Page 157 of Vow Of Fire

The thought was driving me slowly insane.

I shoved through the gallery doors the second Chloe buzzed me in.

The young receptionist looked up from behind her marble desk.

“Mr. Marcelli. What are you doing here?” She glanced from me to my brother and back again. “Is something wrong?”

“Where’s Vincent’s office?” I barked.

Chloe visibly flinched. “It’s halfway down the hall on the left. What’s… what’s happened?”

“Evelyn’s been taken,” Nico said, filling her in.

“Oh God. Is she…? Is she okay?”

“We don’t know.” He strode down the hall after me.

We got to Vincent’s office and Nico sat down at his desk, upon which sat a flat-screen computer. “If he accessed his bank on this machine, I’ll be able to hack it,” he said flatly.

I hoped to God he could.

Leaving him to it, I turned my attention to the binders and folders stacked on the shelves on the opposite side of the office. They were labeled according to the tax year and went back five years. As long as Vincent had been freelancing at the Agora.

I looked at a few only to find they were legitimate tax returns, supporting documentation, and printed invoices. Nothing useful.

Thumbing through the other folders, I saw it was all gallery business. Nothing to do with Vincent’s personal life and no indication whatsoever of where he might have taken Evelyn.

“I’m in,” Nico announced, reaching for the landline. “Going to call Valentina. She wants details.”

I gave a stiff nod and walked back to the main part of the gallery, where I could hear Chloe talking to a customer. When I turned the corner and stepped into the room, I saw it was Mikhail Orlov.

What the fuck was he doing here?

He clocked me at the same time and his face morphed into an expression of controlled menace. I saw his hand shift to his inside blazer pocket and guessed he was carrying a concealed weapon.

It didn’t matter. So was I.

I didn’t reach for it though, and after a beat, Orlov dropped his hand to his side.

“Marcelli. I’m here to see Evelyn. I understand she’s not currently available.” He nodded at Chloe, whose face was pale and blotchy from crying, mascara smudged beneath her frightened eyes.

“No. She’s not.” I didn’t elaborate. Orlov might be a friend of Evelyn’s, but he was nothing to me. Less than nothing.

I noticed his silver hair was disheveled, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. His dark wool coat was damp from the rain, and he had circles underneath his eyes.

The turf war was taking its toll on him too.

“How long has she been missing?” he asked.

I glared at Chloe. She swallowed and looked down at her hands.

Orlov fixed his gaze on me. “Do you know who’s taken her?”

I scowled at him. “It is none of your concern.”

“Actually, if it has to do with Los Santos Rotos, it is very much my concern.”

“It’s not them,” I said, relenting and giving him something. I didn’t need the fucking Bratva on my case over this.