39. Marla
MARLA
My stomach drops so fast I feel dizzy. "What?"
Nick's expression doesn't change, but his jaw tightens. "Sharon was scheduled to work the lunch shift at the Ivory Wolf. She never showed. The manager tried calling her multiple times. Nothing."
I'm already pulling out my phone, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop it. Sharon's contact information blurs as I tap it. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail.
"Sharon, it's me," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Call me back as soon as you get this. Please."
I hang up and immediately try again. Same result. My chest tightens with panic.
"She wouldn't just not show up," I say, looking between the three men. "Sharon's never missed work. She needs the money too badly. Plus, it's not her way. She's responsible."
Russ's expression has gone completely flat, which is somehow worse than his usual anger. "When was the last time you talked to her?"
"Yesterday afternoon." I pull up our message thread with trembling fingers. "Look, she was fine. She didn't say anything about going anywhere."
Alex takes my phone gently and studies the messages. His brown eyes scan the screen methodically before he hands it back. "Nothing unusual in her patterns. No indication she was planning to leave town."
"Because she wasn't planning anything," I snap, fear making my voice sharp. "Something happened to her."
Nick pulls out his phone and steps away, already making calls. I hear him speaking in rapid Russian, his tone clipped and commanding. Russ moves to the window, staring out at the property with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The tension radiating from him makes the air feel thick.
"This is my fault," I whisper. "She got involved because of me."
"Don't," Alex says quietly. "This isn't your or Sharon's fault.”
"She made those choices because I dragged her into this mess!" My voice cracks. "She was just trying to help me, and now she's missing because some psychopath is looking for me."
Russ turns from the window, his light eyes cold in a way I've never seen before. "It may not be Zach. We'll find her."
The certainty in his voice should be comforting, but instead it sends a chill down my spine.
This is the voice of a man who's done terrible things and will do them again without hesitation.
Right now, though, I'm thankful for it. Anyone who would dare take or hurt Sharon needs to be hurt themselves.
When did my thoughts turn so violent? I never thought this way about Zach, even with all the bullshit he put me through, but now, suddenly violence seems like the perfect answer. These men are wearing off on me!
By early afternoon, the entire property transforms into something that looks like a military operation. Armed guards move constantly between the main house and the mother-in-law building. Black SUVs come and go through the gated entrance.
I'm not sure what I expected mafia security to look like, but not this, well… military-meets-secret-service look.
I stand at the window watching it all, feeling completely useless. Nick and Alex have taken over the main house, their voices carrying through the open door as they coordinate search efforts. I catch fragments of conversation, but not enough to understand what they are saying.
Oh my God, if anything happens to Sharon... I break off the thought before it can fully form. I won't be of any help to her if I let worst thought scenarios take over my mind.
Russ moves through the chaos like a ghost. Gone is the playful, charming man who made me laugh over cards and terrible dancing.
This version of Russ is cold, directing armed men with authority that makes them snap to attention.
He wears all black today, dark jeans and a fitted shirt that emphasizes his powerful build.
When he speaks, people move immediately.
I watch him coordinate a team heading into the city, his voice low and dangerous as he gives instructions I can't quite hear. One of the men nods and hurries to a waiting SUV. Russ's hand rests casually on the gun holstered at his hip.
This is who he really is. Not the man who spun me around the cottage to Russian music. This is Rustik Stepanov, the pakhan, a man who controls territory and commands loyalty through fear and respect.
The realization sits heavy in my chest. I knew what they were, intellectually. But watching Russ direct armed searches for my missing friend makes it viscerally real in a way nothing else has.
Around three in the afternoon, a black sedan I don't recognize pulls through the gate. Every guard on the property immediately goes still, hands moving toward weapons. Then they relax, though the tension doesn't fully leave their postures.
A woman emerges from the back seat. She's small, maybe five-foot-three, with long blonde hair streaked with gray pulled into an elegant bun.
Dark eyes scan the property with sharp intelligence.
She's dressed simply in jeans and a cream sweater, but she carries herself with the kind of confidence that comes from years of being respected.
Russ appears from the main house, and for the first time since Nick's phone call this morning, he looks genuinely caught off guard. "Mama? What are you doing here?"
"I'm moving in," she announces in accented English, gesturing to the luggage the driver is unloading. "You've been asking me for months. I finally decided you were right."
Russ's expression shifts through several emotions too quickly for me to track. "Now? You decided to move in right now?"
"Is there a problem?" His mother's dark eyes narrow slightly. "You built this beautiful house for me. I'm here to use it."
"It's not a problem, it's just..." Russ trails off, his gaze flicking toward the mother-in-law building where I'm standing in the doorway. "The timing is complicated."
His mother follows his gaze and spots me. Her expression shifts from confusion, to understanding, to something that might be amusement. "I see."
"Mama, this is Marla," Russ says, resignation clear in his voice. "Marla, this is my mother, Ekaterina."
I step forward awkwardly, very aware that I'm wearing jeans and a large t-shirt. "It's nice to meet you."
Ekaterina's sharp eyes take in every detail: the oversized shirt, my bare feet, and the way I'm standing in the doorway of the building meant for her. "You're living here."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Temporarily. There was a security issue at my cottage, and Russ offered..."
"I see," she says again, and something in her tone suggests she sees far more than I'm saying. She turns to Russ. "Well, the house has two bedrooms. We'll make it work."
"Mama, you don't have to..."
"Rustik." Her voice carries the kind of authority that makes even a pakhan shut his mouth. At least, this pakhan. "I'm staying. Help with my luggage."
The next hour is a special kind of chaos.
Ekaterina settles into the second bedroom.
She doesn't ask questions about the armed guards or the constant phone calls or why her son keeps disappearing to coordinate search teams. She simply unpacks her belongings and makes tea in the kitchen like this is completely normal.
I hover uselessly, trying to stay out of the way while also trying to be helpful. The building that felt spacious this morning now feels cramped with three people and the constant flow of men reporting to Russ.
"Sit," Ekaterina says, gesturing to the kitchen table. "You're making me nervous pacing like that."
I sit, wrapping my hands around the mug of tea she slides across to me. It's exactly how I like it, though I don't remember telling her. She must have been watching when I made my own earlier.
Through the window, I watch Alex cross from the main house.
He's wearing dark jeans and a black sweater, his brown hair slightly disheveled from running his hands through it.
He looks exhausted. When he enters the building, he heads straight for the kitchen and pours himself coffee before noticing Ekaterina.
"Mrs. Stepanov," he says, his tone respectful. "I didn't know you were visiting."
"I'm not visiting. I'm moving in." She studies him with the same sharp assessment she gave me. "It's been a while, Alexsey Lenkov."
Her tone is chastising and to my utter surprise, Alex flushes. Just a little bit across his cheeks, but it's there.
"I apologize," he says simply, bowing his head slightly. "It's been a little busy." Alex's gaze shifts to me, and his expression softens slightly. "Any word from Sharon?"
I shake my head, my throat tight. "Nothing."
He moves to stand behind my chair, his hand settling on my shoulder. The gesture is unconscious, but I see Ekaterina notice it. Her dark eyes drop to his hand, then flick to Alex's face, then back to me. She frowns slightly. Not in anger, but in confusion.
Nick appears in the doorway moments later, his phone pressed to his ear.
He's speaking rapid Russian, his tone clipped and frustrated.
When he ends the call, he looks at Alex.
"The bartender from the Ivory Wolf finally talked.
Sharon left work Saturday night with some guy.
Blond, mid-twenties, driving an expensive car. "
My blood runs cold. "Zach."
"Maybe." Nick's green eyes are hard. "We're checking traffic cameras now."
"She wouldn't go with him willingly," I say. "Sharon knows he's dangerous."
Russ's voice comes from behind Nick. "We've got teams checking her apartment, her usual routes, and anywhere she might have gone."
Ekaterina sets down her teacup with a soft click. "Who is Zach?"
The question hangs in the air. All three men look at me, clearly leaving the explanation to me. I take a shaky breath.
"My ex-boyfriend. He's been looking for me. Sharon was helping me stay hidden, and now she's missing."
"I see." Ekaterina's expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes sharpens.
The evening descends into more chaos. Russ leaves the property twice, returning each time with his expression colder and his movements more controlled. The second time, he slams his fist into the kitchen counter hard enough to crack the tile, then walks out without a word.
I hear Alex and Nick arguing in low voices outside, to low for me to catch the words—that is, if I understood Russian, which I don't. Ekaterina makes dinner with the same calmness she's shown all day.
She moves around the kitchen like she's been here for years, pulling ingredients from cabinets and cooking something that smells amazing despite the tension saturating the air.
"Eat," she says, setting a plate in front of me. "You look like you haven't eaten all day."
She's right. I haven't. But my stomach is twisted in knots, and the thought of food makes me nauseous. "I'm not hungry."
Or the fact that I'm pregnant. Can't forget about that little tidbit of knowledge. I still haven't told the guys and I haven't a clue what I'm going to say.
"Eat anyway." Her tone brooks no argument. "Starving yourself won't help your friend."
I force down a few bites while Ekaterina watches with the kind of maternal concern that makes my chest ache. I never had this. Foster care didn't include mothers who made sure you ate and noticed when you were falling apart.
Nick and Alex return as the sun sets, both looking grim.
They eat standing up, barely tasting the food.
Russ doesn't come back at all. By midnight, the property has finally quieted.
Guards still patrol, but the constant movement has slowed.
Ekaterina has retired to her bedroom. Nick and Alex are in the main house coordinating with teams still searching the city.
I sit alone in the living room, staring out the window at nothing. Guilt eats at me from the inside. Sharon is missing because of me. Because I dragged her into my mess. Because Zach is a psychopath who won't let go.
The front door is right there. Unlocked. Unguarded for the first time all day.
I stand up and walk outside into the night.