Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
The phone rang as soon as the car left Manhattan.
Unknown number.
I frowned and answered.
"Mr. Volkov? This is Rachel Levinson."
The doctor?
"What is it?"
"I'm so sorry to disturb you," she said. "Miss Collins's blood work came back, and I've been trying to reach her, but I can't get through. Protocol requires me to notify family—"
My fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"What are the results?"
A pause on the other end.
In that instant, a premonition seized me. The next second, it came true.
"Miss Collins is pregnant," Rachel said. "Based on the HCG levels, approximately six weeks."
The world stopped in that moment.
The streetscape outside, the traffic, the streetlights—everything froze into a still frame.
Pregnant.
Ella was pregnant.
"Mr. Volkov?" Rachel's voice pulled me back. "Are you still there?"
"Yes," my voice was steadier than I expected. "Thank you for letting me know. I'll tell her."
I hung up.
Immediately dialed Ella's number.
"The number you have dialed is not available—"
My heart seized.
I dialed again.
Still no answer.
Something's wrong.
Ella always kept her phone on her. She wouldn't ignore my call.
Unless...
I immediately called Porter.
It rang for a long time.
So long I thought no one would answer.
Then—
"Pakhan..."
Porter's voice.
Barely a whisper, each word sounding like it took every ounce of strength to push out.
My blood ran cold.
"Porter, what happened?"
"I'm sorry..." He coughed violently, and I could hear blood in that cough. "I couldn't protect her..."
"Where's Ella?"
"They took her," he said. "Three men, armed. I-I got knocked out, and when I came to, she was already—"
I didn't hear the rest.
Because I'd already jerked the wheel, making a U-turn at the next intersection.
The tires shrieked against the asphalt, cars behind me blaring their horns, but I didn't care.
Floored it.
The engine roared like a beast.
"Bogdan!" I hit the bluetooth.
"Yes!"
"Get back to the apartment now! Ella's been taken!"
Half a second of silence on the other end.
"Understood! I'll mobilize—"
"Now!"
I hung up, both hands gripping the wheel, fingers nearly denting the leather.
Ella.
She was pregnant.
She was carrying my child.
And now—
Now she'd been taken.
These two facts collided in my head, generating a force that nearly tore me apart.
The car tore through the streets, ran two red lights, nearly clipped a taxi.
I didn't care.
I just needed to get back to her.
Twelve minutes later, the car screeched to a stop outside the apartment building.
I didn't even kill the engine, just shoved the door open and bolted.
The lobby—
Everything looked normal.
The doorman still stood there, looking slightly startled as I burst in.
"Mr. Volkov—"
I ignored him, heading straight for the elevator.
Pressed the button.
Waited.
Every second felt like a century.
The elevator doors finally opened.
I rushed in, stabbing the close button repeatedly.
Rising.
Floor numbers jumping.
10, 15, 20...
Too slow.
Damn it, too slow!
30, 35, 40...
Finally.
Before the doors fully opened, I squeezed through sideways.
The apartment door had been kicked in violently. The frame was shattered, the lock twisted and mangled, wood splinters scattered across the floor.
My gun was already in my hand.
Safety off.
I pressed against the wall, slowly pushing the door open.
"Ella?"
Silence.
Only the wind whistling through the broken doorframe.
I slipped inside, sweeping the living room with my gun.
Total chaos.
The coffee table overturned, couch cushions scattered everywhere.
Ella's design drafts strewn across the floor, wrinkled and trampled.
Blood on the carpet.
Not much, just a few drops, already congealed into dark red.
My breathing stopped for a second.
"Porter!"
"Here, I'm here."
The voice came from the hallway, very weak.
I ran over.
Porter was slumped against the wall in the hallway, back of his head against it, a large bloodstain on his left shoulder. His face was deathly pale, forehead covered in cold sweat.
"Pakhan." He tried to stand but collapsed back down. "I'm sorry."
"Don't move," I crouched down, checking his wound—gunshot to the shoulder, bullet still inside, significant blood loss, but it had missed vital organs. "Is an ambulance on the way?"
"Bogdan already called."
"Where's Misha?"
Porter's expression changed, becoming even more pained.
"In-in the living room, she tried to protect Miss Collins..."
I shot to my feet, rushing back to the living room.
Then I saw.
Misha lay on the carpet beside the couch.
A large patch of dark red staining her golden fur.
She was on her side, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling weakly.
My legs nearly gave out.
Ten years.
I'd raised her since the day she was born.
I'd sworn no one would ever hurt her.
"Misha."
I dropped to my knees, hand gently resting on her head.
Her eyelids flickered, struggling to open a crack.
Those amber eyes looked at me, her tail trying to wag but only managing a feeble tap against the carpet.
"Hold on," I said, my voice shaking. "The ambulance is almost here."
She made an extremely soft whimper.
Then her eyes closed again.
The rise and fall of her chest grew even weaker.
"No!" My hand pressed against her chest. "Misha, open your eyes!"
Urgent footsteps sounded outside.
Bogdan burst in, two paramedics behind him.
"Pakhan."
"Save her," I said. "Whatever it takes."
The medics rushed over immediately, beginning to assess Misha's injuries.
"Head trauma, possible intracranial hemorrhage. She needs surgery now! Prepare the stretcher—"
Their voices sounded like they were underwater, muffled, distant.
I stood up, watching them lift Misha onto the stretcher.
She was so big, so heavy, but lying on that stretcher now, she looked so small, so fragile.
Just then, my phone rang again.
Viktor's number.
I took a deep breath and answered.
"My dear Seryozha," Viktor's voice came through the speaker, dripping with smug satisfaction. "I see you've figured it out."
My fingers gripped the phone so hard the veins stood out on my hand.
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere safe," he said. "Safe for now. But how long she stays safe depends on you."
"What do you want?"
"Old dock, Warehouse 3," he said. "Come alone. No backup, no police. You have one hour."
"If I see anyone extra..."
A woman's scream cut through the background, short and sharp, like someone had covered her mouth.
Ella's voice.
My sanity completely shattered in that moment.
"Viktor," my voice ground out through clenched teeth. "If she's missing a single hair—"
"Then you'd better hurry," he said coldly. "It's eight fifteen now. I want to see you by nine fifteen."
"Every minute you're late, I burn another hole in her."
The call disconnected, and I nearly crushed the phone in my hand.
"Pakhan!" Bogdan stood beside me, voice tight.
I didn't speak.
My brain went completely blank in that moment, leaving only one thought, stabbing repeatedly, frantically through my mind like a knife—
Ella.
Ella was in danger right now. They could hurt her at any moment.
"Pakhan!" Bogdan raised his voice. "You can't go—it's a trap!"
"I know."
My voice was calm.
Terrifyingly calm.
"Contact everyone," I said, biting off each word clearly. "Within ten minutes, assemble around the perimeter of the old dock. Don't enter the warehouse area, hold position outside."
"Yes!"
"Snipers?"
"Marco and Peter, both the best."
"Have them take the high ground, aim at all exits of Warehouse 3," I said, stripping off my suit jacket as I walked, revealing the bulletproof vest underneath. "Viktor's men show themselves, shoot to kill."
Bogdan followed behind me, pulling out his radio and issuing orders.
The car stopped two blocks from the dock perimeter.
I got out, retrieving a gun from the trunk—Glock 19, full magazine, safety already off.
Bogdan handed me a backup piece, which I tucked into the small of my back.
"Pakhan, you're really going in alone?"
"That's what they want to see," I said, checking the magazine. "If I bring anyone, Ella dies first."
"But—"
"Bogdan," I turned to look at him, this lieutenant who'd followed me for twelve years, his eyes now filled with worry. "Trust me."
He was silent for a second, then finally nodded.
"Yes, Pakhan."
"And," I paused, "if I—if something happens tonight, Ella Collins—protect her."
Bogdan's eyes widened slightly.
In twelve years, he'd never heard me say anything like that.
"Pakhan, I can't..."
"Promise me." I cut him off. My expression must have been something, judging by the shock on Bogdan's face.
"I promise," Bogdan finally said, voice heavy. "With my life."
I clapped his shoulder, turned, and strode toward the dock.
The night was thick.
The moon hid behind clouds, only a few dim streetlights on the dock, illuminating patches of mist.
Shipping containers stacked high like a maze, cutting the whole dock into blocks of shadow.
I moved through those shadows, my footsteps echoing on the empty ground.
Warehouse 3 was at the far end, near the river.
I could see it now—the rusty iron door half-open, a bit of dim yellow light seeping out from inside.
I stopped at the entrance.
Deep breath.
Fingers tightening on the gun.
Ella, I'm coming.
The warehouse door stood half-open, dingy yellow light seeping through the crack.
I pressed against the shadow of a shipping container, motionless.
My phone vibrated.
Viktor.
I answered without speaking.
"Seryozha," his voice was lazy, carrying that leisurely quality unique to those in power. "What are you dawdling outside for? Looking for an escape route?" He chuckled lightly. "Your father was much more decisive."
I stared toward the warehouse, saying nothing.
"Then again," he continued, "your father would never have backed himself into this corner over a woman." He paused, his tone taking on a playful edge. "Let me guess—what's your expression right now? Regret? Or heartache?"