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Luna doesn’t seem to believe my boisterous claims, but she doesn’t push the matter. “Either way, I believe we may be able to help you with your troubles back home.”
A sharp intake of air rushes through my flared nostrils. The idea of hope seems so foreign to me by now, but a little voice inside of me desperately wants to reach for the light. “How?”
Luna is leaning back against the desk in Cyrus’s office, but she stands up straight and tall at my question. She’s barely half my height, but her gaze stares directly into mine. “I believe Enzo has his hand in what’s happening in Colombia, but his involvement there is different than everywhere else. He must have gotten his hand on someone mighty powerful...” Her voice is steady and professional, but I imagine a hint of accusation laced beneath it all. It hardly even matters that I know it’s my own insecurity talking, I can’t help but bark back.
“What? A politician? A businessman? They all fear me more than they could ever fear any American...”
Luna shakes her head. “He must have gotten a hold of someone inside of your organization. Someone who has the respect and power to sway enough of your men to betray you... or someone who has enough of their fear.”
My mind races at the possibilities, but only one sticks out.
Juan...
“No, he could never...” For some reason, I’ve been imagining that those warning texts I got before leaving Colombia were from him, but if he’s been behind this all, why would he warn me like that? And who else could have sent the warnings but him? “Do you have any names?”
Luna shakes her head. “We have other information, though.”
“Like what?”
“Like where a sleepy light-skinned Colombian beauty has been spotted in the past two weeks.”
My heart nearly lunges out of my chest. My beating organ wants to strangle the nearest throat and demand answers. “Where!?”
Luna steps forward, calm and collected. She stands like a lighthouse against my crashing waves. “First stop, Paris.”
The Eiffel Tower peaks over the Parisian skyline, complimenting the already spectacular view from the top floor of an emptied out, high-end downtown restaurant.
I’m not here for the view.
A light-haired Russian named Sergei Nettov sits at his golden throne on the other end of our shared table. Quiet body-guards the size of skyscrapers flank him on either side. I wait with furious patience for the dignified Bratva boss to finish the last bits of his meal.
“What brings you to my territory?” the older ex-pat asks as his empty plate is ferried away from the table. His salt and pepper hair is styled in a Caesar cut and the lines on his face crease with every subtle movement, but he doesn’t give much away in terms of what he’s thinking.
“I’ve been informed that you allowed someone to smuggle a highly valuable package through your territory... a highly valuable package that they stole from me.”
Sergei tents his fingers and takes a deep breath. “A girl?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.
I nod.
“And she belongs to you?”
I nod again.
“I did not know this,” he mumbles, seemingly displeased.
“All is forgiven,” I assure him, holding back my fire. All is definitely not forgiven. This asshole helped men smuggle my fiancée away from me, if even only in passing; if he doesn’t help me find her soon, then I’m going to make him pay for his part in the matter, even if it takes a hundred years.
“You are having troubles back in Colombia, I hear,” the Russian points out. “Do you have a plan to regain your power?”
It’s getting harder and harder to dial back my temper. Men like Sergei can smell weakness from a mile away, and right now he’s trying to catch a good whiff of me. If I don’t appear strong enough then he’s not going to help.
“I have a plan to bury half of Colombia,” I growl, clenching my fingers into a fist.
“And the other half?”
“Whatever remains will be my empire, and it will be stronger than ever.”
Sergei leans back in his chair and seems to consider my words. It takes all of my will power not to explode. He’s judging me, and in his judgement holds my future...
