Chapter 42
Antonio speeds straight to the shelter and swerves into the back alley, where Emilio awaits us.
I jump out of the car and punch Emilio in the face.
“Shit,” he hisses, rubbing his jaw. “I deserved that.”
I shake out my fist. “You’d better hope we find her.”
Emilio nods, his face burning. “I won’t sleep until we do.”
He knows he fucked up. While we all bitch anytime we have bodyguard duty , we know it’s still an important job. The person we’re watching needs to stay safe. It stings when shit goes wrong as a result of our incompetence.
Emilio and I grew up together. Both our fathers were Lombardi capos, and now, both of them are dead. Enemies murdered mine, but Emilio’s father?
We murdered him.
He’d chosen Antonio’s uncle’s side during the civil war. I’d never seen Emilio so torn when he had to turn his back on his own blood. There was an internal struggle, but Emilio’s father was also a piece of shit, not a good one, like mine.
Like me, Emilio has seen a lot of death.
Also like me, he holds most of that shit inside.
Damien steps out of the car, kicking a takeout container away with his foot. “We’ll find her. Don’t worry, Julian.”
His assurance doesn’t help.
I’ll fucking worry until Genesis is back in my arms.
Emilio jerks his head toward the back door, and we follow him. He knocks on it, and Ollie answers, sticking his head out and waving us inside. The five of us walk toward Lora’s office in a straight line as women and children gape at us.
Ollie slaps me on my back when we reach the doorway. “I pulled up the security footage. We have the make and model of the van and the plate number.”
I jerk my chin toward him. “I appreciate it, man.”
Lora jumps up from her chair when we enter. Her eyes are red and puffy, and a wadded tissue is in her hand.
“Julian!” She rushes over to hug me. “I’m so sorry! Safe Hearts has always been a safe space. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
I tap her shoulder in comfort. “It’s not your fault, Lora. You just stay calm and take care of the shelter. We’ll find Genesis.”
“Please”—her lower lip trembles—“you have to.”
Damien helps her back to her seat as Ollie shoves a laptop in front of my face. Unblinking, I watch the video surveillance of what happened when the fuckers took Genesis. I have Ollie replay it over a dozen times, taking in every single detail.
I note the time stamps. The height of the men. How many there are. What Genesis was wearing.
Every single detail is embedded in my brain.
Emilio and Antonio are at my back, doing the same thing.
“Email that to me,” I tell Ollie, and he salutes me.
“I pulled Sage’s file,” Lora says grimly, opening a drawer and dropping a folder in front of me. “The girl wasn’t much of a talker, so our information is limited. I’m hoping there’s enough to find Genesis. I suggest we call law enforcement, and they can?—”
“No,” Antonio says, speaking over her. “No need for that.”
Lora warily stares at him. “Okay,” she whispers, as if questioning if she’s morally okay with overstepping this line.
She has to know what Antonio meant.
I open the folder, and my phone rings before I have the chance to read over it.
Derrick’s name flashes on my screen.
I hold the phone up toward Lora. “The police.”
Lora’s shoulders ease an inch.
There. Maybe that’ll make her feel somewhat better.
She doesn’t need to know he’s on our payroll.
“Talk to me,” I say, answering the call as Antonio starts flipping through the pages of Sage’s folder.
“Sage Losev,” he starts. “Her stepfather, Denis ‘Bird Eye’ Losev, works for the Morozova family. He was given the nickname because he used to pluck out birds’ eyes when he was a kid. Fucking weird and inhumane.”
“Motherfucker,” I hiss beneath my breath, struggling to control the urge not to throw my phone through the damn wall.
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
“Rumor is, she’s Carlisle Astor’s secret child. The Feds have been looking into his transactions, and we found multiple payments to Denis’s wife, dating back twenty years ago.”
I bare my teeth. “Get me Denis’s address.”
“Texting it to you now.” He ends the call.
A beat-up purple minivan sits in the driveway of the duplex home.
We’ve been sitting outside, across the street, for five minutes and haven’t seen any movement.
Five minutes longer than what I’d like, but I need to be smart in every move I make.
“Hotheaded men always die faster than those who keep cool heads.” That’s what my father used to say. “Only be a hothead when you’re kicking another man’s ass. Otherwise, be calculated about every step you make.”
On the drive here, Damien called Pippa and told her to find every online trace of Sage—all her social media accounts, anywhere she tagged her locations, or family members.
I stare at the home, already knowing Genesis isn’t in there.
All this place will have are clues that will lead me to her.
The front door’s screen is ripped, one of the windows has cardboard covering a hole, and there’s a yard sign that says No soliciting, assholes .
I tuck my Glock into one pocket, grip my pistol, and slip out of Antonio’s car. He and Damien do the same. I stalk straight to the door, taking long strides, and kick it open.
How’s that for soliciting, assholes?
“Denis?” a raspy, feminine voice calls out from down the hall. “Is that you?”
Damien clicks the front door shut, and none of us says a word as we walk through the living room and into the kitchen.
A woman wearing a stained SpongeBob robe stops, mid-bite of a slice of toast. “Can I help you?”
Her eyes are droopy, but she looks nowhere near fazed that three armed strangers are in her home. It’s like this is a regular Saturday for her.
“Where is she?” I demand, aiming my gun at her head.
“Who?” Her gaze slips between us three men, and it dawns on her. “Oh, you’re here for her .”
I take a step closer. “ Her ?”
“Genesis,” she spits, as if the name makes her sick. “Carlisle’s golden daughter, the only one he cared about.” She stretches her arm across the table to snatch a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Where is she?” I push.
She sticks the cigarette in her mouth, lighting it, and doesn’t say a word.
I lower the gun to pluck the cigarette from her mouth, throw it on the floor, and kneel in front of her. “Tell me where she is, or I’ll light this house on fire with you inside it.”
Ignoring me, she grabs another cigarette. When she goes for her lighter, I throw it off the table.
She blows out a spent breath. “She’s with her husband , Dima.” Her upper lip snarls. “Son of a bitch thought she was better than my sweet Sage. She deserved to be with him, to be the Bratva queen.”
I raise my gun, holding it to the woman’s head. “What’s Dima’s address?”
“How am I supposed to know?” She attempts to jerk away, but I don’t allow it. “You think Dima just hands out his address to people? No one knows where Dima lives because that’s how he wants it.”
I click the trigger. “Where’s your husband?”
She scoffs. “Working. Fucking a mistress. Snorting coke up his nose. How am I supposed to know? His location is just as much of a mystery as Dima’s residence.”
“She’s useless,” Damien comments.
I swipe her phone from the table and push it into my pocket. “Come on,” I tell her. “We’re going for a ride.”
I don’t tell her until we’re outside that her seat is in the trunk.
For years, I was trained to hunt and kill.
To trace and hack.
I’ll find Genesis, and I’ll kill every motherfucker in my way.