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There’s silence on the other end of the line for a beat. I glance at the screen to make sure we’re still connected.
“This is Bratva business, but I’d say it concerns you too at this point.” Maks sounds hesitantly. “Everyone’s been called in and reassigned. There’s a big meeting at The Pit later today. Basically, Dimitri’s not Pakhan anymore, and some guy named Igor has taken charge.” Another moment of silence, then, “Word is that he’s second in command to Konstantin.”
I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I’m forced to ask, “Who’s Konstantin? Did he take Dimitri?”
“Yeah. At least I’m pretty damn sure he did. Konstantin is Dimitri’s father.”
“But his father’s dead.” My head is beginning to pound.
“That’s what I thought too. Until this morning and I get a call from one of my men who says he saw that fucker with his own eyes last night. I don’t know what his father wants with him, or where they took him, but it can’t be good. You keep your head down. I can’t protect you right now, but your family can. Go to them.”
“They’re already here. I left the club last night with Sophia, Roman, and Blake when you two didn’t show up. And there’s one more thing.” I lick my dry lips. “Dimitri left me a copy of the divorce papers. Signed. They’ve already been filed.”
“Bullshit. He didn’t do any such thing.” An engine starts wherever Maks is at. “They want you out of his life. I don’t know why, but for now that’s a good thing.”
Relief hits me so hard that I sink into a chair. “They want us divorced?”
“That seems pretty clear. Since they didn’t just kill you, they also don’t want to piss off your family. So you’re safe for now, but that could change at any time.”
“Okay. I?—”
“We’ve located him.” Blake and Roman walk into the kitchen, both sweaty from their workout.
“Hold on a minute,” I tell Maks before giving Blake my full attention. “Where?”
Blake’s thumbing through his phone. “My source tracked him to Moscow, Russia. A private plane left last night with eight Russians onboard, one of them unconscious. One of the men on the fuel crew recognized Dimitri as the owner of Riot, where he apparently spends a lot of his free time.”
Maks’s voice comes through the phone. “They took him to Moscow? I guess that explains why this Igor guy was left in charge here.”
“What do we do now?” I ask Blake.
“Go to Moscow. Obviously. If you want to rescue your Prince Charming.” Blake shrugs. “Or you could leave him to his fate. It’s your call.”
I shake my head. “No. We’re going after him. We need to book a flight, but I don’t think you can get a direct flight from here to Russia.”
Blake sneers. “Who said anything about flying commercial? We’ll take my jet.”
Right. Of course he has a private jet.
“Then let’s go.” I speak to Maks, letting him know what’s going on. “Are you coming with us?”
“I want to, but I can’t.” He quietly curses to himself. “Get Dimitri and bring him home. If I go with you, then the brotherhood will be gone by the time we return. I’m going to find each and every traitorous motherfucker here and wipe them the fuck out. Tell Dimitri there are still men loyal to him.”
“I will.”
It’s a long flight to Moscow, but Blake Baron’s jet is amazingly comfortable with every top of the line amenity a person could want. The inside is enormous. The main cabin’s set up like a living room with swivel recliners, and a sofa in front of a flat screen television. In the back are two private suites with king beds and their own bathrooms.
Sophia and Roman claimed one suite for themselves and have hidden away in there for most of the flight. Leaving me with the broody billionaire who’s been working on his laptop the entire time. Does this man ever sleep?
My sister insisted on coming for moral support. Her husband told me it’s his job to protect the Pontrelli girls, so he has to come along. Not to mention the fact that he’d never let his wife go anywhere potentially dangerous without him. As to why Blake is doing this, I have no idea. Roman insists that he didn’t pressure him into it.
Finally, I decide to get that answer myself.
“Mr. Baron—” I start.
“At this point call me Blake,” he drawls, not looking up from his laptop.
“Blake, thank you for doing all of this, it means the world to me.”
