Chapter 29
Roman
An abandoned dock on the outskirts of Chicago, three in the morning.
The biting lake wind, laced with the stench of blood, tore through the deserted industrial wasteland. I stood before a man strapped to a rusted iron chair, my suit splattered with his blood.
"Last time I'm asking, Sergei." My voice was low and cold, like it crawled up from the depths of hell. "The FBI informant. Who is it?"
Sergei—a man who'd been in the organization since my father's time—sat there covered in blood, half his face beaten to a pulp. But he still had his teeth clenched, glaring at me with his one good eye.
"Fuck you, Roman... you're gonna... regret this..."
I didn't waste another second. Raised my hand. Nodded at Victor behind me.
Victor stepped forward immediately, clamping pliers onto Sergei's index finger.
"AHHHHH—!"
The bloodcurdling scream echoed through the empty warehouse.
But my face stayed blank. I just lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The nicotine sharpened my focus slightly, but the restless agitation in my chest wouldn't go away.
This was the third rat we'd dragged out tonight.
Two months ago, the family started bleeding intel. Several supposedly airtight arms deals got intercepted by the feds with surgical precision. Three key locations got raided. Even my movements were being tracked.
This wasn't a coincidence.
Someone inside the family was feeding the feds. And whoever it was sat high enough to access core secrets.
To root out this rat hiding in the shadows, I'd had to lay trap after trap myself. And tonight, we'd finally caught the big fish—Sergei.
"Pakhan." Victor approached, lowering his voice. "He's tough. We'll need to go harder. But we found some documents in his safe. And an encrypted phone. Tech's working on cracking it now."
"Good." I flicked ash off my cigarette, my gaze ice-cold as it settled on Sergei's twisted face. "Until they crack it, keep him breathing. I want him to name names himself."
"Yes, sir."
Just as I turned to leave and let Victor continue his "work," my private phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
The caller ID read: Sofia.
I frowned.
Why would Sofia be calling me at this hour?
I hadn't been back to the manor in days.
To lure out the fed's big fish, to rip out Morozov's faction by the roots, I'd deliberately given Vera free rein.
Even yesterday when she staged that fall down the stairs to frame Nadia, I'd forced myself not to help Nadia up, playing the part of the cold bastard who'd been fooled, who was utterly disappointed in her.
It was all to keep the plan moving while keeping Nadia safe. But when I'd looked into those disbelieving blue eyes, my insides had twisted in agony.
But soon. Soon this would all be over.
I'd been working nonstop these past few days, barely sleeping, fighting off hostile forces. Everything was almost wrapped up.
Once it was done, I'd explain everything to Nadia immediately.
She'd become the legitimate lady of the Sokolov family. My beloved wife.
We'd have the future we deserved.
I rubbed my finger and answered. "What is it?"
On the other end, Sofia's voice came through, panicked and breathless, even trembling. "Pakhan! You need to come back! Ma'am... she's... she's gone!"
Like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I froze instantly.
"What do you mean, gone?"
"I... when I went to bring her breakfast this morning, she wasn't in her room. Then I checked the basement... Pakhan, the vent window in the old storage room was smashed from the inside! There's blood everywhere... so much blood..."
Sofia's voice cracked into a sob.
"Her phone's still in the storage room, her coat, wallet, everything's still in her room, but she's just... gone. Security says they never saw her leave the manor last night, but... but the storage room window's been broken open, and there's blood on the grass outside too..."
Blood.
That word hit like a ten-ton hammer straight to my skull. My brain exploded with a deafening roar, reason completely obliterated in that instant.
"I'm on my way."
I hung up, hurled my cigarette to the ground, and crushed it under my heel. Spun to Victor. "You handle this. Call me the second you get results."
"Yes, sir, but Pakhan, you—"
"Now!"
I didn't give him another chance to speak. Stormed out of the warehouse and dove into the black Maybach.
Floored the gas pedal. Ran a dozen red lights. Drove at a speed that practically sparked flames from the tires, like a raging black beast smashing through the iron gates of Sokolov Manor.
Before the car even stopped, I kicked the door open and lunged out. Icy rain soaked through my clothes instantly, but I couldn't feel the cold. My heart hammered against my ribcage like it would burst through at any second.
"Pakhan!" Every guard and servant in the manor stood in the main hall, faces pale with terror.
I ignored them all. Even my breathing shook. I strode toward the corridor leading to the basement, my shoes pounding heavy and frantic against the floor.
The deeper I went, the heavier the damp, musty air became.
Until I reached the old storage room at the end of the hall.
The heavy iron door stood wide open. Sofia was at the doorway, hand over her mouth, trembling as she stared inside, tears streaming down her face.
"Pakhan..." Seeing me, Sofia looked like she'd found a lifeline, her voice choking. "Ma'am, she..."
I shoved Sofia aside and stumbled into the storage room.
No lights inside. Just the faint glow from the hallway and the sound of wind and rain leaking through the vent window high above.
When my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I saw what lay before me, all the blood in my body turned to ice.
It was a vision of hell.
A sturdy metal shelf lay toppled on the ground, debris scattered everywhere. And beneath that wall near the ceiling, a large pool of vivid blood—not even fully dried yet—spread across the gray concrete in horrifying streaks.
I lifted my head stiffly.
The vent window that had been sealed with heavy shatterproof glass now gaped open with a jagged, gaping black hole. Sharp glass shards jutted out like a beast's fangs, and those "fangs" were covered with shredded flesh and blood.
In the corner, I spotted a length of rusted pipe. One end was completely deformed, coated in thick, congealed blood—blood mixed with half a torn fingernail.
"Nadia..."
I rasped her name, my legs heavy as lead. Step by step, I approached the area beneath the vent window. Reached out with trembling fingers and lightly touched the distinct, dragging bloody handprints smeared across the wall.
My fingertips convulsed violently.
Shatterproof glass. The kind that could stop bullets.
How much force had it taken? How much desperation had she endured to smash through that glass with a rusted pipe? Her hands... her hands must have been shredded to ribbons. How much pain had she been in?
"She has claustrophobia..." I stared at those bloodstains, my eyes burning red, my heart carved up by ten thousand rusted blades, the pain so intense I could barely breathe.
I remembered that night in the Bahamas. Just a power outage in the elevator had her shaking, curled up in my arms, crying. I remembered last night when the manor lost power—how she'd huddled in the corner of the bed, desperately screaming "save me."
And now she'd been locked in this pitch-black basement where not even a sliver of light could penetrate. No one came to save her. No one came to hold her.
In that suffocating terror that could drive someone insane, she'd clawed out an escape route all by herself.
"Who did this... who locked her in here?"
I whipped around and grabbed the security chief by his collar, hauling him off his feet. "Where's the surveillance footage? Check it! Even if we have to tear this entire manor apart, I want answers now!"
"Pakhan, we... we already checked..." The security chief's face drained of color, stammering his report. "The surveillance system... someone hacked it for ten minutes yesterday evening. But... but we recovered some footage from the backup server..."
"Where? Take me there!"
I threw him to the ground and stormed toward the main building's security room, eyes blazing.
Danny was already standing in front of the monitor screens, his expression grim. When he saw me enter, he wordlessly hit play.
On the screen, the footage was grainy but clear enough.
Early evening. Nadia wore a thin black sweater, her face deathly pale, looking like she might collapse at any moment. She followed a young maid toward the basement.
"Who's that maid?" I stared at the screen, my voice frigid.
"Her... her name's Anna. She was hired last month." Sofia answered carefully from the side. "I went looking for her last night. She's gone. Her staff quarters were cleared out."
My fingers curled into fists, knuckles white.
The footage continued.
Nadia entered the basement storage room. Then that maid, Anna, quickly shut the door and locked it from outside. She pulled out her phone, made a call, said something, then walked to the circuit breaker at the end of the hall and yanked down the power switch for the entire basement.
The screen went black.
I slammed my fist onto the console. The hard metal surface dented under the impact, my knuckles splitting open, blood dripping, but I felt no pain.
"That goddamn psycho!" I ground the words through clenched teeth, murderous rage surging through my chest. "She dared... she dared lock Nadia in that place!"
The storage room camera was dead. I couldn't see what had happened inside. But I needed to know where Nadia went after she got hurt.
Thinking of that horrifying pool of blood, I closed my eyes. Blood dripped from my split knuckles. I ignored it and turned to Danny.
"Switch to outside. I need to see how she got out."
Danny pulled up the footage from the manor's backyard.