Chapter 6
Alexei
If anyone ever told me I’d be collaborating with the Molotov brothers, I’d tell them to check themselves for psychosis. Yet here we are, Valery, Konstantin, and I, huddled over a laptop at night, reviewing the latest discovery from our teams of hackers—who, like us, are actually working together.
They’ve been able to reconstruct Alina’s movements up to the point of her exiting the dress shop and have confirmed that no further footage exists. The surrounding cameras haven’t been tampered with, like I originally thought.
My wife simply didn’t show up in any cameras after she stepped out of that fucking shop and took a few steps down the street.
“If an abduction happened, it would’ve had to take place right here,” Konstantin says, drawing a red circle on the map on the screen. “A dozen feet south, it would’ve been within the range of several cameras. A few feet north, same thing.”
Valery peers at the screen. “There’s an alley right in that blind spot.”
I’ve already spotted the same thing. “That’s where a kidnapper could’ve been hiding.
” My voice is as tight as my ribcage. I haven’t been able to take a full breath since I realized that Alina’s brothers aren’t here as some convoluted ploy to throw me off her scent. Nor have I been able to eat or sleep.
It took a while to convince the Molotovs that this is not a ploy on my part to keep them away from Alina, and once they finally accepted that, we got down to business and have been working nonstop, deploying all our contacts and connections to figure out which of our enemies may have been behind this.
Unfortunately, between us and the Molotovs, there are many, many suspects.
“I’ll send a forensic team to that alley first thing in the morning,” Valery says, pulling out his phone. “We’ll see if they find any signs of struggle.”
“Good idea,” I say and straighten. “In the meantime, I’m heading there myself.”
Konstantin looks up from the screen, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Why? You’ll just tamper with potential evidence.”
I bare my teeth at him. “I’m not a fucking idiot. I’ll be careful.”
“I’ll go with you,” Ruslan says, rising from the couch where he was working on his own laptop.
I glower at him, having all but forgotten about his presence. I have no idea why he’s here instead of in his bed, asleep. He’s certainly no fan of the Molotovs, and he hasn’t been actively participating in the search for Alina, focusing instead on matters back home.
Matters like our father. Who’s dying and sending daily demands to see us.
I shove the thought aside. That’s the last thing I want to worry about now.
“Let’s go then,” I tell Ruslan curtly and walk over to grab my gun from a nearby table.
I stuff it into my belt and cover it with my shirt.
My knife is already strapped to my ankle inside my boot, and I have a smaller-caliber gun strapped to my other ankle.
But I make a show of getting the weapon anyway, for the Molotovs’ sake.
I don’t want them knowing that I’ve been armed this whole time—though they probably suspect it.
Temporary collaboration or not, we trust each other about as much as two hungry gators around a rabbit.
“I’ll come too,” Valery says, smoothly rising to his feet.
I grit my teeth, having looked forward to a Molotov-free hour. It’s not worth antagonizing Alina’s brother, though, so I keep silent as he follows Ruslan and me out of the penthouse. I know he still suspects me of some ploy, just as, on some level, I suspect him and Konstantin of the same.
The alley is not far, so we walk there on foot.
Behind us, some half a block away, several of my men trail us unobtrusively, as do a few of the Molotovs’ guards.
They’re not as subtle as my guys, whom I’ve chosen specifically for the purpose of discreetly keeping an eye on Alina over the years.
Either way, if shit goes down, we’re well prepared.
Not that anything is likely to go down. If Alina did get taken, it was by someone who’s highly skilled at covering their tracks, and the odds of us finding anything—much less encountering anyone—in that alley are minuscule.
“Just how sick is she?” Valery asks, breaking the tense silence.
His voice is cool, unruffled, as if he couldn’t give a fuck about the answer, but the fact that he asked tells me he’s worried.
Which is somewhat surprising. Over my years of following Alina, I’ve compiled dossiers on all of her friends and relatives, and by all indications, her youngest brother fits the clinical definition of a sociopath, complete with a lack of emotions and a highly manipulative nature.
Though, to be fair, people have said that about me as well.
Regardless, I slant a suspicious glance at him, and so does Ruslan.
“Why?” I ask bluntly.
“Because she’s my sister, and I want to know how she is.”
Logical. Yet… “You haven’t asked about her state before. Why now?”
With a different man, I could chalk this up to small talk, but Valery Molotov doesn’t make small talk. Everything he says and does has a purpose, however convoluted that purpose may be.
“Because there’s something you’re not telling us.” Valery’s tone is even as we turn the corner onto the street where Alina was last spotted. “Something important. What is it?”
He’s right. I haven’t told them anything about Alina’s pregnancy—because that’s between me and Alina. More importantly, it has no bearing on anything.
“She’s very sick,” I say, ignoring his second question. “She’s dizzy, weak, nauseated, has headaches. Pretty much what you’d expect with fucking brain cancer. What else do you want to know?”
“Did you hurt her?” His voice is still level, his expression unreadable as he glances at me. “Is that why she ran even though she’s so sick?”
So that’s where he’s heading. My molars squeeze together, hard. “I would never fucking hurt her.”
“Then why would she run before a life-saving surgery? Unless being with you is so unbearable that she’d rather die.”
It’s all I can do not to reach for my knife right here, in the middle of a street that’s still crowded despite the late hour.
I have to take several deep breaths to control myself, and still, when my voice emerges, it’s harsh and guttural.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.
She wants me. She—” I stop because as much as I want to say that she loves me, I know that’s not the case. Not yet.
I need more time with her.
I need to show her that we belong together.
“Sure she does.” Valery’s tone is cool and mocking. “That’s why she avoided you all those years. Because she wants you so fucking much.”
If he weren’t Alina’s brother, he’d already be bleeding out on the pavement. As is, something of what I’m feeling must show on my face because he says matter-of-factly, “You know, a sniper of mine has the two of you in his sights.”
Ruslan catches my gaze, and I nod subtly, giving him my go-ahead. He pulls out his phone, and a second later, a red dot appears on Valery’s chest and travels up his face before settling on his forehead.
Alina’s brother stops and meets my gaze, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. “Touché.”
We have a whole team of snipers stationed in this area, ready to take out the Molotovs and their crew if they make the wrong move.
I’m not surprised that they implemented the same measures.
Nor will I be surprised if, after we find Alina, our temporary collaboration devolves into the bloodiest battle between our families yet.
But for now, we’re allies. Because we have to find her and soon.
I can’t stop thinking about Alina sick and hurt, in the hands of some enemy who sees her as nothing but a tool to be used to gain an edge over me or her brothers.
My stomach feels like it’s being clawed to shreds from the inside as I keep picturing the way her abduction could’ve gone down, how they could’ve violently subdued her or drugged her. Or…
No. I refuse to think that they could’ve killed her. That would not benefit anyone.
Except an enemy who wants the ultimate revenge.
I shut down that thought before it can unravel me completely. Reining in my fury at Alina’s brother, I resume walking swiftly, and Ruslan follows my lead. As Valery falls into step next to us, I ask in as steady a voice as I can manage, “Any theories on why we haven’t been contacted yet?”
“They’re buying themselves time to set up the most advantageous exchange,” Valery answers immediately. “The psychological torment inflicted on us as a result is an added bonus.”
Of course he’s already thought this through. I would have as well if I weren’t so fucking sleep deprived. Not to mention, furious and terrified.
If Alina did get taken, whoever has her will pay a price they couldn’t have imagined. No matter how much they plan and plot, I will find them, and I will obliterate them and everything they’ve ever known and loved.
Spotting the turn to the alley, I quicken my pace. Ruslan and Valery do the same. The tourists we pass wisely move out of our way.
I step into the alley first. At a glance, it’s nothing extraordinary.
Small and narrow, it houses a dumpster and not much else.
There is a faint odor of trash and urine—drunk tourists likely relieve themselves here—and I spot a semi-dry puddle of something that looks like old vomit on the cobblestones near the dumpster.
It’s likely from the drunk tourists as well. Then again… I turn to Valery. “Tell your forensic team to get that”—I point at the puddle—“tested for DNA. Alina’s been getting sick a lot.”
He nods and pulls out his phone to fire off the message.
In the meantime, Ruslan and I advance deeper into the alley, using our phones as flashlights to scan the ground and the walls.
I’m looking for blood, scuff marks from shoes, strands of hair—anything that could provide a clue as to what happened to my wife.
Which is why when my gaze lands on the door in the middle of the wall, it takes me a second to register what I’m seeing.
Ruslan is already there, ahead of me. “Why didn’t we know about this?” he asks, touching the worn wood of the frame.
Frowning, I approach. “Because this door isn’t supposed to be here.”
According to the schematics of the nearby buildings that our hackers found, there should be nothing on these walls except a couple of small windows on the second, third, and fourth floors.
“This door could’ve been added after the building was built,” Valery says, appearing at my elbow. “I imagine the residents found it convenient to have more than one exit. If I recall correctly, this is currently a hostel.”
A hostel.
My heartbeat picks up pace.
Why the fuck didn’t we consider this possibility before?
A hostel is a place where a person—say, a stubborn wife on the run—could easily stay for a couple of days, no abduction required.
“Let’s go in,” Ruslan says, but I’m already there, turning the handle.
I expect the door to be locked, but it opens easily, revealing a small lounge with shabby furniture. On the wall to my right is a small, empty reception desk and a set of doors that likely lead out to the main street. To my left, in the far corner, is a spiral staircase.
Valery is already heading over to the stairs, but I beat him there. Anticipation hums in my veins as I take the stairs three at a time.
I can all but feel her nearby, can sense her nearness in some uncanny way.
Clearing the stairs, I end up in a narrow hallway with three doors.
I push one open.
It’s a bathroom.
The second door reveals a row of showers.
Holding my breath, I approach the third.
As I reach for the handle, a sound reaches my ears.
A low, muffled female sob.
Everything inside me turns to ice even as adrenaline explodes in my veins.
My gun is already in my hand as I kick open the door—and freeze, stunned by the bloody scene before me.