Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Vittoria
Dmitri's hand presses against my back, pushing me down, then forward, then back again. My knees scrape against broken glass. The air tastes like gunpowder and champagne.
Bodies drop around us. Some diving for cover. Others not getting up.
"We need to move," Dmitri growls in my ear. His gun is out, aimed at the entrance where tactical gear and muzzle flashes paint the darkness. "The door behind us. Now."
I crane my neck, trying to see. Pietro is somewhere to my left. Nico's voice cuts through the chaos, shouting orders in Italian. My mother screams Amanda's name.
"Move, Vittoria." Dmitri's voice drops to that tone that usually makes me obey.
Not tonight.
"Give me a gun."
"No."
"Dmitri—"
"I said no." He fires twice over my head. Someone falls near the entrance. "Stay down and move backward."
Men are shouting in Russian. In Italian. In English. The sounds blend together into a symphony of violence that makes my ears ring.
I should listen to him.
I should stay down.
I should let him protect me like he's been trying to do since the moment bullets started flying.
But there's a gun three feet away. Lying next to a man in a suit who isn't moving. His fingers are still curled around the grip.
I lunge for it when Dmitri turns up front.
My hand closes around cold metal. The weight feels wrong in my palm—heavier than I expected, lighter than it should be. I don't know how to check if it's loaded. Don't know if the safety is on.
Don't care.
Strong arms wrap around my waist from behind. Not Dmitri's arms. These smell like cigarettes and sweat and something chemical that burns my nose.
"Got her. The exit next to the toilet!" the man shouts in accented English.
He hauls me backward. My heels scrape against the floor. The gun falls from my grip, clattering away into the darkness.
No.
No, no, no.
I claw at his arms. Kick backward. My heel connects with his shin but he doesn't even grunt. Just keeps dragging me toward the exit door I can see opening behind us.
Cold air rushes in from outside.
"Dmitri!" His name rips from my throat.
I see him turn. See his eyes find me in the chaos. See the exact moment he registers what's happening.
Then I feel the gun press against my temple.
The metal is warm. Recently fired. The barrel digs into my skin hard enough to bruise.
Everything goes quiet in my head. The shouting fades. The gunfire becomes distant. All I can hear is my own breathing and the man's voice in my ear.
"Don't move."
He pulls me through the exit door. My back hits the frame. Cold night air wraps around my bare shoulders.
Dmitri is moving toward us. His gun is raised but his face—
I've never seen him look like that.
Empty. Completely empty except for something dark and terrible swimming in those pale eyes.
"Back off!" The man's shout makes the gun dig harder into my temple. "Back off or she's dead!"
Dmitri stops. Ten feet away. Might as well be a mile.
"Let her go." His voice is flat. Dead. "Take me instead."
"No—" I start.
The gun presses harder. "Shut up."
Dmitri's eyes flick to mine for half a second. I see the calculation there. The strategy. He's looking for an angle, a shot, a way to end this that doesn't end with my brains on the wall.
"I'm the pakhan," Dmitri says. Still in that terrible flat voice. "I'm worth more than her. Trade."
The man laughs. The sound vibrates against my back. "Nice try, Baganov. But I think we'll keep the pretty princess."
Movement catches my eye. To the left, partially hidden behind an overturned table. Someone in tactical gear, rifle raised, red dot dancing across the chaos.
Aimed at the man holding me.
But the angle is wrong. Too close to my head. One wrong move and—
I try to shift. Try to give them a clearer shot. The man's arm tightens around my waist until I can't breathe.
"I said don't move."
"Please." The word falls from my lips before I can stop it. "Please, just—"
"I said shut up!" The man shakes me hard enough to rattle my teeth.
Dmitri's eyes meet mine across the distance. In them, I see something I've never seen before.
Helplessness.
Complete and total helplessness.
The man who controls everything, who manipulates and plans and always stays three steps ahead, can't do anything but stand there and watch.
Because of me.
Because I didn't listen.
Because I left his protection to grab a gun I didn't even use.
And no one is looking at me.
No one but Dmitri, who can't save me.
The man drags me backward through the doorway. My heels catch on the threshold. I stumble, and his grip tightens until my ribs scream.
"Move!"
Cold air hits my face. We're outside now. The alley behind Nexus stretches dark and empty except for a black van idling twenty feet away.
No.
I dig my heels in. Try to twist. His arm is iron around my waist.
"Dmitri!" I scream his name again.
The gun leaves my temple for half a second. Just long enough for me to see the doorway—see Dmitri's face, see him raising his weapon—
Then the shot cracks through the air.
Not from inside. From behind me.
The man holding me jerks. His grip loosens. Something warm and wet sprays across my bare shoulder.
I don't think. Just move.
I throw myself forward, away from him, toward the door—
Hands grab me. Different hands. Two men in tactical gear materialize from nowhere, catching my arms before I can reach the entrance.
"No! Let me—"
They haul me backward. I kick. Claw. My nails rake across one man's face and he curses in a language I don't recognize.
The door slams shut.
Metal scrapes against metal. They're blocking it. Barricading it with something heavy while I fight and scream and—
"Dmitri! Pietro! Someone—"
A fist connects with my jaw.
The world tilts sideways. Pain explodes through my face, sharp and bright and all-consuming. My knees buckle.
Arms catch me before I hit the ground. Everything is spinning. The alley. The van. The men's faces swimming in and out of focus.
"Stupid bitch," someone mutters.
They're carrying me now. My feet drag across concrete. I try to lift my head but it weighs a thousand pounds.
The van door opens. Dark interior. Chemical smell that makes my stomach roll.
"Get her in."
Hands push me forward. I hit the floor hard. Metal ridges dig into my cheek. My vision blurs at the edges, going grey and fuzzy.
"Drive. Now."
The door slams shut. Engine roars to life.
I try to push myself up. My arms won't work right. Everything feels disconnected. Wrong.
"She's bleeding."
"Doesn't matter. Boss wants her alive, not pretty."
Alive.
The word echoes in my head as darkness creeps in from all sides.
Dmitri's face flashes behind my eyes. That terrible helpless look. The way he stood there, gun raised, unable to do anything but watch them take me.
I should have listened.
Should have stayed down.
Should have—
The van hits a bump. My head bounces against the floor.
Then nothing.
Dmitri
The door doesn't move.
I slam my shoulder into it. Once. Twice. The metal doesn't even shudder. They've barricaded it from the outside. Blocked it with something heavy while I stood here like a fucking statue and watched them take her.
Bodies litter the floor behind me. Some moving. Most not. The shooting has stopped. Silence rings in my ears, broken only by groans and someone crying.
I don't care.
I spin away from the blocked exit and run. Through the carnage. Over bodies. Around overturned tables. My shoes slip in blood but I don't slow down.
The main entrance. I need the main entrance.
Someone grabs my arm. I shake them off without looking.
"Dmitri—"
I keep moving. Past the stage where I put that ring on her finger twenty minutes ago. Past the bar where bottles lie scattered on the floor. Past my father's associates who are picking themselves up, checking for wounds, calling for help.
I don't stop.
The main entrance is chaos. People pushing toward the doors. Security trying to maintain order. Screaming. Shouting. The smell of gunpowder and fear.
I shove through them. Don't care who I knock down. Don't care about anything except getting outside, getting to the alley, finding the van—
"Dmitri!"
Pietro's voice cuts through the noise. His hand closes around my bicep like a vise.
I turn on him. "Let go."
"Where's Vittoria?" His face is pale. Blood streaks his white shirt but I don't think it's his. "Where is my sister?"
The words stick in my throat.
"They took her." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Too flat. Too empty. "Someone took her."
Pietro's grip tightens until my arm goes numb. "What?"
"They dragged her out the back exit. I couldn't—" I can't finish. Can't say the words. Can't admit that I stood there with a gun in my hand and watched them take her.
"Mobilize everyone." Pietro's voice cracks like a whip. He's not talking to me anymore. Nico appears at his shoulder, blood running from a cut above his eye. Lorenzo behind him, supporting Sophia who's limping.
"What happened?" Nico demands.
"Vittoria." Pietro's jaw works. "They took Vittoria."
The words hit like bullets. Nico's face goes white. Then red. Then something beyond rage.
"Where?" He rounds on me. "Where did they take her?"
"The back exit. The alley—"
I try to move past him. Need to get outside. Need to find her. But Nico's hand shoots out, fisting in my shirt, slamming me back against the wall.
"How the fuck did you lose my sister?"
His fist connects with my jaw before I can answer. Pain explodes through my face but I barely feel it. Barely register anything except the need to move, to hunt, to find her—
"Nico!" Pietro grabs his brother's arm.
"He lost her!" Nico's voice breaks. "He was supposed to protect her and he fucking lost her!"
A gun cocks beside my head.
I turn. Aleksander stands there, blood soaking through his shirt from a wound in his shoulder. His face is white. Sweat beads on his forehead. I don't know how he's standing.
But his gun is steady. Aimed at Nico's head.
"Let him go." Aleksander's voice is quiet. Deadly. "Now."
Nico's eyes flick to the gun. Back to me. His hand tightens in my shirt.
"Your brother lost our sister."
"And you're wasting time." Aleksander doesn't lower the weapon. "Every second you hold him here is another second she's gone."
Nico's grip loosens. I shove away from the wall, away from both of them.
"Igor!" His name rips from my throat. "Igor!"
No answer.
I push through the crowd toward the back of the club. People try to stop me. Ask questions. Reach for me. I don't see their faces. Don't hear their voices.
All I see is Vittoria's face when that gun pressed against her temple. The fear in her eyes. The way she screamed my name.
The way I couldn't save her.
"Igor!" I roar his name again.
Still nothing.
I'm halfway to the back exit when Lorenzo's voice cuts through the chaos.
"I need a laptop. Now."
I spin around. He's standing near the stage, one arm around Sophia who's bleeding from somewhere I can't see.
"What?" Pietro snaps. He's trying to organize people. Checking bodies. Counting heads. Making sure everyone from both families is accounted for.
"A laptop." Lorenzo's voice rises. "Someone get me a fucking laptop."
Nico appears from somewhere in the crowd.
"Motherfucker." He says. "I forgot."
"Forgot what?" Pietro demands.
"Vittoria." Nico's eyes lock on Lorenzo. "The tracking devices."
My heart stops.
"What tracking devices?" The words scrape out of my throat.
Lorenzo shifts Sophia's weight, reaching down to pull off his right shoe. He holds it up, turning it so we can see the heel.
There. A small plug embedded in the leather. Same color as the shoe. Black on black. Invisible unless you know to look for it.
"She made them for all of us six months ago." Lorenzo's voice is steady but his hands shake. "After what happened with Sophia. She insisted. Said we needed a backup in case—"
He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
"Does it work?" I'm already moving toward him. "Can we track her?"
"If she activated it." Lorenzo meets my eyes. "She has to turn it on manually. Privacy settings. She wouldn't let them run constantly because—"
"I don't care why." I grab his shoulder. "Can we find her or not?"
"If she activated it before they took her." Lorenzo's jaw clenches. "If she remembered. If she had time—"
"My office." I'm already running. "I have a laptop in my office."
My feet pound against the floor. Past bodies. Past blood. Past people calling my name, asking questions, demanding answers.
I don't stop.
Lorenzo's footsteps echo behind me. He's following. Good. I need him. Need whatever system Vittoria built. Need anything that might lead us to her.
The hallway to my office is empty. Quiet. The sounds of chaos fade behind us as we run.
I slam through the door. The room is exactly as I left it an hour ago. Laptop closed on my desk. Papers scattered. Everything normal.
Everything wrong.
I grab the laptop, flip it open. The screen glows to life.
Lorenzo appears in the doorway, breathing hard. "Let me—"
I shove the laptop toward him. He takes it, fingers already flying across the keyboard.
"She uses a secure server." His voice is clipped. Professional. Like he's not talking about his sister who was just dragged away at gunpoint. "Encrypted. I need to access her system."
"How long?"
"I don't know." He types faster. "She's the tech genius, not me. I just know the basics. Enough to check if—"
He stops. Stares at the screen.
"What?" I move around the desk to see. "What is it?"
"I'm in." Lorenzo's voice cracks. "I'm in her system."
The screen shows a map. Chicago. Streets and buildings rendered in clean lines. A grid of the city.
Empty.
No dots. No signals. Nothing.
"She didn't activate it." The words taste like ash. "She didn't—"
"Wait." Lorenzo leans closer. "It takes a minute to load. The system has to ping the devices, triangulate positions. Just—wait."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except stare at that empty map and pray to a God I stopped believing in when my mother died.
Please.
Please let her have activated it.
Please let us find her.
A dot appears on the screen. Green. Pulsing.
"That's me." Lorenzo points. "Nexus. See?"
We wait. But there's not another dot.