CHAPTER 24
ILAY
When I finally drag myself from the depths of unconsciousness, the first thing that assaults my senses is the blinding, sterile white of the ceiling.
The walls match the pristine brightness, closing in on me, while the sharp, chemical scent of antiseptic burns my nostrils, telling me exactly where I am before I even try to move.
I am back in Russia.
My body feels like it is made of lead, weighed down by layers of thick bandages wrapped tightly around my chest, my shoulder, and my thigh.
Every shallow breath sends a spike of agony radiating through my nerves, but I shove the physical sensation aside because it is irrelevant compared to the panic clawing at my throat.
"Where is she?" I rasp, my voice sounding foreign to my ears.
"Where is she? Did anybody find her? Is she safe?
" The heavy door bursts open, and Natalya rushes in, her face pale and drawn with exhaustion.
"Thank God you are awake," she breathes, her voice cracking with relief as she reaches for my hand, squeezing it tight.
"I was so worried, Ilay. When they found you unconscious, bleeding out in the middle of that godforsaken road, I thought I was going to lose you. "
I yank my hand away from her grip, having no patience for sympathy. "I am fine. Where is Iris? Tell me where she is." Natalya pulls back, her expression turning into pity. "We don't know where they took her. But Ilay… looking at the situation… I think it is best if you just let her go."
The air leaves the room. And I snap. I shoot up from the bed, ignoring the searing pain that tears through my stitched wounds, and grab Natalya’s face, forcing her to look at me. My face is inches from hers, as my voice drops to a deadly, quiet whisper.
"Natalya," I say, and enunciate every word slowly.
"Don't. Don't you ever, and I mean ever, ask me to give up the woman I love.
" I release her roughly, and she stumbles back, her eyes wide with fear.
"Send all the men, scour everywhere. I want you to tear apart every street, burn down every safe house, and bleed every contact until we get a name.
Find her. I don't care how many enemies I make today or how much blood I have to spill. Find my wife."
Natalya stands frozen for a moment, rubbing her jaw where I gripped her. Then she nods quickly, recognizing the monster staring back at her. "Okay. Yes, Pakhan." She turns and leaves the room immediately.
I lean back against the pillows, a groan escaping my lips as the adrenaline fades slightly, leaving room for the pain to return.
My chest feels like it is on fire, and every breath is a struggle against the bandages constricting my ribs.
"I failed her," I mutter to the empty room, the taste of bile rising in my throat.
"With all my big talk and bravado, I allowed her to be snatched right out of my hands. "
I press my hand against the bandage on my chest, digging my fingers in until I feel the sharp sting of the wound beneath.
I want it to hurt. I deserve to hurt. In my head, a thousand nightmares play out on a loop.
I picture them beating her, torturing her, breaking her spirit.
If it was someone in the mafia world who took her…
and I know it was….I can’t even let myself imagine the horrors she is currently enduring.
Was she eating? Did they give her water? Was she terrified and wondering why I hadn't come for her yet? The thought makes me sick to my stomach. A few of my men enter the room, their faces grim and serious as they bow slightly. "Pakhan," one of them says. "We have alerted the Volkov Unit."
The Volkov Unit. My most skilled men…a group of five elite trackers and assassins who function more like ghosts than soldiers.
They could find anyone on earth, no matter how deep they buried themselves.
"Find her," I commanded. "You have twenty-four hours.
If you don't bring me a location by then, every single one of you will start dying. One by one."
The men stiffen, fear flashing in their eyes.
"Yes, Pakhan." They turn and leave immediately to execute my orders.
I try to stand, gritting my teeth against the agony that shoots up my leg.
I cannot just sit here in a sterile hospital bed while my injuries are tended to and she is out there, God knows where, going through hell.
I rip the IV needle from the back of my hand, ignoring the stream of dark blood that drips down my wrist and stains the white sheets.
I grab my shirt from the chair and pull it on, wincing as the rough fabric brushes against my fresh wounds.
I am not going to sit here and wait for reports.
I am going to find out what the fuck is going on myself.
And when I find whoever took her? They are going to wish they had never been born.