Chapter 19Ivan
CHAPTER 19
IVAN
I square my shoulders and scrutinize my reflection, my fingers working the silk tie for what feels like the hundredth time. The Brioni suit fits perfectly—it should, for what it cost—but something feels off. The man staring back at me in the full-length mirror isn’t the feared leader of the Markov Bratva, who made three men disappear just yesterday. Instead, I see uncertainty in my eyes, and tightness around my mouth that speaks of barely contained anxiety.
“ Blyad ,” I mutter, yanking the tie loose again. The heavy watch on my wrist shows 7:15 p.m. The office holiday party starts in forty-five minutes, but my thoughts are on Jenny.
I pull out my phone, checking it for the dozenth time. No messages. No calls. Nothing.
“Where are you, moya zvezda ?” The endearment slips out in a whisper. Jenny’s been at her appointment since three, and this silence is unlike her. She must know how worried I am. I haven’t heard from Andre or Daniil either, which isn’t that unusual. They usually report to Marcus, not me, but he’s been quiet too.
I grip the edge of the marble vanity. The possibilities tornado through my mind. Could something be wrong? Is she sick? Or...
“Fuck.” I remember the times we’ve been careless. The number of times neither of us thought about protection. Thinking back to when she moved in, I realize she hasn’t had a period during the time she’s been here. She’s late.
A baby. Our baby. The thought sends equal parts terror and fierce possessiveness through my veins.
The thought of fatherhood chills me. Not because I don’t want it, but because I’m not sure I deserve it. How can I raise a child in this world of violence and betrayal? The Bratva has been my life for so long, but now...
I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. The office Christmas party awaits, and I need to put on a good face for the employees. Yet my thoughts keep drifting back to Jenny.
If she is pregnant, changes need to be made. Big ones. I can’t raise our child in this world. It’s too dangerous and too unpredictable. I’ll have to find a way to make our lives safer. The thought is daunting, but as I consider it, warmth fills me.
A child. Our child. Despite the fear, I find myself hoping it’s true.
My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up eagerly, hoping for news from Jenny. Instead, my blood runs cold. On the screen is a photo of Marcus, bloodied and bound. His eyes are wide with fear, a sight I never thought I’d see on my steadfast right-hand man and best friend.
“Fuck.” I’m already moving. I bark send a frantic text to my network of people while rushing down to the garage. “All units mobilize. Track Marcus’s last known location. I want eyes on every street corner between here and there.”
The Aston Martin roars to life when I peel out of the parking garage. My mind races faster than the car, cataloging potential enemies, hideouts, and strategies. Who could have gotten to Marcus? He’s one of the best in the business, not someone easily taken down. It must have been Alexei.
As I weave through traffic, my thoughts flicker back to Jenny. She’s still out there, potentially vulnerable. I can’t risk calling her now when I need to focus on finding Marcus, but the worry gnaws at me, a constant undercurrent to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
The city blurs past my windows, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. Every instinct honed over years in the Bratva screams at me to slow down, to approach this methodically, but the image of Marcus, beaten and helpless, drives me forward with reckless abandon.
My phone chirps with an incoming message. A location. I adjust my course, pushing the car to its limits. Whoever took Marcus is going to pay dearly for this. No one touches my people and lives to tell about it. I still owe Alexei retribution for Dmitri, who fortunately survived. I look forward to extracting it one drop of blood at a time, especially since he’s targeted my best friend now too.
As I near the location, I force myself to slow down and think strategically. Rushing in blindly could get Marcus killed. I grip the steering wheel tighter. The image of my friend bound and bloodied flashes through my mind again. I’m so close to the location, I can almost taste it, but I need a plan and to coordinate with my men.
Suddenly, my phone rings. I snatch it up, expecting an update from my team. Instead, Marcus’s voice comes through, clear and confused. “Ivan? What’s going on? I just left the salon and saw all these frantic messages about rescuing me.”
I slam on the brakes, the tires screeching as the car comes to an abrupt halt. “Marcus? You’re okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” he says, sounding bewildered. “I was just getting a trim and shave for the party. What’s happening?”
“The photo was a ruse.” My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. “Dammit.” The pieces click together like a twisted puzzle—Jenny’s warnings about Stephen’s Photoshop skills and Alexei’s smug certainty.
“What photo? Ivan, talk to me,” says Marcus, his voice crackling with static through the phone. “Did something happen?”
The engine roars as I slam the accelerator. Tires screech against asphalt when I wrench the wheel, executing a sharp U-turn that sends my phone sliding across the seat.
“Get to the penthouse now,” I say harshly into the speaker, cutting through traffic with deadly precision. Fear claws at my throat when I picture Jenny alone in my home. That’s better than if she never made it back there. What if they got her between the clinic and the penthouse? “It’s Jenny. Alexei’s real target is Jenny. That son of a bitch used you as a distraction to split up our forces.”
Cars honk while I weave between them, but their protests fade into white noise. All I can think about is getting back to her before Alexei does. Before I lose everything that matters.
“Anyone in position yet?” I shout into the phone, jerking the wheel to dodge a minivan. The rev of my engine drowns out their honking.
“Two minutes out,” says Marcus, his voice crackling through the speaker.
“Not good enough.” I slam the accelerator harder, watching the speedometer climb. “That bastard played us, Marcus. Every guard, every defensive position—he manipulated exactly where he wanted us.”
“Ivan—”
“No. Get everyone back now. We have to find Jenny.” The screech of my tires punctuates each word while I swerve around a delivery truck. Red and white taillights streak past like laser beams. “Where’s Andre? Daniil?”
Marcus pauses, and he sounds reluctant to tell me when he says, “I haven’t heard from them.”
“Dammit.” I pound the steering wheel. Rage and fear battle in my gut as downtown Atlanta’s glass towers loom ahead. Ten minutes. I’m still ten minutes away. “Call Jenny again. Keep trying until she answers. I’ll do the same.”
The line goes dead, and I floor it through a yellow light, counting every heartbeat until I reach her. I tell my car system to dial her number, but it rings before going to voice mail. The same words play in my head with each pulse: Please be safe. Please be safe. Please be safe.
Headlights blind me as I whip around the corner, and my tires squeal against wet asphalt. A white van materializes out of the darkness, barreling straight at me. It’s keeping up with me when I turn the wheel, and a glimpse at the driver in the headlights reveals an ugly mug with a long scar. The kind of man who’s seen and done terrible things, so running me off the road is nothing to him.
“No, no, no.” I wrench the steering wheel left, trying the opposite direction, though I can’t evade the van’s proximity. The tires scream in protest.
The van slams into my passenger side, at least, sparing me a direct T-boning or head-on collision. Metal shrieks and buckles. The windshield cracks into one big spiderweb, though a few chunks break loose, showering me with tiny crystals that bite into my skin. My head snaps sideways as the car spins, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow. My stomach lurches as the vehicle lifts, suspended in a moment of terrible silence.
The last thing I hear is Marcus shouting my name through the phone before consciousness slips away like water through my fingers.