Page 84 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

Aircraft hangar? The distraction Leonid mentioned must’ve been making a getaway.

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“She can tell you herself.”

Connor passes the phone to Tamara because the call goes deathly quiet, and I wonder if she cut me off.

Then, she whispers, “They threw Ivana overboard.”

“Fuck!” I wish I was there to hold her, but a hug isn’t what she needs from me right now. “Where? Did you get a location?”

“No.”

“We’ll find her.”

“Finn…” The line goes quiet again. “She can’t die out there.”

“I won’t let that happen, sweetheart.” I know I’m making a promise I might not be able to fulfill, but if it gives her hope… “Leonid will find her. We’ll⁠—”

“You’re with Leonid?”

It’s difficult to tell if it’s panic I can hear in her voice or relief. For the purposes of this call, I’m going with relief.

“We’re on our way to the port.”

The silence drags out. Then, “Don’t touch him. The asshole who fed my sister to the sharks is mine.” She ends the call.

“What do you know about Ivana?” I ask the Ivanov brothers.

“The Petrovs have her.” This comes from Andrej. “That’s all we’ve been able to determine.”

Not even fucking close.

“According to the distraction, she’s now somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.”

Andrej whips his phone out of his pocket, locates the number he’s looking for, his expression never faltering, and hisses something in Russian into the handset when the person at the other end picks up.

He’s angry. I don’t speak Russian, but I’m fluent in mafia-speak, and this guy is fucking raging.

“My man is retracing the movements of the ship approaching the harbor now.” He stares out of the passenger window, while Leonid keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

It’s the cold that will claim Ivana. She might already be dead in the time it has taken the ship to cross the ocean and the St. Lawrence Seaway into Chicago, and the chances of ever finding her body will be little better than zero. I’ll respect Tamara’s wishes and leave the asshole for her. But no revenge will ever erase the images in her head of her sister hitting that cold water knowing that she was going to die before anyone else discovered what had happened.

The port is eerily silent when we arrive.

I guess this is Leonid’s doing when no one questions us driving onto the quayside with the headlamps killed. No one is waiting to check in the ship silently gliding into the harbor. No onward transport is lined up ready to go.

“Is there a plan?” I ask when Leonid kills the engine and no one moves.

“We wait for Tamara,” the Pakhan replies.

23

TAMARA

Finn is waiting at the quayside with Leonid and Andrej when we navigate the harbor in the darkness on foot. There are no lights. No people bustling about. The only sound breaking the silence is the water lapping the harbor wall and the sides of the ships currently moored up.

I recognize the Russian ship immediately from the faint silver glow the moon casts over the water. Or perhaps it has a presence buried deep in my consciousness that I’ll never be able to shift, like an unforgettable bad smell or a voice that triggers a traumatic experience.