Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dante
I hadn't even opened it yet, but my gut already knew.
Twenty minutes earlier, my guy stationed outside the gallery had called—Natasha left the exhibition and vanished.
Leo, who'd been glued to her side, chased after her in his car and slammed into a highway barrier.
The vehicle was totaled. He was in the ER, still fighting for his life.
I'd whipped the car around immediately, one hand gripping the wheel, the other already making calls to mobilize my men. I kept telling myself—Natasha and the baby couldn't get hurt. I wouldn't allow it.
But God wasn't on my side. This video confirmed my worst fear—someone had taken her.
The footage was dark. Some abandoned factory that'd been rotting for years.
Rusted pipes coiled overhead, most of the windows smashed, dust layered thick on the floor.
Two women were tied to platforms on either side of the central space—Vera on one side, Natasha on the other.
Both slumped forward, clearly unconscious.
The camera jerked, and a voice I knew too damn well drawled out.
Viktor.
He kept himself off-camera, zooming in tight on Natasha's pale face. Making sure I got a good look.
"Dante, my dear nephew," his voice dripped with leisurely amusement. "I think we're past the point of explanations. You left me no way out. You forced my hand."
"Cut the crap. What do you want?" I cut him off. Not one word wasted on this piece of shit.
"Simple—if you want these two women alive, bring all your core access codes and the money I asked for. Come alone. To this address." The camera panned slowly to the rusted sign by the factory entrance. I recognized it—the old chemical plant on the city outskirts, abandoned for over a decade.
Viktor's voice turned ice cold. "Remember—alone. You bring even one man with you, I'll pick a woman at random and kill her. Make you watch."
The video cut to black.
I stared at the dead screen. Rage and the urge to tear everything apart surged through me. I shut my eyes, pulled in a long breath, forced it all down.
Viktor wasn't bluffing. These past two months, I'd squeezed him hard—cut off his revenue streams, poached his crew, backed him into a corner step by step. A man with nothing left to lose, blood in his eyes? He'd do anything. He'd kill them both without hesitation.
So I had to go. Alone. What he really wanted probably wasn't the money or the codes—he wanted me dead.
My life? I didn't give a damn. If it bought Natasha and that baby safe passage, I wouldn't even blink. But the real problem was—even if I traded myself, what guarantee did I have he wouldn't turn around and kill them anyway?
I thought for a long time. Finally, I picked up my phone and made a call.
After I'd laid everything out, I hung up, switched to an unmarked car, and drove alone toward the abandoned factory.
The factory entrance was two rusted iron gates, left slightly ajar.
I parked outside, walked up empty-handed, and pushed through.
The gates shrieked—a long, grating screech that echoed in the dead silence.
Inside was hollow and freezing. A few construction lights rigged up temporarily lit the center in harsh white.
Natasha was tied to the left platform, head hanging, motionless. Vera was on the right, hair tangled, looking equally wrecked. Viktor stood dead center, casually toying with a handgun. When he saw me walk in alone, his face split into a triumphant grin.
"You actually came." He waved the gun barrel lazily toward the platforms, studying my expression.
"Word is, Dante, you've gone soft lately.
Neglecting business, camping outside some woman's door like a lovesick puppy.
" He shook his head, laughing harder. "The pakhan of New York, Dante Romanov himself, reduced to begging at her feet. You're a disgrace to the Romanov name."
He wanted to provoke me. Make me lose control. But his words didn't even ripple the surface. I didn't give a damn if he thought I was pathetic—my only focus was getting them out alive.
"All right, time to choose." Viktor's grin vanished, his eyes turning vicious. "I'm feeling generous today, so I'll give you a clean deal. Your life for one of them. Left side—Natasha and your bastard kid. Right side—Vera. Pick one. The other stays here with me."
I didn't look at the platforms. Didn't take his bait. I just slowly raised my eyes and locked onto his.
"Viktor, I need to ask you something first."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt.
"We're family. Romanov blood runs in both of us.
My father died young. You watched me grow up.
" I spoke each word deliberately. "Territory, money, women, reputation—whatever you asked for, when did I ever say no to you?
" I stepped forward. "You've spent years scheming to take this seat.
Today, you went so far as to kidnap a defenseless pregnant woman.
I just want to know—why? What was it all for? "
Viktor froze. Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. It bounced off the empty walls, echoing until my scalp crawled. He doubled over, tears streaming, wiping his eyes with his free hand. When he looked at me again, there was something unhinged in his gaze—sick, almost euphoric.
"Why? You think it's about money? Territory?
This damn throne?" He grinned wide, enunciating each word.
"No, Dante. You're overthinking it. It's simple—because it's fun.
Watching you and your father, so high and mighty, crushed under my boot.
Watching you grovel and squirm over some woman...
" He licked his lips. "That feeling? Better than anything. That's all I needed."
Fun. That word extinguished the last flicker of hesitation I'd felt over our shared blood.
Viktor kept laughing. He was so drunk on his own victory he forgot to ask the most important question—why the hell would Dante Romanov walk alone, bold as brass, into his trap?
He forgot—I never play a hand without a trump card.
The gunshot came from the high broken window.
The crack of a high-caliber sniper round tore through the cold air, punching clean through Viktor's gun arm.
He screamed, the weapon clattering to the ground as blood sprayed from his mangled limb, soaking half his sleeve.
He stared in disbelief, stumbling backward, clutching the mess.
I took a slow step forward, pressing the micro-earpiece behind my ear.
"Nice shot," I said quietly toward the broken window.
Viktor finally understood. The smug certainty drained from his face, replaced by raw terror. "You... you sneaky coward..."
"I never play without a trump card." I walked toward him, looking down. "You thought I'd gamble my life—her life—on whatever shred of conscience you might have left? Viktor, you never knew me at all."
I kicked him square in the chest, sending him sprawling. I bent down, picked up his blood-slicked gun, and jammed the barrel between his eyes. Less than a minute since the shot rang out, and the whole game had flipped.
Viktor lay there, drenched in cold sweat, face white as bone. He looked up at the gun pressed to his forehead, then at me. For the first time, real fear—bone-deep fear—filled his eyes. I stared down at him. No pity. Not even a trace of seeing him as human anymore.
"Viktor, you know what? I was going to let you live.
" I pressed the barrel harder, forcing his skull against the concrete.
"If you'd only grabbed Vera today, for the sake of our blood, I might've spared you—crippled your legs, severed your tendons, dumped you in some South American hellhole to crawl and beg for the rest of your miserable life.
But you made one fatal mistake. You touched Natasha. "
I stared into his eyes, delivering the final verdict. "So today, even God can't save you."
That's when I heard movement behind me. My heart lurched. I spun around. Vera slowly lifted her head. No trace of terror or distress on her face—just a crazed smile. She flicked her wrists, and the ropes that had looked so tight slid off like nothing.
She'd never been tied up at all.
Why—but before I could process it, Vera was already on her feet. She pulled out a small handgun she'd hidden, then grabbed Natasha with her other hand, dragging her and the chair backward with all her strength.
"Don't move!" she shrieked, hauling the limp Natasha step by step until she reached a massive concrete support column—the one blind spot in the entire factory where my sniper couldn't get a shot.
She ducked behind it, only her face visible, jamming the gun against Natasha's temple. Her nails dug into Natasha's throat, leaving white marks.
"Dante," Vera panted, her face twisted with wild desperation. "You take one more step, try one more trick—and I'll make you watch your precious darling and that bastard in her belly die right in front of you."
Her face contorted with madness. "How dare you say those things to me? How dare you treat me like that?"
My brain kicked into overdrive. Distance. Angle. That sliver of her body exposed. The range of my gun. The sniper's position. Every possibility, I ran them all.
Nothing.
Not a single opening.