Chapter 32
ANDREY
Isit on the edge of the bed, watching Mariya turn the small piece of paper that she found in one of her mother's rings over in her fingers.
The lamplight catches the delicate lines of the drawing of what looks like old pillars standing in a field of overgrown grass and weeds.
She's been staring at it for the past ten minutes, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"I don't recognize this place," she says quietly, frustration creeping into her voice.
I lean closer, studying the sketch again. The pillars are crude but deliberate, drawn with the same careful hand that created all of Yegor's other clues. "Neither do I."
Mariya sets the paper down on the bed between us and reaches for the other items we've collected.
The homemade puzzle pieces from the shack that connected with her mother's brooch to reveal a picture of her family's cabin.
The scroll we found at that cabin, listing Bratva safehouses in careful Cyrillic script.
Yegor's note with the raven drawing that led us to the ring with the raven engraved on it, which she so cleverly found earlier.
And now this. Pillars in a field.
"What does it all mean?" Mariya asks, her voice tight with exhaustion. "Why would my father leave us all these clues if they don't connect to anything?"
I pick up the drawing, holding it closer to the light. "They have to connect. We're just missing something."
"But what?" She stands and starts pacing, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.
My oversized T-shirt she's wearing falls to mid-thigh, and I find myself distracted by the curve of her ass beneath the thin fabric.
"We've followed every lead. We've been to the shack, the cabin, and found the safehouse list. What are we supposed to do with pillars in a field? "
I force my attention back to the problem at hand. "Maybe it's a location. Somewhere significant to your family."
"I've never seen anything like this." She stops pacing and turns to face me, her dark eyes searching mine. "My father never mentioned old ruins or pillars. Neither did my mother."
I set the drawing down and stand, moving to her. My hands find her waist, pulling her against me. "We'll figure it out. We always do."
She leans into me, her forehead resting against my chest. "I'm tired of puzzles, Andrey. I'm tired of chasing ghosts."
"I know." I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo. "But we're close. I can feel it."
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me. "What if we're not? What if my father was just paranoid and these clues don't actually lead anywhere?"
"Then we'll deal with that when we know for sure." My hand slides up her back, fingers tangling in her long, blonde hair. "But right now, we focus on tomorrow. On the trap we're setting."
Her expression shifts, excitement replacing the frustration. "You're still worried about it."
"Yes." I don't bother lying. "Something doesn't feel right."
"Your instincts?"
"My instincts." I release her and move back to the bed, sitting down heavily. "I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something important."
Mariya follows, settling beside me. Her hand finds mine, fingers threading through mine. "We've planned everything carefully. The wharf location, timing, and the tracking devices. What could go wrong?"
"Everything." I turn to look at her, taking in the determined set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes. "You're walking into danger willingly. That's what could go wrong."
"I'll be fine." Her free hand cups my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. "You'll be watching. Your men will be ready. And I'm not helpless."
No, she's definitely not helpless. But she's also mine, and the thought of her in enemy hands, even temporarily as part of a plan, makes my chest tight with something that feels uncomfortably close to fear.
"I don't like this," I admit quietly.
"I know." She leans in, pressing her lips to mine in a soft kiss. "But it's the best way to find them. To end this."
She's right. I know she's right. But that doesn't make it easier.
I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding into her hair as I pull her closer. She responds immediately, her body melting against mine as her tongue meets mine. The taste of her, the feel of her soft curves pressed against me, temporarily pushes away the anxiety gnawing at my gut.
My other hand finds the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath the fabric to grip her bare hip. Her skin is warm and smooth under my palm, and when I squeeze, she gasps into my mouth.
"Andrey," she breathes against my lips.
I pull back just enough to look at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. "I need you."
"Then take me."
I don't need to be told twice. I strip the shirt over her head, revealing her naked body beneath. Her breasts are full and perfect, nipples already hard. My mouth finds one peak while my hand cups the other, and Mariya arches into me with a moan.
Her hands work at my clothes, pulling my shirt off and fumbling with my belt. I help her, stripping quickly until there's nothing between us. Then I'm pushing her back onto the bed, settling between her spread thighs.
She's already wet when my fingers slide through her folds, and the knowledge that she wants me this badly makes my cock throb. I work her with my hand, circling her clit while two fingers push inside her tight heat.
She gasps, her hips rocking against my hand. "I need you inside me."
I position myself at her entrance and push in with one hard thrust. She cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders as I fill her completely. The feeling of her wrapped around me, hot and perfect, makes everything else fade away.
I set a brutal pace, driving into her with deep, powerful strokes. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I can feel her inner muscles starting to flutter around me.
Suddenly she flips me on my back and rises over me, her long, blonde hair spilling down to tickle my chest. I raise an eyebrow and she grins.
"My turn to be in control," she says then slowly sinks down on my cock. The feel of her hot, inner muscles gripping me as she takes me into her body nearly has me coming undone right then and there.
She tilts her head back, bracing herself on her arms. Her silky long hair brushes against my thighs and my legs tremble in response.
Actually fucking trembles! I have to grit my teeth together to keep from coming, but it's damned difficult.
My fucking cock is throbbing like crazy, my balls full and straining.
My eyes travel down her throat to her full breasts on full display in this position. Her nipples are pink and tight and I lick my lips, wishing they were around her breasts. Her stomach is flat as she rolls her hips, grinding down on me, her clit rubbing against my pelvic area.
Holy fuck, she's exquisite. I want to take a picture of her just like this. Her face flushed, eyes closed, and a fine sheen of sweat coating her body.
She sits up suddenly and braces her hands on my chest, the rhythm she set changing, becoming faster and harder.
Reaching down, I rub her clit and her whole body shudders, then she cries out, her body clenching around my cock as waves of pleasure roll through her.
I follow moments later, burying myself deep as my release hits hard enough to make my vision blur.
We collapse together, tangled and breathless. I pull her against my chest, my hand stroking down her spine as our breathing slowly returns to normal.
We fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, the drawing of mysterious pillars forgotten on the bedside table.
The next morning, I wake with my chest tight and my jaw clenched. Today, we're setting the trap. Today, Mariya walks willingly into danger to figure out who the new family is that's causing so much trouble, and every instinct I have screams that this is wrong.
Beside me, Mariya stirs, her eyes opening slowly. When she sees my face, she smiles. "Good morning."
"Morning." I brush a strand of light hair away from her face. "You ready for this?"
"Absolutely." She sits up, stretching. My eyes drop to her chest, the way her breasts rise with the motion. My mouth waters, but I push the thoughts away before they can fully form. "I can't wait to get started."
Her excitement only makes my anxiety worse. "We should go for a run first. Clear our heads."
She turns to look at me, surprise flickering across her face. "A run?"
"You like running. So do I." I shrug, trying to appear casual even though my mind is racing. "Why haven't we done this before?"
A shadow crosses her expression, and I realize what I've said. Until recently, she was my prisoner. Running together wasn't exactly an option when she was locked in a bedroom under guard.
"Right," I mutter. "Forget I said that."
"No." She reaches for my hand, squeezing gently. "I'd like that. Let's go for a run."
We dress quickly in workout clothes and head outside. The morning air is cool against my skin as we start jogging through the estate grounds. Mariya easily keeps pace beside me, her breathing steady and controlled.
I watch her from the corner of my eye, taking in the determined set of her shoulders, the way her ponytail swings with each step. She's strong. Capable. But she's also walking into a situation where anything could go wrong.
"Stop worrying," she says without looking at me.
"I'm not worrying."
"You're a terrible liar." She glances over, her lips curving into a small smile. "I can practically hear you thinking from here."
I grunt but don't argue.
We finish the run and head back inside to shower and prepare. By the time we're dressed and ready, my men are already assembled in the main room, going over the plan one final time.
The wharf is our chosen location. It's public enough that the new bratva family shouldn't suspect a trap, but isolated enough that we can control the situation. When they take her, we'll follow using the tracking devices we've hidden in her clothes and jewelry.
Simple. Clean. Foolproof.
Except nothing ever goes according to plan.
We drive to the wharf in separate vehicles. Mariya rides with me, her hand resting on my thigh as I navigate through morning traffic. She's calm, focused, and ready. I'm the one who can't stop running through worst-case scenarios.
"It's going to be fine," she says quietly.
"You don't know that."
"You don't know that it won't." She squeezes my leg gently. "But we've prepared for everything we can think of. The rest is just execution."
I park several blocks away from the wharf in a location where I can watch without being seen. My men are positioned throughout the area, hidden but ready to move. Everything is in place.
Mariya leans over and kisses me, slow and deep. When she pulls back, her dark eyes are serious. "I'll see you soon."
"You'd better." I cup her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Be careful."
"Always."
She slips out of the car and walks toward the wharf, her stride confident and unhurried. I watch her go, my hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles go white.
Through my earpiece, I hear my men reporting her position. She's at the wharf now, standing near the water like we planned. Waiting.
Minutes tick by. Then one of my men reports movement, a black sedan approaching from the north, two men inside, and both are armed.
"That's them," I mutter into my mic. "Everyone stay in position."
The sedan pulls up near Mariya. The passenger door opens, and a man steps out. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of build that comes from years of violence. He approaches Mariya slowly, saying something I can't hear from this distance.
Mariya responds, her body language relaxed. She's playing her part perfectly.
Then everything happens fast. The man grabs her arm, pulling her toward the car. She struggles just enough to make it look real, but not enough to actually fight back. Within seconds, they have her in the backseat, and the sedan is pulling away.
"All units, follow that vehicle," I order, starting my engine. "Do not lose them."
I pull into traffic, keeping several cars between me and the sedan. My men report their positions, confirming they're also in pursuit. The tracking devices are working perfectly, showing Mariya's location on the screen mounted to my dashboard.
The sedan turns onto a side street, then another. They're heading toward the industrial district, exactly where we expected. Everything is going according to plan.
Then the signal cuts out. I stare at the screen, my pulse spiking. "What the fuck?"
"Boss, we lost the tracking signal," one of my men reports through the earpiece.
"I can see that." I slam my hand against the steering wheel. "Where's the sedan?"
"Unknown. They turned onto Warehouse Row and disappeared."
I accelerate, weaving through traffic as I head toward the last known location. My chest is tight, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache.
When I reach Warehouse Row, the street is empty. No black sedan. No sign of Mariya.
"Spread out," I order my men. "Search every building, every alley. Find that fucking car."
But even as I say it, I know the truth settling in my gut like ice.
We've lost her.