Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Vittoria
They drop me into a wooden seat. My head lolls forward. I feel them working on my ankles, cutting the zip ties only to replace them with rope. They bind my legs to the chair. Then my wrists. Arms pulled behind my back, secured to the chair's frame.
"That should hold her."
"Better. Boss'll be here in five."
Footsteps retreat. A door closes.
Silence.
I crack one eye open. Just slightly.
Empty room. Concrete floor. Exposed beams overhead. Windows covered with plywood. A single bulb hangs from the ceiling, casting harsh light.
Warehouse. Abandoned, by the look of it.
I'm still wearing my pink dress. The fabric is torn at the hem, streaked with dirt. My gold jewelry remains—necklace, earrings, bracelet. And most importantly, my heels.
They didn't search me. Didn't strip me down.
Amateurs.
Or they don't care.
The tracker must be still active.
I just need to stay alive until he gets here.
The door opens.
I snap my eyes shut. Let my head hang forward.
Footsteps. Slow.
The footsteps stop in front of me.
Silence stretches. I feel eyes on me. Studying. Assessing.
"I know you're awake, Miss Sartori."
The voice is smooth. Cultured. No accent I can place. Not Chicago. Not New York. Somewhere else.
I don't move.
"The breathing gives it away." A pause. "When someone's unconscious, their breath is deeper. Slower. Yours is too controlled."
Damn it.
I lift my head. Open my eyes.
A man stands three feet away. Tall—maybe six-two. Broad shoulders beneath a black suit. Dark hair swept back from his face. Strong jaw. High cheekbones.
Handsome.
His skin is olive-toned. Mediterranean, maybe. Or Latin American. I can't tell. His features could be Italian. Could be Mexican. Could be something else entirely.
But I've never seen him before.
Not at family gatherings. Not at business meetings. Not in any of the files I've studied over the years.
He's not from Chicago. Not from any of the families I know.
"Who the hell are you?" My voice comes out rough. Angry.
Good. Let him think I'm just angry. Not terrified.
The man tilts his head. Studies me like I'm an interesting specimen. "Direct. I appreciate that."
"Answer the question."
"Or what?" A slight smile curves his lips. "You'll do what, exactly? Tied to a chair. Surrounded by my men. No weapons. No backup."
"Dmitri will find me."
"Ah yes. The Russian." The man's smile widens. "Your fiancé. How romantic. Love blooming amid violence and bloodshed."
"He'll kill you."
"Perhaps." The man moves closer. Circles around behind me. I feel his presence at my back. "But first, he has to find you. And by the time he does..." He trails off. Lets the threat hang.
I twist my head, trying to see him. "What do you want?"
"Want?" He completes his circle, stopping in front of me again. "That's a complicated question, Miss Sartori."
"It's really not."
He laughs.
"You're right. It's quite simple, actually." He crouches down. Brings himself to eye level. "I want what everyone wants. Power. Control. Territory."
"Chicago's divided. You can't just—"
"Can't I?" His eyes—dark brown, almost black—lock onto mine. "The Sartoris and Baganovs just announced an alliance. A marriage. Very public. Very symbolic."
My stomach drops.
"And then," he continues, voice soft, "someone attacked that very public, very symbolic event. Killed several people. Wounded more. And took the bride-to-be."
"You."
"Me." He stands. Brushes invisible dust from his suit pants. "Do you know what happens when an alliance looks weak, Miss Sartori? When the families can't even protect their own at an engagement party?"
I don't answer.
"Other families start to wonder. Start to question. Is this alliance real? Is it strong? Or is it just two desperate organizations clinging to each other?"
"We're not desperate."
"Aren't you?" He walks to the side. Picks up something from a table I didn't notice before. A folder. "The Sartoris lost their heir two years ago. Riccardo, wasn't it? Shot dead. Your brother Bruno paralyzed. Pietro forced to take over when he never wanted the position."
My hands curl into fists behind the chair.
"And the Baganovs." He opens the folder. Flips through pages. "Their pakhan just died. Cancer. Dmitri's barely been in charge a week. Untested. Unproven. Some of his father's old allies are already questioning his leadership."
"He's stronger than you think."
"I'm sure he is." The man closes the folder. Sets it down. "But strength doesn't matter when you're fighting on multiple fronts. When you're trying to hold an alliance together. When you're searching for a missing fiancée."
He moves back to stand in front of me.
"So I'll ask you again, Miss Sartori. What do I want?" He leans down. "I want chaos. I want your families scrambling. I want them weak."
"Why?"
"Because weak families make mistakes. And mistakes create opportunities."
I stare at him. Try to memorize every detail. The small scar above his left eyebrow. The way his right eye is slightly larger than his left. The gold ring on his pinky finger.
Details Dmitri will need when he finds this man.
When he kills him.
"You won't get away with this," I say.
"Won't I?" He straightens. Adjusts his cufflinks. "I already have, Miss Sartori. The attack happened. You're here. And by now, your families are tearing Chicago apart looking for you."
He walks toward the door. Stops. Looks back.
"Get comfortable. You're going to be here a while."
"Wait."
He pauses.
"At least tell me your name." I force my voice steady. "If you're going to kill me, I should know who's responsible."
The man considers this. Then smiles.
"I'm not going to kill you, Miss Sartori. You're worth far more alive." He opens the door. "But my name? You can call me Smoke."
The door closes.
I'm alone again.
I've never heard Smoke as a code name. And him talking politely, makes it even scarier.
Dmitri
I stare at the laptop screen balanced on my knees. The red dot pulses. Steady. Unmoving.
"South on Kedzie," I say. "She's stopped moving."
Yuri accelerates. The SUV's engine roars.
Nico leans forward from the back seat. "Where exactly?"
I zoom in on the map. The dot sits in an industrial area. Warehouses. Factories. Most of them abandoned.
The location looks familiar.
Too familiar.
I zoom in further. Check the coordinates against my mental map of Baganov territory.
No.
"Dmitri?" Nico's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Where is she?"
I can't speak. Can't process what I'm seeing.
The red dot sits directly on top of one of my warehouses.
"This can't be right." I refresh the page. The dot doesn't move. "It's impossible."
"What?" Yuri glances at me. "What's impossible?"
"The tracker shows her at one of my warehouses." I refresh again. Same location. "One of ours."
Silence fills the SUV.
Then Nico speaks. His voice is cold. Deadly. "Someone's trying to set you up."
"No." I shake my head. "No one knows about that warehouse. We don't even use it anymore."
"Then why would they take her there?" Nico demands.
"I don't know." My hands tighten on the laptop. "I don't fucking know."
My phone buzzes. Pietro.
"We're mobilizing," he says without preamble. "Ten SUVs heading to the location now. Lorenzo's bringing more."
"Pietro—"
"If this is a trap, Baganov, if you had anything to do with—"
"I didn't." The words come out harsh. Furious. "Someone's playing us. Both of us."
A pause. Then: "We'll see."
He hangs up.
I want to throw the phone. Want to put my fist through something.
Someone took Vittoria to my warehouse. A warehouse I haven't used in over a year. A warehouse that's still registered under Baganov holdings but sits empty.
Why?
"Do you have cameras there?" Nico asks.
"No." I pull up the property files on my laptop. "It's old. We stopped using it after we bought the facility on Western. No security. No cameras. Just an empty building."
"But it's still yours."
"Yes."
"Who?"
"I don't fucking know." I turn back to the screen. "But I'm going to find out."
Yuri takes a corner too fast. The SUV's tires screech.
"How far?" I ask.
"Fifteen minutes."
Too long. Anything could happen in fifteen minutes.
I pull up my contacts. Call Igor.
"Boss?"
"The warehouse on Kedzie and 47th. Who has access?"
"No one. We haven't used it since—"
"I know when we stopped using it." I cut him off. "Who has keys?"
A pause. I hear papers rustling. "You. Me. Aleksander. Your father had a set but those are in the estate safe."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Security codes?"
"Changed six months ago when we did the annual rotation. Only you, me, and Aleksander have the new codes."
I close my eyes. Three people. Three people who could access that warehouse.
Me. Igor. Aleksander.
And we didn't take her there.
Which means someone else got in. Someone who shouldn't have access.
"Boss?" Igor's voice pulls me back. "What's going on?"
"Someone's setting me up." I watch the red dot on the screen. Still not moving. "Get me everything on that warehouse. Property records. Security logs. Everything."
"On it."
I hang up.
Nico is watching me. "Well?"
"Three people have access to that warehouse. Me, Igor, and my brother Aleksander."
"So someone else got in."
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know." I refresh the tracker again. The dot hasn't moved.
Dmitri
The warehouse looms ahead. Dark. Silent.
No cars parked outside.
My chest tightens.
I stare at the empty street. The abandoned building.
They could have found the tracker. Could have left the shoe here on purpose. Could have taken her somewhere else while we waste time searching an empty warehouse.
Or worse.
I push the thought away.
"Dmitri." Nico's voice cuts through the silence. "We need to—"
I'm already out of the SUV.
Men pour from the other vehicles. Pietro's soldiers. My men. All armed. All ready.
Yuri appears at my side. "We'll clear the perimeter first. Standard protocol."
"No." I start walking toward the warehouse. "I'm going in."
"Boss, we need to—"
"I'm going in first." I don't look at him. Can't look away from the building. "That's an order."
I need to see. Need to know if they hurt her. Need to be the first one through that door.
If she's—
No.
Nico catches up to me. "Dmitri, wait."
I don't wait. Can't wait.
My men fan out. Checking the perimeter. Securing the area.
I reach the side entrance. The door is unlocked.
I draw my gun. Push the door open.
The warehouse is dark inside. Empty.
Nico moves beside me. His weapon raised.
We move deeper into the warehouse. Past rows of empty shelves. Through corridors lined with rusted equipment.
The place smells like decay. Like something left to rot.
"There." Nico points.
I see her.
A chair in the center of an open space. Someone tied to it. Head down. Not moving.
No.
"Solnyshko?" The word comes out broken. Desperate.
Her head lifts.
Our eyes meet.
She starts crying.
I run.
My gun clatters to the floor. Nothing exists except getting to her.
She's alive. She's alive. She's—
I drop to my knees in front of her. My hands frame her face. "Vittoria. Vittoria."
Tears stream down her cheeks. Her wrists are bound to the chair arms. Her ankles tied to the legs.
"I've got you." I kiss her forehead. Her cheeks. Her lips. "I've got you, solnyshko. You're safe."
Nico appears behind me. His knife flashes. The zip ties around her wrists snap.
I pull her into my arms. She collapses against my chest. Her whole body shakes.
"Did they hurt you?" I run my hands over her. Checking for injuries. For blood. "Tell me. Did they hurt you?"
She shakes her head against my shoulder. Can't speak. Just cries.
Nico cuts the ties around her ankles.
I lift her. Cradle her against my chest. She wraps her arms around my neck. Buries her face in my throat.
"I thought—" Her voice breaks. "I thought you wouldn't find me."
"Never." I hold her tighter. "I will always find you. Always."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders. Like she's afraid I'll disappear.
"We need to move," Nico says. His voice is tight. "This could still be a trap."
He's right. Someone left her here. Someone wanted us to find her like this.
But I can't think about that. Can't think about anything except the woman in my arms.
"Can you walk?" I ask her.
She nods against my neck.
It's not safe not holding a gun.
I set her down carefully. Keep my arm around her waist. She sways. Her legs shake.
"I've got you." I pull her closer. Take her weight.
Nico moves ahead of us. His gun raised. Checking corners.
I lift my gun from the ground.
We make our way back through the warehouse. Vittoria leans heavily against me. Each step is slow. Careful.
My men wait outside. Weapons drawn. Scanning the area.
Pietro's SUV pulls up. He gets out. His face is stone.
Then he sees Vittoria.
"Are you hurt Vee?" he demands.
"My head." Her voice is small. Broken. "They hit me. When they grabbed me."
White-hot rage floods through me.
Someone hit her. Someone put their hands on her. Someone made her cry.
I'm going to find them. I'm going to make them beg for death.
"We need to get her to a hospital," Nico says.
"No." Vittoria grips my jacket. "No hospitals. Please. I just want to go home."
Pietro steps closer. His hand touches her shoulder. Gentle. "Vittoria—"
"Please." She looks at him. Tears still streaming down her face. "I just want to go home."
He studies her. Then nods. "Okay. We'll take you home."
I lift her again. She doesn't protest. Just curls against my chest.
"My car," I tell Yuri.
He brings the SUV around.
I slide into the back seat with Vittoria still in my arms. She won't let go. Won't stop shaking.
Nico gets in on the other side.
The SUV pulls away from the warehouse.
I hold Vittoria. Stroke her hair. Whisper in Russian that she's safe. That I have her. That no one will hurt her again.
She cries against my chest. Her tears soak through my shirt.
And I make a silent vow.
Whoever did this. Whoever took her. Whoever made her cry.
They're already dead.
They just don't know it yet.