Chapter Thirty-One Vladimir
I expected the house to be calm.
That was my first mistake.
Dominic and I stepped through the front doors of Alexandr’s estate with the precision of men on a schedule.
Theater nights ran on rigid timing—Anya needed to be seated, settled, and focused.
I already had the route mapped in my head, the traffic patterns accounted for.
Everything was supposed to move cleanly from here.
Instead, chaos hit us like a physical force.
Rurik stood in the center of the main hall, barking orders in Russian, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. Two members of the household staff hurried past us, faces pale, eyes darting. Another guard emerged from the corridor that led toward the private wing, shaking his head.
“Still nothing,” he said.
Nothing was a dangerous word in this house.
Rurik noticed us then and strode over, his jaw tight. “We have a problem.”
“I can see that,” I replied, my gaze sweeping the room. “What’s going on?”
“Nadia is missing.”
That stopped me cold.
Missing did not happen here—not without blood, not without alarms screaming. Alexandr’s household ran like a military installation. People didn’t simply disappear.
“How long?” Dominic asked.
“Since this afternoon,” Rurik said. “She was supposed to prepare Alexandr’s dinner before she got ready to leave for the theater.
Several of us are attending Anya’s performance.
However, when Alexandr went looking for her, he couldn’t find her.
I tried her room, thinking she had forgotten Alexandr and in her excitement about getting ready, but she wasn’t there either.
We’ve searched the house and can’t find her. ”
My eyes narrowed. Nadia wasn’t just staff. She was loyal, meticulous, the kind of woman who checked locks twice and schedules three times. If she vanished, something had gone wrong.
“And Alexandr?” I asked.
“In his office,” Rurik said. “He’s questioning everyone.”
Of course he was.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my thoughts into order. “You said dinner?”
Rurik nodded. “She was going to make a small meal for Alexandr while those of us going to the performance planned on going out to eat before heading to the theater.”
My chest tightened. “Where is Anya?”
Rurik hesitated. It was subtle—but I caught it.
He glanced toward the door, where Anya’s bag should have been waiting. The space was empty.
“It appears,” he said carefully, “that she already left.”
The words landed wrong. Anya didn’t leave without telling someone. Not now. Not with everything that had happened.
I took two steps forward, scanning the entryway as if the bag might materialize if I stared hard enough. Nothing.
“She wouldn’t leave alone,” I said.
“Who could have taken her?” Dominic asks.
I glance around the room. “Where’s Igor?” The name settled heavily in my gut.
“I haven’t seen him,” Rurik says. “Do you think he took her to the theater?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said, though dread was already curling in my stomach. “But I don’t like this.”
As if summoned by the thought, my phone vibrated in my hand.
Alexi.
I answered immediately. “Talk to me.”
His voice came fast, clipped. “I saw Anya.”
Every muscle in my body went rigid. “Where?”
“She was a few blocks from the theater. She was in a car with Igor.”
The world narrowed to a single, lethal point. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Why is Anya with him? I thought you were going to take her to the theater.”
“I was. Something came up, and we had to leave. When we came back, we found everyone searching for Nadia. That’s when we learned Anya was no longer here.”
A thousand calculations fired at once. Igor. Nadia missing. Anya gone without notice.
This wasn’t a coincidence. This was a pattern.
“Do you still see them?”
“No, I passed them while going in the opposite direction. I’ll try to find them.”
I ended the call and turned to Dominic. He’d heard enough from my tone alone.
“This is connected,” I said. “Nadia doesn’t disappear on her own. And Igor doesn’t suddenly chauffeur Anya without permission.”
Dominic’s jaw flexed. “Want me to put eyes on the road?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We need answers first.”
I turned toward Alexandr’s office. Rurik fell into step beside me without being asked.
Inside, Alexandr stood behind his desk, hands braced against the polished wood, his expression carved from stone. He looked up as we entered, his eyes immediately sharpening.
“You’ve heard,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “And I just received a call that puts Anya with Igor.”
That got his attention. “Igor?”
“Igor knew I was going to take Anya to the theater. He knew I would guard her. Why would he disobey your orders and take Anya himself?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nadia was supposed to tell Anya that I was taking her to the theater. Now Nadia is missing along with Anya.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Alexandr’s control cracked—just a fraction. His fingers curled into fists.
Which meant she’d been taken—or lured.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Tell me about Igor.”
Alexandr’s gaze locked onto mine, weighing something heavy.
“You need to understand,” he said slowly, “Igor didn’t come from nothing.”
“I’m listening.”
Alexandr straightened, his voice turning distant. “His father was one of my most trusted lieutenants. A man who stood between me and death more than once. He died protecting me.”
The shout came from the west wing.
I was already moving before the words fully registered, boots striking marble as a maid stumbled into the hall, her face white with shock.
“They found her,” she said breathlessly. “Nadia—she’s alive.”
Alexandr and I reached the guest bathroom within seconds. The door stood open now, the lock shattered. Nadia sat on the toilet lid, wrapped in a robe someone had given her. Her hands trembled violently.
My chest tightened.
Dark bruising ringed her neck—angry fingerprints already blooming beneath her skin.
“Nadia,” Alexandr said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Who did this?”
She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking to me before settling back on him. “Igor.”
The name hit like a gunshot.
“He stopped me on the stairs,” she continued, her voice shaking. “He said that Mr. Zoloth would be staying with us, so he instructed me to make up the room. When I stepped into the room, someone grabbed me from behind. I couldn’t breathe, so that I couldn’t scream. Then everything went dark.”
Rage surged hot and sharp, threatening the discipline I’d spent years mastering. Igor had planned this. Carefully. Efficiently.
“I am so sorry,” Alexandr said, placing a steadying hand on Nadia’s shoulder.
I didn’t look away from the bruises on her neck. I couldn’t.
“He took Anya,” I said flatly.
I turned slowly to Alexandr, every muscle in my body coiled tight, lethal intent burning behind my eyes.
“Give me Igor’s address,” I said.
The city blurred past as Dominic drove, the engine low and aggressive beneath us.
My phone was already in my hand, thumb pressing Alexi’s number as my thoughts ran several moves ahead.
Igor’s apartment sat in an older concrete block near the docks—cheap rent, good sightlines, too many exits—a place chosen by someone who planned for contingencies.
Alexi answered on the second ring. “Tell me you found her.”
“Not yet,” I said. “But we found Nadia. Igor attacked her. Put her in a chokehold.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Then it’s him.”
“You’re certain?” I asked.
“Yes,” Alexi said immediately. “Vladimir—there’s something I never told you. Before I met with Oleg, Pavel, and Artem… Igor brought me tea. Said it was from my father’s kitchen. I remember thinking it tasted strange.”
Cold settled in my veins.
“You think he drugged you.”
“I know he did,” Alexi said. “Everything after that was fractured. I was sluggish. Slow. It would explain how they took me so easily.”
Dominic shot me a glance, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel.
“There’s more,” Alexi continued. “Igor has military connections. Cousins. Friends. A few of them are still in active duty. He used to brag—said knowing soldiers was more valuable than knowing politicians.”
That fits too well. Logistics. Muscle. Access.
“He may not be acting alone,” Alexi said quietly.
“He is tonight,” I replied. “And that’s enough.”
“I’m close,” Alexi said. “I’ll meet you there.”
We arrived minutes later, the building looming like a concrete coffin against the darkening sky. Alexi’s car pulled in just behind us. He stepped out, his expression carved from controlled fury.
No more words were needed.
The stairwell smelled of damp concrete and old smoke. Our footsteps echoed as we climbed, each level tightening the coil in my chest. Third floor. End unit. Igor’s door stood closed, unremarkable, as if nothing monstrous waited behind it.
I raised my hand to signal silence.
That was when we heard it.
A scream—sharp, terrified, unmistakably Anya’s.
The sound tore through me, obliterating thought, restraint, everything but the single, violent certainty that we were already too late—or just in time.
Anya screamed again.