Chapter Twelve - Erik
The hum of computers fills the room, the faint blue glow of monitors casting long shadows against the walls.
Bratva’s top IT specialists work tirelessly, their fingers flying across keyboards, their screens displaying layers of encrypted data and traces of digital breadcrumbs. The tension in the room is palpable; they know the stakes.
I step inside, my presence drawing the attention of every person in the room. Conversations drop to whispers, then silence. They know better than to waste my time with pleasantries.
“How close are we?” I ask, my voice steady and controlled.
One of the specialists looks up from his monitor, his expression wary but determined. “We’re narrowing it down, Mr. Sharov. We’ve traced several purchases made in cash, but she’s careful. The patterns are scattered.”
“Careful is good,” I reply, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “It makes the hunt more interesting.”
Semyon steps forward from his place near the window, a cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. He takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around him as he watches me with his usual mix of amusement and skepticism.
“You could end this anytime, you know,” he says, exhaling. “Richard’s still groveling. You could grab him, her mother, her sister—anyone—and she’d come running back.”
I glance at him, arching a brow. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Semyon chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got a strange definition of fun, Erik.”
“She ran,” I say, stepping further into the room. My tone is calm, but the steel beneath it is unmistakable. “She dared to think she could outsmart me. That deserves a response. Not just force. Precision.”
Semyon tosses his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and crosses his arms. “You turned down Richard’s offer, then. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
The memory surfaces easily, sharp and vivid.
The day she ran, Richard had practically thrown himself at my feet, his desperation reeking like cheap cologne. “I’ll fix this,” he’d stammered. “You—you can marry Amelia instead. She’s more stable, more responsible. She won’t humiliate you like this.”
Amelia. The dutiful older sister. Polished, composed, and utterly predictable. Everything Chloe is not.
I didn’t even need to think about it. “No,” I’d told him coldly, the word heavy with finality.
“But—”
“Not the other one,” I’d interrupted, my gaze slicing through him like a blade. “I want Chloe.”
Richard had looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but I hadn’t cared. Amelia might have been the logical choice, the safer option, but logic had nothing to do with this. I didn’t want safe or predictable. I wanted the wild cat.
Semyon watches me closely now, his head tilted slightly. “You’re really stuck on this one, aren’t you?”
“She’s mine,” I reply simply. “I don’t settle for substitutes.”
He smirks, leaning back against the wall. “Fair enough. You do realize she’s not like the others. She’s not going to just roll over and play nice.”
“I’m counting on it,” I say, the smile on my lips turning sharp.
My attention shifts back to the IT team, who are huddled around one particular screen. I walk over, peering down at the data they’ve gathered. A map of Europe glows on the monitor, dotted with red markers indicating possible leads.
“She’s smart,” one of the analysts says, his voice edged with reluctant admiration. “No credit cards, no digital footprints. Even the burner phone she used was purchased in cash. If it weren’t for the surveillance footage at the airport, we wouldn’t have anything.”
I nod, a flicker of pride stirring in my chest despite myself. Chloe’s defiance only makes this more exhilarating. “Where does that footage lead?”
“Barcelona,” the analyst replies. “That was days ago. If she’s moved on, we’ll need more time to track her.”
“Barcelona,” I repeat, the name rolling off my tongue like a promise. My gaze lingers on the map, my mind already working through the possibilities.
“She’s not going far,” I say finally. “She’ll want to settle somewhere, blend in. She’s not running aimlessly—she’s building a life. Find it.”
“Yes, sir,” the analyst replies, his fingers already flying across the keyboard again.
Semyon moves to stand beside me, his arms still crossed. “What happens when you find her?” he asks, his tone light but curious. “You going to drag her back kicking and screaming?”
I glance at him, my smile faint but full of intent. “I’ll give her the chance to come willingly. For now.”
If she doesn’t?”
The question hangs in the air for a moment before I respond. “Then she’ll learn the consequences of defiance.”
Semyon whistles low, shaking his head. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“You already know better,” I reply dryly, earning a chuckle from him.
The murmur of the IT team fades into the background as I focus on the map projected on the wall. Red dots pinpoint possible leads—airports, cash transactions, fleeting traces of Chloe Hart’s disappearance. Despite their diligent work, nothing definitive has surfaced yet.
I let the quiet determination of my team hum around me while I think.
Semyon’s voice cuts through the silence, casual but pointed. “By the way,” he says, lighting another cigarette. “That court case? It’s starting to heat up again.”
I glance at him, arching a brow. “And?”
“And,” he exhales, smoke curling around his words, “it’s not looking great. The prosecution’s coming at us hard. Witnesses, evidence, the whole works. We could be facing charges, Erik.”
He says it like he’s discussing the weather, but there’s an edge of caution in his tone.
I lean back in my chair, my expression calm. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Semyon smirks, shaking his head. “You’re taking this a little too lightly, don’t you think? They’ve been building this case for months. The fact that you’re not worried is either impressive or insane.”
“They’re bluffing,” I reply evenly. “If they had anything solid, they wouldn’t still be circling. Besides, our friends in the judiciary will make sure things don’t go too far.”
“Confident as ever,” he mutters, flicking ash into a tray. “Let’s hope you’re right. It’d be a shame if this little hunt of yours got interrupted by a stint behind bars.”
I smirk, my gaze drifting back to the map. “It won’t. They don’t have enough hard evidence to take this to court. It’s all circumstantial.”
Semyon watches me for a moment longer before shrugging, apparently content to let the matter drop.
The analysts are still pouring over the data, piecing together the faintest traces of Chloe’s movements. Their dedication is admirable, but I can’t help feeling a flicker of impatience. Chloe is clever—cleverer than I gave her credit for initially—but she’s not invincible.
I turn my attention to the file sitting on the table, a compilation of everything I’ve learned about her. Photos, background details, notes.
I flip through it idly, her hazel eyes staring back at me from a candid picture taken at some gallery event. There’s a light in her expression, a spark of curiosity and confidence.
Loves art. Loves the sun.
I pause, my fingers lingering on those words. They’re simple, almost trivial details, but they tug at something in my mind.
Barcelona.
The realization hits like a strike of lightning. The city isn’t just a random stop. It’s a place that suits her. A place where she could blend in, lose herself among the vibrancy of the art and the warmth of the Mediterranean.
“She’ll stay in Barcelona,” I say, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.
The analysts look up in unison, startled. Semyon raises an eyebrow.
“You’re sure?” Semyon asks, his tone skeptical.
I meet his gaze, my expression unwavering. “It fits. She wouldn’t run somewhere that didn’t make sense to her. Barcelona isn’t just a stopgap for her; it’s where she intends to stay.”
Semyon leans against the desk, considering my words. “Alright. Let’s say you’re right. It’s still a big city. How do you find her?”
“We narrow it down,” I reply, already flipping through the file again. “Art classes, galleries, freelance work. She’s not the type to sit idle. She’ll have found a way to immerse herself in the city.”
One of the analysts clears his throat nervously. “We’ve been monitoring freelance platforms, but there are thousands of users. We’ll need more time to sort through them.”
“Then work faster,” I say coldly. “Cross-reference profiles with her background. Interests, skills, anything that connects to her. I don’t care how long it takes—find her.”
The team nods, their focus intensifying as they return to their screens.
Semyon smirks, clearly entertained by my determination. “You’ve got this all worked out, don’t you? It’s almost like you enjoy the chase.”
I glance at him, my lips curving into a faint smile. “What’s life without a little challenge?”
“Fair point,” he concedes, lighting another cigarette. “Though I’ve got to say, this wild cat of yours better be worth all the trouble.”
“She is,” I reply simply, my gaze returning to the map.
The hunt is narrowing. Barcelona is a sprawling city, but it’s not impenetrable. Chloe might think she’s untouchable, that her carefully crafted plan has put her beyond my reach.
She doesn’t realize just how relentless I can be.
“She’ll slip up eventually,” Semyon says, watching me from his perch. “They always do.”
“She already has,” I say, my tone confident. “She picked the wrong opponent.”
Semyon chuckles softly, shaking his head. “You really don’t know how to quit, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
Semyon exhales a soft laugh, tossing the cigarette into the ashtray with a practiced flick. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his sharp eyes scanning my face.
“You’re something else, Erik. Most men would have called it a day by now. Found someone easier, more… compliant.”
“Compliant bores me,” I say simply, my tone flat but resolute.
“That much is clear.” His smirk widens, but there’s a glint of something more serious behind his amusement. “So, what happens when you find her? Drag her back kicking and screaming? Or charm her into walking back willingly?”
I pause, considering the question. My mind conjures Chloe’s defiant expression, the fire in her hazel eyes the last time she’d spoken to me. She hadn’t been afraid. Challenging me came naturally to her, and that had only intrigued me more.
“She’ll come back,” I say finally, my voice measured.
Semyon raises a brow, his skepticism evident. “You’re that sure of yourself?”
“It’s not about being sure,” I reply, meeting his gaze. “It’s about knowing her. Chloe doesn’t run because she’s scared. She runs because she thinks it gives her power. When she realizes it doesn’t, she’ll have no choice but to face me.”
Semyon lets out a low whistle, leaning back. “Remind me to never piss off anyone with your level of patience.”
“It’s not patience,” I correct, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “It’s strategy.”
The room hums quietly as the IT team continues their work, the soft clatter of keyboards and the occasional murmur of discussion filling the space. My gaze drifts back to the map of Barcelona, the sprawling city illuminated in soft, glowing lines.
“Art,” I murmur, the word rolling off my tongue like a clue waiting to be uncovered.
Semyon tilts his head, curious. “What about it?”
“She loves it,” I reply. “It’s not just a hobby for her. It’s a part of who she is.”
He nods, catching on. “Yeah, she looked like the artistic type.”
“Exactly,” I say, my voice firm. “Girl like her stands out, even if she doesn’t mean to. It’s in her clothes, her hair, the way she holds herself.”
Semyon studies me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It almost sounds like you really like her.”
“I think she’s interesting, that’s all.”
Semyon’s smirk returns, a touch of amusement in his tone. “For your sake, I hope she realizes that. Otherwise, this is going to be one hell of a messy reunion.”
I glance at him, my expression unreadable. “Messy or not, it’ll happen. That much is certain.”