Chapter 25 - Abram
The house is dark and silent as I push open the front door. No warm welcome, no delicate scent of Zara's perfume lingering in the air. My footsteps echo hollowly through the empty rooms.
"Zara?" I call out instinctively.
And then, I remember. She called earlier, mentioning she was going to track down that reclusive painter. What was his name again? Damien… Damien Levi. Right. That’s the only artist she’s been speaking of for weeks.
I loosen my tie, pouring myself a drink. The whiskey swirls in the crystal tumbler, catching the dim light. I take a long sip, savoring the burn.
I wonder if I should have insisted she take the chauffeur with her. Did she find parking?
"It's fine," I mutter to myself. "She's a grown woman. Stop obsessing."
With the staff out for the evening, I reheat leftovers and eat my solitary meal, unease gnawing at me. The ticking of the grandfather clock seems to grow louder with each passing minute.
I glance at my watch. 9:30 PM. She left around 5:30… four hours ago.
"This is ridiculous," I growl, tossing my fork down with a clatter. "Pull yourself together, Abram."
I pace the length of the dining room, my reflection fragmented in the dark windows. Zara is mine. I have nothing to fear. I need to trust her.
The thing is, I trust her, but not the world. It’s not her I’m obsessing over, per se, but rather her safety. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I yank out my phone and dial her number.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
"Hey, it's Zara! Leave a message, and I'll call you back!"
Her cheerful voicemail mocks me. I end the call, resisting the urge to hurl the phone across the room.
"Where the hell are you?" I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. My hands begin to tremble from anxiety. Something seems off. This is unlike Zara, to not check in.
The silence of the house presses in on me. My mind races with possibilities, each worse than the last. I try to push them away, to be rational. But the fear and need to possess, to protect what's mine—it all rises up, threatening to consume me.
I try her phone again, making a mental note to let Zara know about appropriate meeting lengths. And the importance of answering her goddamn phone.
But she doesn’t pick up. Yet again. I wish I had asked for Carl’s number.
My fingers drum against my glass as I consider my next move.
"Think, Abram," I mutter to myself. "Where would she go?"
I could look for the studio address. But I find nothing online. It’s like he’s a ghost. Something doesn't feel right. My gut twists with an uneasy suspicion.
I pull out my phone again, dialing a familiar number.
"Alexei," I bark at one of my lankies when he answers. "I need information on Damien Levi. Now. He’s a reclusive painter."
"Damien Levi?" Alexei's voice crackles through the speaker. "Give me a moment, Boss."
"Boss," Alexei's voice returns after ten minutes. "You're not going to like this."
My grip tightens on the glass. "Spit it out."
"Levi's not in the country. Our sources confirm he's been in Paris for the last two weeks."
"Fuck," I hiss. "Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. He has a show opening there next week."
My mind races. If Levi is in Europe, then where the hell is Zara? And who is she meeting?
"Keep an eye on Levi," I order Alexei. "I want to know everything about his movements, his contacts, anyone who might be using his name."
I end the call, my suspicion now a full-blown certainty that something is very, very wrong.
"Oh, Zara," I murmur. "What have you gotten yourself into?"
The memory of her being kidnapped rushes back with haunting fury. All I can think about is Zara—her wide, innocent eyes, her soft skin, the way she fits perfectly in my arms. The thought of anyone else touching her, hurting her…
A growl rises in my throat. Whoever's behind this will pay. I'll make sure of it.
But first, I have to find her. And I will. No matter what it takes.
My fingers fly across the phone's screen, muscle memory taking over as I dial the familiar numbers. One by one, my brothers answer.
"Vladimir. Denis. Mark." I bark out their names, my voice tight with barely contained fury. "I need you. Now."
There's a brief pause before Vladimir, ever the strategist, speaks. "What's happened, Abram?"
"Zara's missing," I growl, pacing the length of my study. "And I suspect foul play."
Denis's low whistle crackles through the speaker. "Shit, Brother. We're on our way."
I end the call, my mind already racing ahead. Within a quarter of an hour, my brothers arrive, their faces grim and determined. We gather in the living room, the air thick with tension.
"Talk to us," Mark says, leaning forward, his piercing gaze fixed on me.
I run a hand through my hair, frustration evident in every movement. "She went to meet an artist, but he's not even in the country. I've tried calling, tracking her phone—nothing."
Vladimir's brow furrows. "What about her car's GPS?"
A bitter laugh escapes me. "Encrypted. My own damn security measures to keep her safe are working against us now."
"Smart move at the time," Denis muses, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the armrest. "Any other leads?"
I shake my head, the weight of my worry pressing down on me. "Nothing concrete. But I can feel it in my gut—she's in danger."
Mark stands, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the room. "Then we tear this city apart until we find her."
I nod, grateful for their unwavering support. "We need a plan. Ideas?"
As my brothers brainstorm, I can't help but imagine Zara's face—her soft smile, the light in her eyes. The thought of that light dimming, of her being afraid…
A sudden idea pierces through my racing thoughts. "Wait," I say, my voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. "Zara mentioned she was going with her cousin Carl.”
Vladimir's eyes narrow. "Carl? Isn't he the one whose family is always asking for money?"
I nod, a plan already forming. "Exactly. Zara says he’s different, that he’s changed. I have my doubts now. And I bet he hasn't changed his habits when it comes to technology either."
Denis catches on immediately. "You think we can track his GPS?"
"It's worth a shot," I reply, already moving toward my laptop.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing systems that most people don't even know exist. I pay a man on the dark web with crypto. Half an hour later, we have everything on Carl. His address, his social security, his passport number, bank statements, and… jackpot—his vehicle number. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through me, but it's tinged with desperation this time.
We hack into his car.
"Got it," I mutter after a few tense minutes. "Looks like he took a strange route. Heading out of the city, then…"
Mark leans over my shoulder, his presence looming. "Where did he end up?"
I zoom in on the map, my heart rate quickening. "An empty street on the outskirts. Middle of nowhere."
Vladimir's voice is low, dangerous. "That doesn't sound good, Brother."
"No," I agree, already standing and reaching for my coat. "It doesn't. Let's move."
***
The dilapidated building looms before us, a decaying monolith against the darkening sky. Its windows are like hollow eyes staring blankly into the night. I feel a chill that has nothing to do with the cool evening air.
“There,” I whisper, pointing at Zara’s car. “She’s somewhere here.”
"This is it," I mutter, my hand instinctively reaching for my weapon. "Be ready for anything."
Vladimir nods, his face a mask of controlled aggression. "Always, Brother."
We approach the building cautiously, our footsteps crunching on broken glass and debris. The door hangs off its hinges, groaning ominously as Denis pushes it open. The smell of mold and decay assaults us as we step inside.
"Zara?" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty space. No response.
We move deeper into the building, our eyes adjusting to the gloom. Suddenly, Mark's sharp intake of breath catches my attention.
"Abram," he whispers, pointing to a corner.
There, slumped against the wall, is Carl. His eyes are red, like they’ve been burnt, the skin around them purple. But it's not his condition that makes my blood run cold—it's the absence of Zara.
"Where is she?" I growl, striding toward Carl. "What have you done with her?"
Carl's eyes flutter open, fear flashing across his face as he recognizes me. "A-Abram? I… I don't…"
I grab him by the collar, my patience evaporating. "Where. Is. Zara?"
"She… she got away," Carl stammers, his words slurring slightly. "Pepper sprayed me and… and the other guy."
My mind races. If Zara escaped, why isn't she here? And why the hell would she have needed to escape? Where could she have gone? The possibilities, each more terrifying than the last, flood my thoughts.
"Other guy?" Vladimir interjects, his voice sharp. "Who else was involved in this, Carl?"
Carl's eyes dart between us, the reality of his situation sinking in. "I… I can't…"
"You can, and you will," I snarl, my grip tightening. "Every second you waste puts Zara in more danger. Now talk!"
“I said I can’t…” he insists, now standing and backing away from us.
The next I know, Mark has him in a headlock and pushes him toward me. Carl's whimpers echo through the dilapidated room as I twist his arm behind his back, pushing him face-first against the wall. The acrid stench of fear and sweat fills my nostrils.
"Talk," I snarl, increasing the pressure. "Now."
“Please…” he begs. “You don’t understand. If they know…”
“What we’d do is worse,” I scream, pulling his thumb back against his hand. A sick crack echoes through the room, and Carl screams, crumbling to the floor, clutching his hand while whimpering like a little boy.
“If you don’t talk,” Denis says, slowly walking over and getting on his haunches. “What we’ll do is much worse.”
Denis pulls out a pistol and puts it right under Carl’s chin.
"I… I was going to sell her," Carl chokes out, his body trembling. "To your rivals."
A wave of fury crashes over me, threatening to drown out all reason. "You were going to what?"
Vladimir steps closer, his eyes cold. "Why?"
Carl's breath comes in ragged gasps. "Revenge. She cut ties with us… her family. Left us with nothing. We fed her, clothed her."
I lean in close, my lips brushing his ear. "You call yourself family? You're nothing but a parasite. Your fucking family ate through her millions. You fed her? How dare you?” I can’t help but land a punch in his gut.
He sputters, wheezing for air.
“What’s in it for you?” Denis digs the gun under Carl’s chin.
“M-m-money,” he says. “They said they’ll give me thirty grand.”
I feel a tremor of anger course through me. "Thirty grand? You'd sell my Zara for thirty grand? I’m going to fucking kill you!” I bellow, trying to grab the gun from Mark.
“Stop, Brother,” Vladimir holds me back, pulling me to my feet. “Think,” he whispers, trying to calm me. “We need to learn more.”
"Where were you taking her?" Denis takes over, his eyes flashing between mine and Vladimir.
"I don't know exactly," Carl whimpers. "Just… just a meeting point."
My grip tightens involuntarily around Vladimir’s, trying to break free. The thought of Zara being sold like a chattel makes my vision blur with rage. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.
"Who are the buyers?" I ask, my voice dangerously low.
Carl hesitates, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options.
"Answer him," Mark growls, stepping forward menacingly.
"The… the Petrov syndicate," Carl finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
The name sends a chill down my spine. The Petrovs are known for their cruelty, especially toward women. The image of Zara in their hands makes my stomach churn.
“Where is Zara now? Answer me, you fool,” Denis grabs him by the throat.
Carl's eyes dart nervously between us, his bravado crumbling. "I told you already. She… she got away," he stammers, wincing as I tighten my grip. "Pepper sprayed me and Yuri. Clever little bitch."
A surge of pride mingles with my fear. That's my Zara—resourceful even in the face of danger. But the relief is short-lived.
"Others are looking for her," Carl continues, his words rushing out. "Professional trackers. They won't stop until—”
I silence him with a sharp blow. "How many? Where?"
"Four, maybe five," he gasps for air as Denis tightens his grip around his neck. "Fanned out in the direction she drove off in. They know the area better than she does."
My heart races. Zara's alone, disoriented, in unfamiliar territory. And she's being hunted.
"We need to move. Now," I growl, turning to my brothers. Their faces mirror my own determination.
Vladimir nods, already on his phone. "I'll have our best men scouring the area within minutes."
"Not enough," I mutter, pacing. My mind whirls, calculating probabilities, mapping escape routes. "She's smart, she'll avoid main roads. We need to think like her."
Denis studies a map on his tablet. "There's an off-road leading through the forest. If she found it…"
“She could be running to the safehouse,” my hands almost shake at the revelation. Vladimir and I exchange instant glances, remembering how she found us there once, torturing a goon.
“Do you think?”—Vladimir begins.
“Let’s go,” I command, not wasting a moment. “Tell our men to cover every surrounding area by foot and cars. Her car’s outside, so she’ll be running. We’re heading straight for our safehouse, and we should reach in time to intercept her.”
As we prepare to leave, I pause, glancing at Carl's crumpled form. A dark part of me wants to end him here and now. But Zara… she wouldn't want that. She's made me want to be better, even now.
We’ll deal with him later, if she’d like.