Chapter Fifty-Five
Alekse i
Bobik’s procedure churns in my mind like a relentless storm as the car eats up the miles back to the manor.
My fingers drum an erratic, anxiety-fueled rhythm on the steering wheel, each tap a silent echo of the turmoil inside me.
The boy’s unwavering optimism before they wheeled him into surgery lingers like a ghost, haunting me.
Yet, Dr. Malhotra’s calm, assured voice cuts through the fog— ‘Trust me, Aleksei. We’ve got this. ” — and I cling to it like a lifeline.
But it’s not enough.
For reasons I can’t quite understand, I need Stella.
Her sharp, scientific mind would unravel the tangled threads of my thoughts, make sense of the chaos.
Or maybe… maybe it’s more than that. Something deeper, something I’m only now beginning to acknowledge.
She’s become the one person I trust with the mess inside my head, the one who makes me feel… safe to reveal my feelings.
And right now, I’m a fucking wreck. Torn between hope and terror, buoyed by Malhotra’s confidence yet paralyzed by the weight of what’s at stake. My son. My life.
I park my car in front of the entrance to the Left Wing and jog up the stairs. There’s nobody in the foyer and the hallways are silent when I stride through, unsettling me.
She’s not by the pool, her favorite spot to lose herself in a book. Nor is she in her bedroom, though the memory of her — soft, warm, mine — lingers in the space. My fingers twitch with the phantom sensation of her skin beneath them. I force myself to turn away, my jaw tight.
“Stella?” My voice echoes off marble floors as I move briskly through the corridors.
Nothing.
It’s been hours since I let her go shopping. She should be back by now.
Unease crawls up my spine as I stride to Diana’s quarters. She’s sprawled on her chaise, arm draped over her eyes.
“Where’s Stella?”
“No idea.” Diana winces, not bothering to get up. “Migraine. Been here all day.”
“If you see her, tell her I need to speak to her. It’s urgent.”
“Sure. Is Bobi okay?” she says feebly.
“Still waiting to hear from the doctor. I’ll let you know as soon as he gives me an update.
” I don’t wait to hear her response. I’m already striding out the door.
My phone is vibrating in my pocket and I scowl.
I’ve ignored it till now, listening only for the personalized ringtone that I’d set for Malhotra. Now, I wish I’d paid more attention.
“ Blyad ,” I mutter, scrolling through a flood of security alerts. My blood runs cold.
Stella… gone?
A string of missed calls and messages from my security team flashes across my screen, each one amplifying my dread:
“Stella has run off.”
I stop in my tracks.
Run off?
How the fuck does she just run off ? And why? Things have been… good. Better than good.
Blyad!
Panic ignites within me, and I curse under my breath, thumbing the screen to access the app that links to her biomarker device.
I haven’t been checking it as obsessively these past weeks.
There’s been no doubt in my mind that Stella is as anxious as I am to do the best for our baby. She’d never put him at risk in any way.
Him… A small, involuntary smile tugs at my lips. We keep arguing about it, but lately, I’ve found myself imagining a smaller version of her in my world — her stubbornness, her fire, her brilliance.
Except now, I have other things to worry about. A flurry of data streams in, and shock grips me as I watch her stress levels spike alarmingly high while the coordinates are scrambled. But then, there’s nothing. The last set of data came in… over an hour ago.
Chert voz’mi!
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to remain calm, to keep my head clear. Stella’s in trouble. And I don’t know where she is.
Fuck!
I need help handling this and quick. Someone with a better grasp of technology than me.
“Vasya!” I bark into my phone after speed-dialling him. The ringing had felt like an eternity as I paced back and forth, waiting for him to answer.
“Aleksei? What’s wrong?” His voice breaks through my turbulent thoughts.
“Stella’s biomarker app shows she’s in distress,” I say, urgency lacing every word. “And her tracker’s gone offline. Find out where she is!”
I hear typing on his end before he speaks again. “She had a secondary tracker on her cellphone — she’s… in an industrial area filled with warehouses.”
What the fuck?
Why the hell would she be in an industrial area? She’d gone shopping! And she left with security, someone to look after her. Unless…
Someone took her!
The realization hits me like a freight train. And there’s only one person who immediately springs to mind.
Maranzano.
That piece of shit.
We’ve been playing cat and mouse with him for the last two weeks, Sasha struggling to pin him down without drawing too much heat. And Gianni… if he’s involved, if he’s dragged Stella into this again—
Yobani Urod!
“Cross-reference the address against Maranzano’s property records,” I tell Vaysa.
“Gianni Maranzano?”
“No, Rasputin Maranzano.” I snort impatiently. “Jesus, Vasya. Of course, fucking Gianni.” My temper is flaring, and he knows better than to push me.
There’s more typing. “ Khop-lya! ” he exclaims. “It’s one of his. Through a holding company, so it’s registered as a—”
I don’t bother listening to the rest. I end the call, bringing up another number.
I call Sasha next, adrenaline surging through me like wildfire. “Get ready. We’re moving.”
Sasha’s voice is tense but composed. “Where to? What’s going on?”
“Stella’s been taken,” I say, my jaw tightening. “It was Maranzano.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Sasha exhales sharply. “Fuck. We should have dealt with him by now.”
“ Da. We should have.” I resist the urge to tear him a new asshole for not finishing the job yet. “This might be your chance to make it right. Now head in the game. We’re not leaving anything to fate this time.”
“Got it,” Sasha says, his tone shifting to one of grim determination. “Meet you outside.”
The line goes dead, and I clench the phone in my fist, already calculating our next move as I sprint to the gun room and get myself tooled up.
Flack jacket, assault rifle, blades, and an extra handgun join my regular piece as I make my way back to my car.
By the time I get outside, Sasha is there with the engine running.
I give a curt nod as I climb into the passenger seat beside him. I’m not in the mood for small talk, so we race through the city in silence as we follow the GPS coordinates Vasya sent me. I feel each mile as if I’m being dragged face-first along the asphalt.
By the time the car screeches to a halt in the warehouse district, the air thick with the stench of oil and decay, I’m ready to wage war. Sasha and I leap out, Kalashnikovs slung over our shoulders, and race across a parking area where a black SUV is parked in front of a derelict warehouse.
Khoroshiy. This has to be it.
Sasha flanks me, his movements swift and silent, a shadow in the dim light.
The air is thick with tension, every breath sharp and deliberate.
Adrenaline spikes in my veins, but I force myself to stay focused, to push aside the fear clawing at the edges of my mind.
Stella’s in there. And if Maranzano has hurt her—
Not now, mudak.
Stay sharp.
We’ll use the element of surprise to our advantage. Maranzano has no idea we were able to track Stella and we’re going to keep it that way for as long as possible.
I gesture toward the side entrance of the warehouse, and Sasha positions himself beside me, his expression hard, eyes scanning the area for threats. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear muffled voices inside. My grip tightens on my rifle as I edge closer, listening.
The place reeks of motor oil, sweat, and cheap cigarettes.
Sasha clears the door silently, moving like a ghost, while I follow close behind.
We’re barely inside when I spot them — four men methodically checking their weapons in the dim light.
Two more stand guard near a rusty staircase leading to a second level.
The glint of metal catches my eye. AR-15s, Glocks, tactical knives. These aren’t street thugs — they’re hired professionals.
A floorboard creaks beneath my boot. A head snaps up, eyes widening.
“Suka!” I mutter.
“We got company!” someone shouts, voice echoing through the cavernous space.
I drop to one knee as bullets rip through the air above me. The Kalashnikov kicks against my shoulder as I return fire, dropping the first man with two center-of-mass hits. The satisfying thud of his body hitting concrete barely registers as I pivot toward my next target.
Blyad.
So much for sneaking in unnoticed.
Gunfire continues to crackle in the air. Sasha engages the two by the stairs while I roll behind a stack of oil drums, hot lead pinging off metal inches from my head. The smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils, sharp and familiar.
A shadow moves to my right. I whip around and fire, catching a bearded man in the shoulder. He staggers but doesn’t fall. I leap forward, driving my knife deep into his throat before he can recover. Hot blood spurts across my hand as I twist the blade. His eyes bulge, then go vacant.
“ Poshel na khuy, ” I growl, pushing the corpse aside.
Two more emerge from behind a forklift. One fires wildly, forcing me back into cover. I empty my magazine in their direction, buying time to switch to my handgun. When the first man reloads, I surge forward.
The pistol barks twice in my hand. The first round takes him in the chest. The second punches through his eye socket, spraying brain matter across the concrete.
His partner lunges at me with a tactical knife, slashing wildly. Lousy. I catch his wrist mid-swing, twisting until bones crack. Before he can scream, my forehead smashes into his nose. He staggers back, dazed and bleeding. I finish him with a brutal hook kick to the temple that snaps his neck.
“Clear!” Sasha calls from across the warehouse.