Katya.
I’m not a praying man, but in that moment, I find myself praying to a higher power. Begging for her to be safe. Hoping like hell that Dmitri heeded my warning and got her as far away as possible.
I call Sidorov. Still nothing. I’m going out of my mind, and traffic is stalled again. There’s no way in hell I’ll get anywhere near Silk unless I’m on foot.
“I’m getting out,” I tell Federico, reaching for the door handle.
He shoots me a look in the rearview. “Boss?”
“My wife is somewhere—” I point in the direction of the growing smoke, choking out my words through the bile rising up my throat “—there. I need to find her.”
Then I get out of the car, hit the sidewalk, and for the second time today, I take off at a run. I don’t give a fuck that I’m packing a pistol, that I’m wearing five-thousand-dollar Italian loafers, or that everyone around me is panicking and getting in the way. I dodge in and out of bystanders, race across a street while cars honk at me, and continue on.
Everything is a blur. It feels like an eternity passes as I run across the few blocks left to Silk. By the time the smoldering ruins of the building are in the distance, emergency responders are already cordoning off streets and redirecting traffic. I’m told by more than one person that I can’t go any farther, and I shrug them off, my only thoughts for Katya.
“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t be here,” another responder tells me. “You’re going to have to get on the other side of the perimeter.”
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” yells someone else. “It’s not safe.”
I keep running amid the choking smoke and the wails of sirens and flashing lights.
And finally, on the street corner, I see a fucking miracle.
Katya’s sitting on a stretcher by an ambulance, being evaluated by paramedics. She’salive.
“Sir! Sir! You can’t be here.”
I turn to thestronzowho’s rushing toward me, trying to keep me away from my woman. “Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s my wife over there.”
He’s taken aback by my fury, and I seize the advantage, pushing past him and reaching Katya’s side.
“Enzo!” she cries out when she sees me.
Her eyes are red-rimmed and filled with tears, and there’s soot streaking her cheeks, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight in my whole fucking life. I take her hand and lean in, kissing her.
“Cara mia!” I kiss her again, tasting the salt of her tears. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, b-but Dmitri—” she gets out, before bursting into tears.
I hate seeing her like this. But I’m so relieved she’s alive. I hold her face in my hands and kiss her again. “Everything’s going to be all right, baby. Tell me what happened.”
“Misha c-came,” she begins, “a-and Dmitri w-went back inside. Then the b-building exploded.”
Jesus. Both her brothers were in the building when the bomb went off.
I pull her against my chest.
“Sir, your wife has been injured, and we need to continue our work,” says a paramedic, her voice gentle but firm.
“Injured?” I remember Katya’s on a gurney and pull away, searching her face. “What the fuck happened, baby?”
“I twisted my ankle,” she explains. “It’s one I’ve s-sprained before.”
I glance down and find her poor ankle is swollen to twice its size, the skin mottled.
“Cazzo. We need to get you checked out.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do, sir,” the paramedic points out.
