes. It was the look Otets had worn when enemies threatened the family. “Then let's start digging the grave.”

The plan forms between us without needing to speak it aloud. Aleksandr picks up his phone, barking orders for our security team to assemble.

“Talia,” I say, turning to her. “Get Yuri. Tell him to bring everything he has on Morozov's properties. Real estate holdings, businesses, family connections. Anything that might give us a location.”

She nods and leaves immediately, her phone already at her ear.

Ivan returns with the gun. “9mm,” he reports. “Unfired.”

I pace the length of the office, my mind sifting through information. Morozov is too smart to keep Sandy in an obvious place. The warehouse properties listed under his name will be decoys. He will want a secluded location, preferably with multiple escape routes. Somewhere personal.

“The phone,” I say suddenly, turning back to Elena. “Give me the burner.”

She hands it over with trembling fingers. It is a basic model designed to be untraceable and disposable. But everyone makes mistakes.

I scroll through the call log. It’s empty. The text messages are also empty. But, in the contacts, there is a single entry labeled simply “M.”

“When were you supposed to call?” I demand.

“After she was taken,” Elena whispers. “To confirm the handoff.”

“And did you?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was trying to get away. To go to my sister's house in Queens.”

I hand the phone to Ivan. “Get this to Lev. I want everything. Tower pings, GPS data if it exists. Anything that might give us a location.”

Ivan nods and disappears from the room.

I turn back to Elena, studying her face. There is genuine fear there but also a hint of resignation. She knows what happens to traitors in our world.

“Your daughter,” I bark. “What proof do you have that they actually have her?”

Elena reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small gold locket. “They sent me this. It's hers. She never takes it off. And they sent videos. Timestamped from today.”

I take the locket and examine it. Inside is a tiny photograph of a smiling teenage girl with Elena’s eyes. The clasp is broken, suggesting it had been torn from the girl's neck.

“Address,” I demand.

“She lives with her father in Brighton Beach,” Elena replies. “242 Dover Street, apartment 3B.”

I toss the locket back to her and pull out my phone, dialing quickly. “Viktor. I need a team at 242 Dover Street, apartment 3B. Extraction job. Teenage girl, likely being held against her will. Use the brownstone two blocks over as staging. Report directly to me what you find.”

I end the call and turn back to Elena. “If your daughter is there, my men will get her out safely.”

A glimmer of hope crosses her face. “Thank you, Mr. Popov.”

“Don't thank me,” I snarl. “If anything happens to Sandy or my child, your daughter won't be enough to save you.”

The door opens, and Yuri enters, carrying a thick file folder and a laptop. He nods respectfully to Aleksandr before setting up at the side table.

“Everything we have on Morozov's known properties and associates,” he informs, opening the folder to reveal maps, photographs, and documents. “Thirty-six locations throughout New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.”

“Too many to hit simultaneously,” Aleksandr notes, examining the list.

“We need to narrow it down,” I agree. “Somewhere private, isolated. Somewhere he feels safe.”

Ivan pulls up satellite images on his laptop. “These eight are industrial properties. Warehouses and abandoned factories. Perfect for holding someone without attracting attention.”

I study the images, committing each location to memory. “Divide them between our men. Full tactical gear, shoot to kill anyone who resists.”

My phone buzzes with a message from Viktor. No girl at the apartment. Signs of struggle. Neighbors say she hasn’t been around for at least two weeks. Working on security footage from the building.

I show the message to Elena, watching her face crumple with fresh grief. “Your daughter was taken, at least that part is true. But Morozov likely planned to dispose of her regardless of your cooperation.”

“Oh my God,” she moans, burying her face in her hands. “What have I done?”

I have no comfort to offer her. All my focus and energy is directed toward finding Sandy. Every minute that passes is another minute she is in Morozov's hands. Another minute of danger for her and our child.

Lev returned, his expression tense. “The paper had coordinates. Upstate, a remote area, mostly abandoned businesses and warehouses.”

“Could be a trap,” Aleksandr warns.

“Or it could be where they're holding Sandy,” I counter. “Either way, we go.”

Ivan cross-references the coordinates with their property database.

“Nothing listed under Morozov's name in that area. But his brother owned property there before he died. About twenty acres, isolated, with a rundown house next to an abandoned packaging plant. Officially, it was sold two years ago to a shell company based in the Caymans.”

“That's it,” I say with certainty. The pieces align too perfectly to be a coincidence. “Morozov will choose somewhere with personal significance. Somewhere connected to his brother.”

Aleksandr nods, already activating our team through the security system. “Helicopter is fastest. We can have men there in forty minutes.”

“No,” I say firmly. “Too loud. They'll hear us coming and kill her before we can breach. We drive. Multiple vehicles. Approach from different directions.”

Aleksandr considers this and then agrees. “Four teams. We leave in ten minutes.”

As the room empties and plans set in motion, I stand alone with my thoughts. The rage inside me has crystallized into something cold and focused. Morozov has made his final mistake. He has taken what is mine and threatened my family and my future.

There will be no mercy tonight.

I check my weapons methodically: my primary sidearm, backup piece strapped to my ankle, and hunting knife in my boot. The familiar routine centers me and provides clarity amid the storm of emotions.

Lev appears in the doorway, equipped for war. “Cars are ready.”

I nod, securing my tactical vest. “Make sure Elena is secured. If she's lying about anything else, I want to know immediately.”

“Already done. Talia is handling her personally.”

Outside, the convoy is assembled. Four black SUVs, windows tinted, engines idling quietly in the night. Our men move smoothly, loading equipment and checking communications.

Aleksandr approaches, dressed in black tactical gear. “Sandy is family,” he says simply. “We bring her home.”

I clasp his shoulder, a gesture of brotherhood that says everything words can’t. Then I climb into the lead vehicle, Ivan beside me, the driver already plotting the fastest route north.

As we pull away from the estate, I think of Sandy's strength and stubbornness. The way she looks at me makes me feel like she can see past all my defenses to something worth loving.

Morozov doesn’t understand what he unleashed. Sandy is mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine to avenge. And I’m coming for her.