47. Lev
I’m deep in conversation with Feliks when my phone vibrates on the desk in front of me.
It’s the third time it’s rung in the last minute, and I’ve ignored it twice. But something tells me not to ignore it a third. I flip it over, and I see Igor’s name on the screen.
“If she’s given you the slip again, Igor—
“She’s been taken,” comes Igor’s frantic reply.
Three simple words. And they’re more fatal to me than any other words I’ve ever heard before.
“What do you mean she’s been taken?”
Across the room from me, Feliks looks up from his phone. “What the fuck?”
“Tell me what the fuck happened,” I snap.
Igor sounds like he is driving. “They were too fast to stop, Pakhan.”
“Who?”
“I’m not a hundred percent. But I think it was Vlad.”
Vlad.
The mere thought of that mudak even being in the same proximity as Brooke makes me see red, let alone putting his filthy hands on her.
I grip the phone tighter. “Tell me everything.”
“She went to the restroom. When she didn’t return after a few minutes, we went to check. The restroom was empty. There’s a fire exit along the same corridor as the restrooms, and it was ajar. As I got outside, I saw a four-door Maserati screeching out of the parking lot. No plates. Blacked out windows.”
A Maserati with midnight tint.
That’s Vlad’s car.
I feel the fury grow beneath my skin.
Him taking her is a declaration of war against me and my bratva, and I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure he knows what a big fucking mistake it was. Once I get Brooke back, he’ll pay with everything he has—his money, his home, his family, his business, his fucking everything.
And when I’m done with all of that, he will pay with his life.
“Where are you now?”
“In the car, searching for her. They can’t have gone far.”
“We won’t be far behind you. Call me if you get eyes on them.”
I hang up and throw Feliks the keys to my Lamborghini. “Vlad has Brooke.”
“Fuck.” He grabs his jacket. “You sure you want me to drive?”
“Yes, because when we find him, I’m going to be using both my guns.”
As we leave my office, I call Jerry, one of my tech experts attached to the bratva, an ex-FBI agent who used to work in cybercrime and can find out anything about anyone. “I need to know every piece of real estate Vlad Bhyzova has in the city. And I need to know it in the next minute.”
Vlad won’t want to spend any more time on the road than necessary. He knows I have people all over this town. He’ll want to get somewhere private as quickly as possible. That means he has to have somewhere close by to hide.
“It’s going to take a few minutes, boss,” Jerry says. “I need to filter his name through any shell companies and trusts he might be associated with.”
“We don’t have a few minutes,” I snap as I climb into my Lamborghini.
An unfamiliar feeling lodges deep in my gut like a tightly coiled spring. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Something foreign and dark and unsettling.
Fear.
This is what it feels like.
Cold and unbearable.
And beneath the weight of it, I feel fucking helpless.
Fuck.
If he hurts her…
There is a screech of tires as we roar out of the underground garage and burst onto the busy afternoon street.
“Jerry, I need those addresses now.”
I know unleashing my murderous tone on Jerry and breathing down his neck when he is trying to get me the information isn’t going to get me those property addresses any quicker. But I have to do something. I have to release the buildup of panic inside me before it explodes out of me in a dark rage.
“I’ve got one,” Jerry says. “Where are you now?”
“Coming toward the bridge.”
“Okay, he’s got one about forty minutes away from the city.” He gives me the address.
“No, that’s too far away. He’ll want to get off the street. There has got to be somewhere closer.”
Feliks looks at me. “What if he’s going somewhere that he doesn’t own?”
That’s when it hits me.
Six months ago, I outbid him on a real estate deal.
An abandoned warehouse five minutes away.
“I know where he’s going,” I mutter, my heart pumping a venomous black rage through my veins.
I hang up on Jerry and give Feliks the address to the warehouse.
“Fuck, the mudak has some nerve,” Feliks spits with disgust.
I grit my teeth. “For a dead man.”