Chapter 8
IVAN
“Another one of our men went missing last night,” Luka announces, strolling into my office without so much as a knock.
I shoot him an annoyed glance that would make most of my men rethink their life choices, but we’ve known each other too long for it to faze him anymore. Bastard.
“Who was it this time?” I ask as he makes himself at home in the chair across from my desk.
“Same M.O. Just another low-level soldier.” Then, because he apparently has a death wish this morning, he props his booted feet up on my desk. Without a word, I open my drawer and take out my pistol.
That’s all it takes. His feet are off my desk before I can even aim, accompanied by a low chuckle.
“This is getting too consistent to be a coincidence.” I frown, returning my gun. “What is this? The tenth man to go missing in the span of a month?”
At first, it didn’t seem worth noting. Low-level soldiers go missing all the time.
They piss off the wrong person, get sloppy, and end up dead in a ditch.
It’s part of the business, more common than most people realize.
But then it kept happening. One after another, like clockwork.
Someone is systematically plucking our men off the streets, and if this pattern continues, we’ll have a very serious problem on our hands.
“I agree.” Luka rubs his brow. “So I did some digging last night after I found out, and word on the street is it’s not only our people suddenly disappearing.”
I glance at him sharply. This is news to me. “Who else is losing men?”
“The Marinos. They’re keeping the information hush-hush, but my housekeeper is a distant relative of theirs, and she told me they’ve had over half a dozen people disappear in the past month.”
I lean back, fingers steepled beneath my chin as I process this.
Perhaps this is a much larger operation than I initially anticipated.
But who the fuck has the balls to kidnap workers from two powerful mafia families—two entirely different factions?
The Marinos are Italian. Are there other Italian families experiencing the same pattern of disappearances?
I make a note to ask Aleksei if any of our capos have noticed their men slowly vanishing as well.
A hesitant knock interrupts my thoughts, and I scowl as the door opens. “I said I was not to be disturbed.”
I straighten when Igor steps inside. He’s the man I put in charge of Melani. His face is pinched tight, and he doesn’t meet my eyes as he speaks. “I know. I’m sorry, sir. But there’s a problem with the—” He looks to Luka before he finishes. “The prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” Luka sounds bemused.
My heart kicks against my ribs, and I’m halfway out of my seat before I can stop myself. “What problem?” Did she try to escape? Hurt herself? Is she—
“Her hands are cuffed, so she can’t eat the breakfast I brought.
” He hesitates, and when his eyes finally meet mine, I’m taken aback at the judgement in them.
“And she seems to be having problems with other… functions. Her arms are probably hurting pretty badly if she was left like that all night.” There’s a note of censure in his voice that makes my eyes narrow.
“What prisoner? Who is it, Vanya?”
I ignore Luka. “Is there a problem, soldier? Is handling her too much for you? Should I find someone else to take your place?” We’ve done far worse things than handcuffing a witness overnight. Is he suddenly growing a conscience?
He swallows hard at my harsh tone, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No, sir. I was out of line. I’ll go back and tell her she needs to manage somehow on her own."
“That won’t be necessary," I say coldly. “I’m taking you off her. Have Boris take your place.”
“Yes, sir.” He doesn’t hesitate this time, just nods and retreats.
“What was that about?” Luka asks once the door shuts behind Igor.
“There was a small complication while I was dealing with James Salvatore last night,” I answer absently as I retrieve the handcuff key from my desk drawer.
Fuck. She must really be in pain for Igor to dare speak back to me.
I should have unlocked the cuffs last night, but she was getting under my skin, and I didn’t like it. It was her punishment.
“So you took a prisoner instead of just getting rid of the witness?” Luka’s tone is incredulous, reminding me how out of character this is for me.
We avoid hurting women when we can. That’s always been the rule.
But the business—and our fucking asses—comes first. So if a woman sees what she shouldn’t, she gets eliminated to avoid complications down the line. It’s cold, but it’s practical.
Blyad. I should have killed her. I know that. And yet I couldn’t.
“I’ve decided to play with her for a bit before getting rid of her,” I say, striding towards the door, then pause to glance back at my right-hand man. “Stay here.”
He only stares, bemusement written all over his face. I ignore his questioning look and close the door behind me.
Boris is already stationed outside the room where I’m holding Melani. Without a word, he unlocks it and steps aside, letting me through.
I hone in on her sitting up in bed. Her hair falls in wild tangles from sleep; her eyes are red-rimmed like she’s been crying or fighting back tears.
Her expression radiates defiance, her mouth pressed into a hard, stubborn line.
But when she sees me standing in the doorway, that expression transforms.
I do a double take because I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing, but it’s real. Her face softens—her lips stretching into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. No, her honey eyes spit fire at me, absolutely blazing with fury. The contradiction is fascinating.
Blood roars in my ears as it rushes south, my cock hardening instantly. I swallow a groan and force myself to breathe through it.
“There you are,” she whispers, her voice all husky from sleep.
Here I am indeed.