Chapter 28
Viktor
Evelyn didn't knock when she pushed open the study door.
That wasn't like her at all. The second she burst in, I stopped what I was doing.
I looked at Evelyn's panicked face. A sense of dread hit me hard.
"Boss." Evelyn's voice shook. "Miss Brooks... she's gone."
My mind went blank.
Without thinking, my body was already moving. I shot up from my chair, rounded the desk, and stormed out of the study, heading straight for the master bedroom in the east wing.
I shoved the door open.
The room still held traces of Hazel's scent—that faint laundry bead fragrance mixed with her warmth.
But she was nowhere.
Everything was neat and tidy. Her little trinkets were gone. The bathrobe she always hung on the chair was gone. It all looked clean, as if we'd rolled back to before Hazel moved in.
Like she'd never lived here at all.
Like everything between us had been a dream.
My eyes swept the room and locked onto the nightstand.
On the dark wooden surface sat a ring.
The ring I'd given her when I proposed on the rooftop. The tungsten band engraved with the Gromov family's wolf pack and eight-pointed star. I'd knelt in the candlelight, slipped it on her finger, declared her mine, the future lady of this family.
Now it was abandoned here.
What did that mean? The thought sent a sharp, unfamiliar pain through my chest.
I sagged against the doorframe, chest heaving, unable to pull in enough air.
This was all my fault.
I closed my eyes. My mind dragged me back a week.
That night in the study when Valentina demanded I hand over Hazel. I'd said yes.
Afterward, I'd found a tray outside the door. The food on it was stone cold.
No servant would dare set my food on the floor.
Except that clueless girl.
Right then, I'd known. Known Hazel had heard it.
I'd been terrified of this ever since.
I knew what it would do to her. I knew she'd misunderstand.
But I didn't act.
I didn't go to her. Didn't explain a damn thing.
When we passed each other in the manor, we just looked away and kept walking.
I told myself it was necessary.
I called it part of the act—making her believe I didn't care.
That was the plan all along. Make everyone believe I was done with her, including Hazel herself.
Only if she was really hurt, really showed that abandoned desperation, would the Morettis buy it. Buy that I'd gotten bored and moved on.
But the truth? I just didn't know how to face her.
I couldn't take those disappointed eyes anymore. That numb, hopeless look. Like she didn't love me anymore. I couldn't handle it. So I ran.
I kept telling myself—just a few more steps, and I'd have infiltrated the Moretti family completely. Once the danger passed, I'd explain everything.
Hazel loved me. Just like I loved her. We'd be fine.
Even if she hated me, I had patience. I'd wait for her forgiveness.
Besides, she'd already stepped into my cage. She couldn't leave.
She was a girl from the slums. Her mother and brother had abandoned her. She was seven months pregnant. Outside, enemies circled like wolves.
In this dangerous world, she had nowhere to go but my manor.
I arrogantly assumed that no matter how hurt she was, no matter how much pain she felt, she'd stay in this safe cage and wait for me to handle the Moretti problem.
That arrogance destroyed me.
That high-handed, absolute need for control I'd developed over years of power—it ruined everything.
Hazel really left me.
She really gave up loving me.
At that thought, I swung my fist into the doorframe. The solid wood caved under the impact. Skin split across my knuckles. Blood seeped out.
I felt nothing.
"A pregnant woman can't get far." I turned to Evelyn, who'd followed me in. "Lock down the gates. Take your people and search this goddamn place from the attic to the cellar. Every inch."
"Orders already issued," Evelyn answered immediately, sweat beading on her forehead.
The next hour was hell.
We searched every corner of the manor. She wasn't anywhere.
Hazel—a woman seven months pregnant—had vanished completely from a mafia fortress guarded by dozens of heavily armed men.
Impossible.
Unless someone helped her.
And the most likely person was—
I turned and strode toward Anya's room in the west wing.
I reached her door. Didn't knock. Just raised my foot and kicked hard at the lock.
The metal mechanism cracked. The door flew open, hit the wall, and bounced back.
Anya sat on the couch. No surprise on her face as I kicked in. Her eyes held a cold mockery, like she'd expected this.
Her eyes were red. She'd been crying.
Obviously, she knew something.
"Where did Hazel go?" I cut straight to it. "You knew she was leaving, didn't you?"
Anya stood and met my eyes without flinching.
"You have no right to ask that question." Her voice was ice.
My daughter was speaking to me with unprecedented coldness. Like she'd given up on me too.
"She's my woman! She's carrying my child!" My voice rose, echoing through the room. "Tell me where she went!"
"Your woman?" Anya let out a harsh laugh. "Hazel stopped being your woman a long time ago. The moment you brought that bitch Valentina into this manor, you lost her completely!"
Tears suddenly streamed down Anya's face.
"If she left, you have only yourself to blame! She'd rather face the gunmen outside than look at you one more time! What right do you have to ask me where she is?"
Anya's accusations cut through every defense I'd built.
"It's all a misunderstanding!" I grabbed Anya's shoulders. "You of all people should understand! I brought Valentina here to protect Hazel!"
Anya wrenched free. She stepped back, looking at me with crushing disappointment.
"Protect her?" Her voice trembled with rage. "Then did you tell her that? Did you explain to her?"
I froze, jaw tight. No answer.
I couldn't speak.
"No. You didn't." Anya's teeth ground together. "You just played your power games. Set everything up like you knew best, completely blind to the pain she was going through!"
"The fewer people who know, the better!" I shot back, chest heaving, trying to hold my ground. "Hazel's not a trained operative! She can't fake it!"
I stared into Anya's eyes, explaining everything.
"Only if everyone believes it will the Morettis stop watching her. Only then will she be truly safe!"
Anya's face twisted into something beyond disbelief.
Like she was looking at a monster who'd lost all humanity.
"So..." Her voice dropped. "You accepted her pain. You knew she'd be heartbroken. You knew she'd cry at night. But you thought it didn't matter. You just ignored it."
Anya stepped closer, eyes boring into mine.
"You treated her like a chess piece. You didn't care if she'd break."
That sentence shattered what was left of my reason.
No matter how I explained it to myself, I knew. I'd chosen to ignore Hazel's pain.
"Yes!" I roared at Anya, voice raw and breaking. "I accepted her pain! Even if she suffered, even if she hated me! As long as she stayed alive!"
The violent emotion made my breathing ragged. I stared at Anya, feeling myself coming apart.
"As long as she lives, as long as she doesn't become another Isabella! Otherwise I really will lose my mind! You understand? I can't survive that ending again!"
Isabella.
The moment that name tore out of me, the air in the room froze.
At the mention of Isabella, Anya went silent. That name was a permanent scar for both of us. Maybe an even deeper wound for Anya.
We both fell into deathly silence. The scar cut too deep for words to heal.
Until rapid footsteps broke the quiet.
From the hallway. Jack rushed into the room, phone in hand.
"Boss." Jack's voice was hoarse. "It's Moretti."
My heart stopped.
A bone-deep terror seized me.
This was headed exactly where I'd feared.
I straightened and snatched the phone from Jack. Already connected. I pressed it to my ear.
"Viktor."
An old, raspy voice came through—cruel and mocking.
"Been a while, old friend." Moretti's low laugh made my skin crawl.
I skipped the pleasantries.
"What do you want?"
"I don't want anything. I'm old. Not interested in turf wars anymore." Moretti spoke slowly. "I just found a stray kitten without an owner. Thought you might want to see her."
"Don't touch her." My threat came out savage. "You touch one hair on her head, I'll make sure the Moretti family dies ugly."
Moretti burst into wild laughter. "Viktor, you're still as hot-headed as you were twenty years ago. Looks like you really did turn a lot of people."
His tone turned viciously cold.
"I've sent coordinates to this phone. An abandoned shipyard on the south side of Long Beach."
"Come alone. No bodyguards. No weapons." Moretti laid out his terms, each word dripping poison. "If you bring one person or if you're one minute late, your woman will end up exactly like Isabella did twenty years ago."
I sucked in a sharp breath, fury burning through me. "Fuck you!"
"No." Moretti's voice got even more vicious. "This woman will have it worse than Isabella. I'll cut open her belly myself. Make you watch your bastard spill out. Bit by bit. Bleed out completely. Just like you made my son bleed out back then."
He hung up. The dial tone buzzed in my ear.
Panic and rage nailed me in place.
Anya couldn't hear the other end, but my face told her everything. She stood rigid, pale, voice shaking. "Moretti? He has Hazel?"
I didn't answer.
I hurled the phone at the floor. It shattered under the force, pieces scattering.
Then I turned and headed out.
I was getting weapons. I was going to kill that old bastard Moretti myself. Then bring Hazel home.
Anya lunged forward and grabbed my arm, fingers digging into my wrist.
"Viktor! You can't go!" Anya shouted. "It's a suicide trap! You'll die!"
I turned to look at her terrified face. Then firmly pried her fingers off my wrist.
"It's the price I have to pay." I'd designed this trap myself. I'd arrogantly thought I could control everything. Instead, I'd driven Hazel into Moretti's hands.
All of it was on me.
If I could trade my life for Hazel's and the baby's safety, that deal was worth it. Every goddamn bit.