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We need to remind the entire city that she’s ours. She stands with us, not against us, and is here for them.
A queen among her people.
I let the idea settle in my gut. It’s risky to take her out into the open when she has a stalker and we can’t find Katya. The woman is a snake slithering around in the shadows, and soon enough, she’ll be ready to strike.
“Let’s take Valentina out tonight.” I study each of my right hand men to gauge their reactions. I can tell immediately that Ezra doesn’t like it; his scowl is damn near permanent these days, but Mikhail brightens, like it’s the best idea in the world.
“Yes,” he purrs, holding a hand under his chin. “Lure the bitch out.”
“I do not like it.” Ezra’s lips press into a line. “We do not know who to trust, pakhan. We could be targeted.”
“Anyone caught open firing on a pakhan and his wife out in the open will be killed on sight. If not by one of us, then by one of our loyal brothers and sisters.” I lean back in my chair and let my head fall back. “It’s suicide to come after us in public.”
“These people are not normal,” Ezra grumbles, frustration laced in every word. “They do not break.”
“Perhaps they’re from Russia?” Mikhail asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Maybe your tactics don’t work on them.”
Ezra bristles at the insult. “Their bodies have been numbed with drugs. Pain inhibitors.”
In other words, not my fault.
“Have you tried removing a finger?”
As Mikhail and Ezra discuss torture tactics, I focus in on Valentina. She’s still in the shower, steam billowing up and fogging the camera lens. I watch her for an entire minute, then another, and she doesn’t move.
Then, the image flickers, just for an instant, and I narrow my gaze. It does it again, and I count the seconds until it happens a third time.
Someone’s fucking with my video feed.
“Mikhail. Stand here and watch the cameras. Keep me on speed dial.”
My chair scrapes the floor as I jump up and bolt through the door. Both of my men jump into action, recognizing my alarm in an instant.
I leave Mikhail to the camera footage as I race through the halls.
Someone’s in my fucking house.
The click of a magazine slotting into a handgun sounds behind me, and knowing Ezra has my back helps keep me focused on Valentina.
I rush to the other end of the house and burst through my bedroom door. “Valentina?” The shower is off and the mirror has lost most of its condensation. The closet is empty, the floor is empty, the bed is empty.
“Where is she?” I storm into the hallway, and the guard who’s supposed to be posted here is missing.
Ezra is talking in rapid-fire Russian when he clicks his cell phone on speaker.
“Valentina’s still in the shower,” Mikhail confirms, unassuming in his casual response. “Why?”
“She is not here,” Ezra growls, following me down the hallway. None of the guards are on post, and when we cross into the kitchen, I skid to a halt as my shoe slides across a puddle of red. An armored bodyguard is oozing blood from a weak spot in his armor, unconscious if not already dead.
Cursing loudly, Ezra hangs up on Mikhail and calls someone else from his team. I’m not sure who; I stop listening as I pour from room to room, scanning everything in sight for a trace of Valentina.
With a roar, I spill into the backyard, startling the one guard actually present. Snarling, I shove him against the brick wall. I don’t care that he’s armed with an AK and I’m armed with my fists; he wouldn’t dare shoot his leader. “Where is Valentina?”
The guard’s shock makes him stutter. “Sh-she’s right there.” His eyes drift toward the rose gardens. “She wanted a moment alone with the Madame.”
The Madame.
I snatch the gun from his shoulders, snapping the strap in two.
