Chapter 16 Adrian
ADRIAN
Istand in the doorway to Elena's bedroom for the fourth time in the last hour, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket.
The light comes in through the curtains and across her face. Her skin is still too pale, but she's breathing, and that's all that matters right now.
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms tight over my chest, counting her breaths like a fucking lunatic.
Every time I do this, I tell myself I should walk away and let her rest without me looming over her, but I can't make myself do it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her on the bathroom floor or curled into a ball on the couch, sweaty and shaking.
It's taken forty-eight hours for whatever poison those Russian fucks were pumping into her system to work its way out.
Two days since I forced my way into the bathroom, watching her body reject everything: food, water, sleep.
Forty-eight fucking hours of holding her hair back, of sitting beside her in the dark while she shook and cried and begged for it to stop.
I swallow hard, my throat tight.
And I couldn't do a goddamn thing except sit there and tell her it would be over soon.
I rub my face to wake myself up and feel the stubble on my jaw scratching against my palm.
I haven't really slept during all this, of course. Every time I tried, I'd jolt awake, certain I heard her crying or calling my name.
Instead, I've been pacing like a caged animal, checking the house, checking on her, anything to keep myself up and busy.
I shift my weight and try to crack my back. It's sore from the hours I spent slumped in the chair beside her bed last night.
Overall, I won't complain. Around three thirty or four this morning, she finally fell into a real sleep, and I'd stayed until sunrise before I forced myself to leave, to give her space, to let her rest without me hovering over her like some deranged fucking guard dog.
But that didn't last long. I'm here again, watching her, telling myself she's okay.
Elena stirs slightly, her head turning on the pillow, and I stand up straight, ready for whatever.
Her face scrunches for a second, then relaxes. The knot in my chest loosens just a fraction.
She's fine. She's fine.
I repeat those words in my head over and over, like if I say them enough times, I'll actually believe it, but I don't.
Because she's not fine. She's broken, and I wasn't there to stop it from happening.
The anger at myself overloads my mind, and I turn and walk down the hall.
I started another fire this morning, and I notice it's burned down to glowing embers.
I toss some more logs in and grab the poker and stab at them. Sparks fly up as the flames flare back to life.
I stare at the poker for a second and think what it would have been like to jam this right into Maxim's eye.
Would it have gone in easily?
I lean the poker against the brick fireplace and stare at the flames.
Even though I put a bullet through his face, it doesn't make me feel better. It wasn't enough. He got off too easily. I wish I would have taken him too. Kept him in a cage and tortured him for weeks.
Shit, even cutting off his dick wouldn't erase what he did to Elena or make any of this any easier.
No, I just have to trust my brother and help her with whatever she needs.
I turn and start pacing.
Another thing that bothers me is that this Volkov family manages a whole fucking network of monsters who think they can buy and sell women like livestock.
Between that and Elena, I want to go to Moscow and tear through every Volkov stronghold, every safehouse, every brothel, until there's nothing left but corpses.
I want to make them pay for every second Elena spent in that hell, but I can't.
Elena needs me here, to protect her, and that's the only job for me.
The front door clicks open, and I whip around, my hand instinctively going to the gun tucked into the back of my waistband.
Victor steps inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
He looks rough.
His usually immaculate suit is wrinkled, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled.
Dark circles shadow his eyes, and there's a tightness around his mouth that wasn't there before.
"Where the hell have you been?" I demand, keeping my voice low.
Victor doesn't answer immediately.
He takes off his coat and tosses it over the back of a chair, then moves to the bar cart in the corner, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.
He downs it in one gulp, then pours another.
"You look like shit," I say. "What's going on?"
He finally turns to face me. "Oh, just cleaning up your mess," he says.
"My mess?" My voice rises, and I take a step toward him. "I saved her."
"You killed a Russian diplomat on Swiss soil," Victor says, his tone sharp.
"You shot three men in a chateau full of international politicians and security personnel, not before you released a dozen trafficked women who are now causing trouble since they claim someone who looks an awful lot like you is the one who freed them. "
He pauses and takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving mine.
"And one claims it's the same person he saw running out of the room where the dead Russians were."
I glare at him, not saying anything.
"So yes, Adrian. Your mess."
I scoff. "I'd do it again."
"I know you would," Victor says. "And I'm not saying you were wrong. I'm saying there are consequences, and I'm fucking tired."
He sets his glass down on the table and crosses his arms.
"The Swiss police have been tearing the chateau apart for the last two days. They finally acknowledged Maxim's death. That's why I couldn't come back sooner."
My stomach twists.
"They know it was me?"
"No, but they want to speak to you based on what one of the women said," Victor says carefully. "Of course, I can't let that happen, so I've been working every contact I have to keep it that way."
I exhale slowly, my shoulders dropping.
"Good."
"Not good, Adrian."
Victor's voice turns firm, and he takes a step closer, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Maxim's father is the head of the Volkov Bratva in Moscow. One of the most powerful men in Russia. And one of his sons just turned up dead with a bullet through his head."
The air in the room feels heavier now.
"So?" I say, my voice cold. "Let him mourn."
Victor's jaw tightens.
"He's not mourning, brother. He's hunting."
The words hang in the air between us.
"Rumor is," Victor continues, "he just put a twenty-five-million-dollar bounty on the head of whoever killed his son."
My blood goes cold.
"Twenty-five million?"
Victor nods.
"Every mercenary, assassin, and Bratva soldier in Europe is gearing up. If they're not here yet, they will be soon."
I stare at him, my mind racing. That kind of money doesn't just attract opportunists.
It attracts professional killers. People who will burn this entire mountain down to collect.
"But they don't know it's me," I say slowly.
"Not yet," Victor agrees. "But it's only a matter of time before someone connects the dots."
I start pacing again, rubbing my forehead, my lack of sleep making my brain work slowly.
"Fine. Then I'll leave. We'll leave. Go back to Romania."
"We can't."
I freeze, turning to face him.
"The Swiss airport is on total lockdown. No private flights in or out until the investigation is complete. Our pilot can't get clearance to take off."
"Then we'll drive," I say. "We'll go through France or Italy or..."
"Every border crossing is being monitored," Victor interrupts. "They're looking for the women who escaped. And they're looking for anyone connected to Maxim's death."
I stare at him, my chest tightening.
"So we're trapped?"
"For now," Victor says. "I'm working on it. I have contacts who can forge exit papers, bribe the right officials. But it's going to take time."
"How much time?"
"A few days. Maybe a week."
"A week?" My voice rises, and I take a step toward him. "You just told me there's a twenty-five-million-dollar bounty on my head and every killer in Europe is coming for it, and you want me to sit here for a week?"
Victor doesn't flinch.
"I want you to sit here and protect Elena," he says. "Because if we leave, if we try to run before we have everything in place, we'll lead them straight to her."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I glance over at the hall that leads to where she's sleeping.
"As much as you want to, you can't fight the entire Bratva, Adrian. Not without a plan."
"I can try," I say through gritted teeth.
Victor exhales slowly.
"Give me a few days," he says. "Let me secure the exit. Then we can all get out of here safely."
"And what do I do in the meantime?" I demand. "Sit here and wait for them to find us?"
"You play defense," Victor says. "And you kill anyone who tries to take her."
I stare at him as every instinct in my body screams at me to move, to act, to go to Moscow and tear the entire Volkov Bratva apart with my bare hands.
But Elena is asleep in the next room, and she's what this is all about.
I nod slowly. "I can do that."
Victor's expression softens slightly, and he claps a hand on my shoulder.
"Good."
He walks over and picks up his coat, putting it back on.
"I have to go. I have a meeting with a Swiss official in an hour. If I can convince him to look the other way, we'll be out of here by the end of the week."
"And if you can't?"
Victor smiles. "Then maybe we'll bust out of here gun blazing like you want to."
The door shuts behind him, and the silence rushes back in.
I stand there for a moment, going over everything.
Once I'm satisfied, I turn and walk back down the hallway and push Elena's door open.
She's still asleep, curled on her side now with one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
I move to the chair beside her bed, sinking into it slowly, my body aching with exhaustion.
But I don't close my eyes.
Instead, I pull the gun from the back of my waistband and set it on my lap, my fingers curling around the grip.
They can come.
Every mercenary, every assassin, every Bratva soldier.
Let them try.
I lean back in the chair, my gaze never leaving Elena's sleeping form.
I'll kill every last one of them.
One dead Russian at a time.