Chapter 12
When I got to Cecilia’s apartment, only Marie, the chef, and two of my men were there. Apparently, my little mouse went out for dinner. With a twinge of disappointment, I dialed Roy’s number, and when the soldier picked up, the fear in his voice was inescapable.
The news hits me like a punch to the gut when he confessed that he had lost her—again. But this time, Cecilia hadn’t left willingly. No, she was snatched from right under his nose. I should never have allowed Cecilia to persuade me into giving Roy another chance.
Bastard.
I wasted no time in sending more men to help with the search, all while making calls to access the CCTV footage from the area where she was taken. My contact quickly sent me the footage of the moments leading up to it, and I couldn’t help but re-watch it over and over again.
Fuck me. She looked so happy and carefree.
I can’t contain the rage building inside me any longer. My hands clench into fists as I imagine driving them into the assailant’s face. Pausing the video, I take a screenshot of the plate number, then send it to Dante so he can find out who it belongs to—not that I believe it will give us any answers.
I’ll have to get those the old fashion way.
I’m already storming out of Cecilia’s apartment when Marie tentatively asks if I’m going home. “Of course not,” I snap at her. “I have an asshole to catch.”
“You might want to change out of those bloody clothes first,” she mutters, then darts out of the living room before I can bite her head off. Glancing down, I curse under my breath —I’m still soaked through with blood from dealing with those vermins earlier. Damn it.
Cecilia can’t see me like this, not after what she’s been through.
Begrudgingly, I take Marie’s advice and drive home. A quick shower and I’ll join my men.
I’m getting dressed when the buzzer sounds. I ignore it, and a few seconds later, it starts ringing continuously like someone’s pressing down on it. What the hell, is the doorman not there?
Buttoning up my shirt, I stalk to the elevator bank and tap on the panel so I can see who my obnoxious guest is.
Shock washes over me at the face that fills the screen.
“Cecilia?”
She glances up and around, probably searching for the source of my voice. I press the button to unlock the elevators for her; then I switch the camera on the panel to the one inside the elevator so I can watch her as the elevator brings her up to me.
I frown when she sags against the wall, and I take in her disheveled appearance. Her dress is dirty and—is that blood? My vision winks out as rage momentarily blinds me.
Thankfully, the elevator doesn’t take long, and in no time, the doors slide open. Cecilia is slumped on the floor, her body trembling, her breathing shallow. Heart pounding, I grab her arm and immediately notice the jacket covering her hand. It’s soaked in blood.
“Who did this to you?” I growl.
“Maksim,” she whimpers, collapsing into my arms. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.”
Pushing aside my anger, I hold her close as she starts crying in my arms. I wrap one arm around her waist and run the other up and down her hair softly. “Shh, it’s okay, Myshka. You’re safe now.” She nods into my chest and sniffs, her cries slowly subsiding.
I swallow my questions as I lead her to my bedroom. “Stay here,” I tell her, pointing to the armchair in front of my mantle. She sinks into it wordlessly, and I quickly go to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. On my way back, I pause at the doorway to study her. She’s huddled into herself, looking so small and vulnerable in the oversized armchair. Like a completely different person from the strong and feisty woman I know.
My fists tighten around the first aid box’s handle. Heads will roll for this.
To my surprise, Cecelia glances up at me, and a soft, sad smile fills her lips. “You’ll have to repay the doorman. He paid off my cab fare,” she quietly informs me, her voice cracking.
I force myself to return the smile as I approach her. She’s not the one I’m angry at. It’s my incompetent men who will feel my fury. But for now, Cecilia’s safety is all that matters. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I assure her, crouching in front of her to examine her injured hand. As gently as possible, I unroll the jean jacket and get my first look at the wound.
It”s a straight gash that runs through her palm from below her thumb to the end. Thankfully, it’s not too deep and shouldn’t leave much of a scar. “I cut myself,” she mutters.
Looking up at her, I’m surprised when she lifts her right hand to smooth my forehead. I didn’t realize I was frowning.
“I was trying to cut out his eye like you taught me, but he slapped the knife out of my hand. I knew if I lost it, I”d be screwed. So I… I caught it with my left hand.”
“You missed the handle and grabbed the blade,” I realize, and she nods in response. “How did you get away from him?” I ask, trying to distract her as I clean her wound with disinfectant.
She hisses in pain, and I murmur an apology. “I jumped out of the van.”
“You what?”
I have to remind myself not to tighten my grip on her hand as she tells me how she escaped. By the time she finishes her story, there’s a whole lot of contained rage simmering under my surface. Rage that I need to let out.
At any point during her escapade, things could’ve gotten out of hand. What if he had a gun and shot her? What if she rolled into an oncoming vehicle when she jumped out of the van?
I try to push the what-ifs out of my mind and focus on the important part. She made it out safely. “Who was it? Did you get a name? Did you see his face?”
She shakes her head slowly, “It was dark in the van, so I couldn’t see his face. I only heard his voice.”
His voice? “What did he say? Did he tell you what he wanted?”
She hesitates briefly, then nods. “I-I guess they noticed my guards and assumed I was a rich heiress or something. They must’ve wanted a ransom payout.”
Finishing up her bandage, I sit up. “Roy and the rest of my men weren’t discreet enough...”
Her eyes widen in dismay. “It’s not their fault. You can’t blame them, I–”
“Enough, Cecilia. You’re not going to talk me out of punishing them properly. Not this time.”
To my shock, her bottom lip trembles and tears start welling up in her eyes again. “P–please, Maksim. I feel safe with Roy. He’s been doing his best to protect me and—”
“Too bad his best wasn’t good enough.” I turn away from her as I return the first aid kit, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of her tears. Fucking hell. I hate seeing her cry. But even her tears aren”t strong enough to sway me this time.
When I get back into the bedroom, she’s pacing. “You need to rest, Myshka. Get into bed. You have nothing to worry about anymore.”
“What about you? Are you leaving me?” Her eyes widen. “Are you going to punish Roy?”
“You keep talking about him, and I’ll start to think maybe there’s something going on between you two.” It’s not a serious threat, but still, I watch her like a hawk, searching her gaze for any hint of dishonesty.
She pales at my words, “No, of course not, but—”
“No buts. He and the rest of my men knew what they signed up for when they joined my crew. I’ve been more than lenient with them. If I had taken swift action when you slipped out of their hands this morning, this might not have happened.”
She sighs, dropping her head in defeat. “I’ll support anything you do to them. Anything except killing them. Please, Maksim. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
“You’ve had a long day, get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
With that, I turn around again and walk out of the room.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“To find and kill the man who did this to you,” I promise savagely. According to her, he fell from the Brooklyn bridge into the river. We’ll go from there.
When I get into the elevator, I call Roy and give him the update. I’ll deal with him later, after we catch the culprit. Right now, I need all hands on deck.
Once I’m done with Roy, I dial Dante’s number. “Any progress with that plate number?”
“It’s from a sedan that was reported missing a week ago,” he answers. Fuck, so that’s a dead end.
“What about the van? Did you follow its route through the cameras?”
“Yes, Miss Lombardi somehow escaped her captor. I’m trying to follow her trail and–”
“Don’t. Stay on the van.” I command as the elevator opens into the basement parking lot.
“Sir?”
“Miss Lombardi,” I start, since Dante doesn’t know that’s not her real name yet, “is safe with me. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to catch those fuckers who tried to take her.”
Rage building, I direct him to track down the van and its driver. I get into my car and turn the ignition. I’ll meet Roy and the rest of my men at the river. The fucker who jumped from the bridge couldn’t have gotten far.
Soon enough, I’ll have him. Then he’ll regret ever being born.