Chapter 31
Kolya
By the time they arrive, I’ve cleaned up most of the blood. Not for appearances’ sake—these men have witnessed worse—but because I need to occupy my hands while my mind calculates plans, scenarios, contingencies.
A tarp covers the bodies stacked in the garage. The shop-vac is drying after a peroxide rinse. The fireplace cools after I burned all the evidence. The safe house reeks of bleach and copper, death and disinfectant.
The low rumble of engines outside reverberates through the broken front door. Four car doors slam, announcing the arrival of the cavalry.
Roman’s nephew, Alexei Kozlov, enters first, pushing through the splintered doorway without hesitation.
His bright blue eyes immediately survey the wreckage.
Overturned furniture, holes in the walls, dark stains from the explosion the bleach couldn’t quite erase.
His gaze settles on me, noting the bandage on my head and stiff way I cradle my ribs.
“Chyort vozmi.” He runs a hand through his already disheveled curly brown hair. “You look like shit.”
Behind him, Kirill shifts sideways to fit his massive frame through the threshold. His steely blue-gray eyes mimic his chilly disposition.
Ivan Orlov follows, dressed impeccably as always, though an edge mars his normally pleasant expression. Of course, we’re not Vanya’s type or one of his marks, so he wastes none of his charm on us. If Chloe were here, though…
I grit my teeth. She’s not, but I plan to fix that.
Maxim Belov arrives last and slips in silently like a shadow, his stillness a little unnerving. While I appreciate his quiet, steady presence, I know he’s not happy about this situation.
“How many?” Kirill nudges a piece of broken glass with his boot. As bulky as he is, I’d expect him to make a mess, yet the shards don’t even snag on his bootlaces.
“Eight. Maybe more.” I straighten, ignoring the way my ribs protest. “Two waves. Well trained. Coordinated attack. They knew exactly what they were doing and what they were up against.”
Vanya whistles and brushes back his wave of styled rich brown hair. I’m pretty sure he did that just to show off his rings and the silver stud in his ear. “And yet you’re still breathing. Always the overachiever, Kolya.”
“There are four bodies in the garage that need to be disposed of.” I don’t smile. Can’t. Not with Chloe’s image branded into my mind. “The other four took her.”
“The kindergarten teacher?” Kirill barely masks his contempt as he enters the kitchen, opens what’s left of the fridge, and pulls out a beer. The domestic gesture belies the destruction surrounding us. He snaps the non-twist-off bottlecap loose with his teeth, which never fails to impress.
I scowl. “Her name is Chloe.”
Alexei’s eyebrows rise. He exchanges a glance with Vanya, who winks a hazel eye and waggles his own eyebrows in response.
I ignore them. There’s no time to get irritated.
The scars on Alexei’s knuckles flash in the pale light as he gestures to the one intact chair. “Sit down before you fall down and tell us what happened. A clean-up crew is already on the way.”
I remain standing. “Gio Falcone’s men. Has to be. They came in hard and fast. I took down four, but then another wave of assailants followed.” My jaw clenches painfully. “She was their objective. They kidnapped her.”
Max scans the safe house, his dark eyes almost hidden beneath a prominent brow. “This makes it personal. How’d they find this place? Did they track you?”
“No way. I spent hours driving in circles to make sure. And we’ve been here for nearly a day.
This has to be related to the attacks Roman mentioned.
They were happening while we were still down south too.
” I wait as they absorb the implication that another crime family knows about our safe house locations.
“Gio wants the diamonds, and he thinks she knows where they are.”
Kirill rests against the counter with his beer in one hand and his phone in the other. “Does she?”
“No.” My tone brooks no argument. “She was on the island that night and saw some of what happened, but she doesn’t have the diamonds. Never did, as far as I can tell.”
Kirill’s eyes narrow as he pockets his phone and drags one massive hand through his shaggy hair. “So…if she doesn’t have the diamonds or even know anything about them, why are we going after her?”
I see that same question mirrored in the other faces. What’s the point?
My fingers twitch with the urge to curl into fists and experience the satisfying crunch of bone. “Because Gio’s back, and he took her. And she’s mine.”
I have a hundred pressing reasons for retrieving Chloe, and none of them have anything to do with diamonds.
Max grunts in disgust, his dark hair falling in his face as he shakes his head. “We’re risking our lives for some fucking woman you barely know?” He spits the last word. “You’ve gone soft, Kolya.”
I hold his gaze so he can see exactly what I’m capable of right now.
He doesn’t flinch—Max never does—but his lips press into a thin line.
“I like women.” Vanya brushes dirt off that single remaining chair and sits, careful not to soil his designer suit. “I’ll help save her. One save per damsel. That’s my rule.”
Under normal circumstances, I might appreciate his attempt to defuse the tension.
Not today, with Chloe in Gio’s hands. Not with the clock ticking in my head, each passing second another opportunity for him to hurt her.
“None of you have to come.” I avoid all their eyes. “Dispose of the bodies. I can do this alone.”
“Bullshit.” Alexei pushes away from the wall. “She’s yours, and someone took her, so we get her back. They don’t get to abduct one of our women and keep her.”
His statements ripple outward like stones landing in still water. I didn’t expect this response from Alexei, of all people. We’ve worked together for years without being especially close. He’s Roman’s wild card, not mine. But I recognize the spark in his gaze.
He has the look of a man who understands exactly what it feels like when a woman burrows under your skin and into your blood.
That’s right. Alexei defied Roman, his father, everyone. Not just to clear MJ’s name, but also to protect that cocktail waitress he ended up marrying. Aurora. He’s all about loyalty.
“Alexei’s right.” Vanya waves a hand. “Bad for business if people think they can steal from our head enforcer. Sets a precedent that will only make things harder for us down the road. We can’t let this stand.”
I watch as they reframe this mission into one about territory and respect. About the Kozlov Bratva rather than a woman or the emotions seething in my chest.
They’re crafting a lie we can all pretend to believe.
Kirill downs the rest of his beer and slams the bottle on the counter with a decisive thunk. “Gio’s been a problem for weeks anyway. Wiping out his operation was inevitable.”
“Besides,” Alexei flips a coin between his fingers, a nervous habit he’s never managed to break, “this gives us a legitimate reason to go after the Falcones. Roman’s been jonesing for an excuse.”
Max nods once, his agreement somehow unexpected and predictable at the same time. He follows orders, and the collective shift is close enough to one for him to be in.
A ripple of tension passes through the room. We can’t guarantee Roman’s approval, and his disapproval is dangerous.
Vanya claps his hands. “We’re doing this. Saving the kindergarten teacher and taking down Gio. I assume you have a plan beyond ‘kill everyone’?”
“Working on it. Need to find her first.”
“On it.” Vanya produces his own phone, his posture shifting and his voice softening as he slips into the charming persona that makes him so effective at extracting information. “Darling, it’s Vanya. Yes, I know it’s been ages. Listen, I need a favor…”
He steps away, voice dropping to a murmur as he taps into his unparalleled network of informants. Ex-lovers, current lovers, people who wish they were his lovers… He collects contacts like trading cards and maintains them with strategic texts and occasional appearances.
A useful skill, but one I never had any interest in mastering.
Kirill crosses to the laptop on the kitchen counter and pulls up a chair. Despite their size, his fingers fly over the keyboard deftly while the screen’s blue light reflects in his cold eyes. “Falcone properties. Front companies, warehouses…anything off the grid.”
Max drifts to the corner, quietly and methodically arranging weapons on the one clear surface. Guns, knives, a garrote. His perfect stillness, which masks a capacity for explosive violence, usually unnerves me a little. He prowls like a predator even when he’s not hunting.
Right now, though, his particular brand of controlled savagery is exactly what I need. If this all goes to hell, Max can erupt and rip apart everyone on the other side.
Except that might endanger Chloe. Once Max starts raging, all bets are off. His destruction often resists all attempts at direction, even by Roman.
I stand in the middle as my team mobilizes.
My team.
What a strange thought. We’ve worked together for years, but always as Roman’s men. Roman’s enforcers.
This time feels different. Personal. Real emotions are in play.
The revelation should discomfort me, but I don’t care.
I only care about rescuing Chloe before Gio breaks her.
“Got something.” Vanya returns to the group, his smooth charm replaced by focused intensity.
“My contact at the harbor authority says there’s been unusual activity at one of the old processing plants on the South Side.
A derelict place that should be empty suddenly has vehicles coming and going at odd hours.
Last activity was about an hour ago, with multiple vehicles arriving in convoy. ”
Kirill’s head snaps up from the laptop. “South Side processing plant. Got it.” His fingers clatter over the keys.
“Three properties owned by Falcone shell companies in that area. Only one fits the description.” He shifts the screen to show the satellite view of a sprawling, long abandoned industrial complex surrounded by a chain-link fence.
“McLaren Fish Processing. Shut down in 2009, bought by a company called Oceanic Holdings in 2011.”
I remember that place from meetings I worked as a guard. “Oceanic Holdings is a Falcone front we’ve had eyes on for months.”
“Blueprints coming through.” Kirill clicks through screens. “Warehouse layout, entry points, structural vulnerabilities.” He zooms in, pointing. “Main entrance here. Loading docks here and here. Skylights. Large ventilation system designed for industrial use.”
Max returns, his arms laden with weapons. He sets them down with careful precision, arranging them by type. “How many guards?”
I wish I knew. “Unknown. But based on the attack here, at least a dozen. Probably more.”
Alexei closes the coin in his fist. “Odds aren’t great.”
Vanya shrugs off that observation with a laugh. “When are they ever?”
For the first time since they arrived, hope flickers in my chest.
Not optimism, because I don’t do optimism, but hope based on a calculated assessment of probability.
With these men and their skills, we might pull this off.