31. Nik
Warehouse Nine has the world’s smallest bathrooms. I stand here over a tiny sink, trying to wash the blood off my hands and out of my shirt as best I can.
Luka wasn’t too happy I killed the junkie during the interrogation, but I reminded him EV would have done the same. Drawing out his torture and death would be their pleasure if he ever tried to go back to work after being captured. And he would have gone back. He needed the money for his drug habit.
I showed him mercy.
The water that hits my face is cold. A small mirror hangs above the sink, and I stare at the water dripping off my face—the tired I’m feeling visible underneath.
After drying off, I exit the bathroom and pass the interrogation room. Three men walk past me with the body bag while two more hose down the concrete floor and walls.
We’re efficient, that’s for sure.
I take out my phone, noticing the two missed calls from Luna—and another three from Frank. My stomach drops, and I fumble with the device in my hurry to call her back. Instead of ringing, it goes straight to voicemail. An irritating message tells me it hasn’t been set up yet.
Swinging open the door to the small space adjacent to the interrogation room, I find Luka still there viewing the recorded footage. I grab my suit jacket.
“I need to go,” I say, while I hauling it over my shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
“Three missed calls from Frank and two from Luna. I’m worried there might be another raccoon I have to deal with.” I smile wide, but Luka only shakes his head. My phone vibrates in my hand. Frank.
“Da,” I answer. “This better be good for you to call me over and over.”
Agitated sounding pants come through the phone, and Frank’s voice is choppy when he says, “Luna’s missing.”
I pause, my mouth suddenly going dry. My throat constricts. “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
I twist sharply toward Luka, whose face is warped in confusion. I put Frank on speaker.
“Yes, sir. The guys and I went for pizza, and Lev … It must’ve been loud, because he didn’t hear her?—”
“Get to the point, Frank.”
“We were notified of a car passing through the gate via the security system. When we got back to the warehouse, a car was missing from the garage. We immediately called her, and she said she received …”
Frank’s voice tapers out in my ear. Even though I’m sure he’s still talking, his account of what happened is drowned out by a loud thump, thump, thump.
Overcome by an alarming sensation that pierces my chest, I don’t say anything. Luka strides over to the phone.
“Track her cell,” he commands, and I snap out of my paralysis.
“We did,” Frank says. “It’s not reading.”
I grind my teeth together as my heart rate surges. Where did she go? Why didn’t she wait? I should’ve answered her phone call. I should have answered the damn phone!
“I’m on my way. Send me the location of the car.” I hang up and plow through the warehouse, Luka on my heels.
“I’m coming with you,” he tells me.
When I look over at him, I see my own rage reflected in his eyes. As soon as we load into my car, I check my phone for the location of the vehicle Luna took.
I freeze.
“Luka, she’s near?—”
Luka’s phone rings. “It’s Salvatore.” He puts it on speaker and holds it out.
“They have Luna.” Salvatore’s voice blasts across the line, and Luka looks confused.
“Who?” he asks.
I shake my head, something cold slithering over my hardening heart. I will kill every single one of those bastards if they’ve laid so much as a finger on her.
“She’s at EV. Luka, look at the location.” I motion to the screen. Distracted, I narrowly avoid hitting a semitruck. Cursing under my breath, I grip the wheel until my knuckles ache. I need to get to her.
Salvatore says a few more words before he hangs up, but I’m not listening. How the hell did she get tangled up with EV?
A moment of clarity breaks through my jumbled thoughts, and I dial Frank. “Get Anya to send me the phone call with Luna’s sister immediately. And if anything happens to her Frank, I will personally see to it you and Lev are hung for this.”
I throw the phone down and swerve to get around another vehicle. The city lights break through the night, and I’m grateful Warehouse Nine is only thirty minutes from downtown. After a few tense minutes, my phone dings with the audio.
“Hello?”
Luna …
I can sense it in her voice—she’s surprised to hear from her sister, especially after tonight.
“Luna—Luna, it’s Bella.”
“Isabella? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Luna, they won’t let me leave. I—I keep trying?—”
“Bella, where are you? Send me your location.”
“Lev!”
My blood runs cold. She’s calling for him. He was supposed to be there for her, and he wasn’t. He doesn’t deserve her. My thoughts flare, and I tremble. No—I don’t deserve her. She’s mine to protect and I wasn’t there.
“They know. They know my last name. I can’t leave.”
“Drop a pin! I’m coming!”
The line goes dead. Every bit of me is tense, and I hardly register driving through the city until I’m parking behind our two warehouse vehicles outside the EV alley. Bitterness clouds my thoughts, and it strangles each breath my lungs take. I’ve gone mad.
Both Lev and Frank stand by the abandoned car. I explode out of my BMW. Grabbing Lev by the collar of his shirt, I throw a punch at his face.
“You! Where were you? She was calling your name and you weren’t there!” I punch him again. His nose crunches beneath my fist. “You weren’t there!”
I yell at him, but it’s more my own admission. It feels like a confession with torment raging inside me.
Hands grip me from behind. Luka’s arms wrap around my chest. “Enough, Nikolai.”
Lev swears, holding a hand to his gushing nose. “For what it’s worth, I tried to be there. She turned me down.” He lowers his hand to reveal a bloody smirk.
I yank out my gun and aim it between his eyes.
“If this is what the Bratva looks like trying to find my daughter, we signed the wrong contract.” Salvatore’s voice breaks through the chaos. His tone is clipped and dripping with disdain.
Four of his men crowd behind him, armed and scowling at us. His gaze narrows on me. I can’t blame him. I’ve failed to protect his daughter. Me. No one else.
Lev spits blood into the puddled street. Luka strides over to him and removes the weapon tucked into the front of his waistband. “You don’t move from this spot, Lev. Wait for Igor and the others to arrive. If you move, you forfeit your life to the Bratva.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I growl as I stalk to the alleyway. The smell of wet, moldy cardboard wafts in with a sudden breeze and I grimace.
Luka and Frank catch up to me while Salvatore and his men follow behind us. I pound on the EV door with the flat of my palm, then two more times with my fist.
“Open up,” I yell. Turning to Luka, I say, “You need to wait with Lev and Frank. I’ll go in with Salvatore. We can’t afford the risk of both of us in this place.”
I wish Luka could stand by my side, but it’s irresponsible. He glares at me, and I know he’s torn between his duty to the Bratva and his desire to be my support.
The metal door grates open and a large man steps out. Driving into him, my forearm collides with his neck, pushing him into the wall behind him. One of his hands fumbles with his holster while the other claws at my arm, but I don’t care—I don’t even feel it.
“Take me to whoever knows anything about where she is.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but I don’t have to specify who I’m talking about. They knew we’d come here as soon as they made their move.
He nods, eyes nearly popping out of his head from my strangulation. Several other guards come up around me and pull me back. All of them are armed.
Salvatore and I enter the building, guns aimed at our heads, and we’re pushed through several long strips of fabric until we reach a red-lit room. Several undressed women are dancing on a stage while men in fine suits sit back and watch with drinks and cigars. I keep my gaze forward as we’re led across the room, but I don’t miss the cages on the ceiling.
We enter a new room, and I count eight chairs around a table. The Eight must meet here. The walls, unlike in the entertainment area, are covered in black velvet. Two men stand in the center of the space.
Salvatore marches up beside me, calm and collected—I want to ring his neck.
This is your daughter. Feel something, I want to say.
One of the men, tall and beady-eyed, claps his hands together. “Ah, the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra. Enjoying your partnership yet?”
I spy the glint of a gold ring on his pinky. This man is unfamiliar to me—and I know most of the rich businessmen in the city. He, however, is an enigma. Nothing about his accent or demeanor gives anything away.
There’s no need for introductions with the man next to him though. Senator Hope. The idiot who tried to use Antonio to bring down the Bratva. It would almost be laughable if we weren’t standing here right now.
His eyes connect with mine, and he looks away.
Good. Coward.
Salvatore steps forward, several of his guards keeping him in a contained square. I suddenly feel pretty stupid having walked in here alone.
“Where is my daughter?” he asks, hands in his pockets as if he’s out for a casual Sunday stroll. Where’s the Buscetta fire?
“Well, Sal—I can call you Sal, right?” The stranger smirks, and Salvatore’s lips curl with disgust. “You see, it was a pretty little surprise to learn there were any Buscetta offspring, let alone two girls.”
He licks his lips, tongue long and slimy, drawing salvia around his mouth. “Isabella just wandered into my club with her friends, looking all ripe for the picking. She’s a sensual one, that girl.” He laughs, but then snaps his mouth shut. “A club member recognized her from his dealings with the Cosa Nostra and reported it to me. As the exceptional host I am, I wanted her to feel welcome.
“It was all too easy to make her stay, and she called the first person she could think of for help. Why is it she didn’t feel the need to call you, Sal? She called her sister instead.”
Salvatore’s face falls, but only for a moment.
I can’t stand this charade any longer. The need to know where Luna is throttles me, and I explode. “Where is my wife?!”
I ball my hands into fists at my sides to keep from pulling my weapon and shooting every single one of these men. They have her, and I need her back. She’s mine.
My wife.
“Ah, Mr. Balakin. So good of you to be here. Your wife, however, is not. Although, she was very brave—willing to give up her identity as not only a member of the Buscetta family, but also as Mrs. Balakin. The Cosa Nostra and Bratva, brought together through an arranged marriage … that is sovery interesting.” He snickers and picks a piece of lint off his suit jacket.
“You’re all dead.” I level him with a look of pure contempt, pouring into it all the wrath, guilt, and shame I feel at this moment.
He clicks his tongue at me, raising a finger in my direction. “Mr. Balakin, idle threats won’t work here. Not if you want to see your wife again.”
“Where is she?” I bite out, air hissing through my teeth.
“While I appreciate your concern, Mr. Balakin, that is a conversation for your pakhan and Salvatore Buscetta, as they are the only ones able to negotiate.”
I flinch at his words. I trust Luka, but to hear that I can’t help Luna stings.
Salvatore stiffens, his gaze cold. Does he excel at indifference, or is all of this a minor inconvenience for him?
“We want proof of life in the next twenty-four hours as well as a list of your demands,” Salvatore says, turning to presumably see himself out.
The man’s bug eyes glisten with victory and he smiles before nodding at the men guarding the exit. They part, allowing us to walk back through the club still teeming with stripers and the flow of alcohol.
A topless girl straddles an old man’s lap. His head is tipped back in ecstasy, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth bunched together. But the girl—she stares at the wall, expression void of emotion, empty. I shudder, thinking back to the young girl Dmitry rushed to save.
When we finally leave, the adrenaline of the night crashes down around me, and exhaustion settles in deep. Twenty-four hours isn’t soon enough for proof of life—I deflate at the word. Luna was a bargaining chip for our organizations, and now she’s forced to act as one again. Taken for her name and association only.
She’s being dangled as bait in front of two organizations because another one wants something. This has been her life, and it will continue to be as long as she’s part of this world.
I was worried she wouldn’t stay, but now I’m worried about what might happen if she does.
When I get her back, I know I should let her go.