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ADRIK
When I pull up to the warehouse, Stefan is standing outside.
After his call this morning, I expected a fight. Smoke, bodies, wreckage. Another full scale attempt to cripple the Tasarov Bratva.
But aside from a single shattered window and a small triage area off to the side where Toma is sewing up a grazing bullet wound, there isn’t much to see. Part of me is wondering if this isn’t some strange joke.
Still, I unholster my gun and step out of the car. Stefan heads my way.
“What the hell is going on?” I growl.
He shakes his head. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The call I got was that we were under attack. I assumed it was Yasha or the Volandris. But now, I’m hearing this might have been a random drive-by.”
“A local gang or drug runners or something?”
“That’s my best guess,” Stefan says. “The Volandris wouldn’t waste their time with petty shit like this.”
I stand back and look up at the warehouse. It’s a three-story building. The main level is a front. A few of my men operate a legit delivery and moving service in case the authorities ever come to investigate. An easy way to justify the cargo coming in and out, as well as the trucks.
We need that cover because, in the back half of the building, we have a sprawling storehouse of weapons and ammunition. All kinds of things that the Volandris or any other crime syndicate in the city would love to get their hands on.
And yet, it’s all entirely untouched.
“Has the whole place been swept?” I ask. “Bombs, cameras, have we looked for that kind of shit?”
Maybe we should evacuate the area. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what whoever did this wants. For the warehouse to be unguarded and my men left dawdling out in the open. Easy pickings. Sitting ducks.
“I have men looking into it now,” Stefan says. “Up on the roof. So far, they haven’t found jack-shit. I’m not sure they will. Because this feels more like a distraction than an actual attack.”
Stefan’s words reverberate in my mind, growing clearer and clearer with each repetition.
Distraction. Distraction.
“A distraction,” I mutter.
Stefan leans in. “What?”
“A distraction,” I repeat, even more certain. “This was a… This is a distraction. Goddammit! It’s a fucking distraction.”
I turn and run towards my car, and I can hear Stefan chasing after me, gravel scattering under his feet. “A distraction for what? Should we evacuate?”
“They don’t want the weapons,” I snarl. “They want her.”
* * *
God, I hate driving in this city.
Endless traffic. Too many people lingering too damn long in crosswalks. Lights flashing, horns blaring, construction, protests.
I want to crash through every obstacle in my way. I want to burn this city down so I can pluck my family safely from the carnage.
But I have security on them,I keep telling myself. I have armed guards watching the building, a car full of them following Isabella and Emery everywhere they go. And I haven’t been gone long. They’re probably still in the penthouse.
But none of these thoughts ease the gnawing certainty in my gut.
By the time I’m in the neighborhood of the penthouse, I feel like hours have passed, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. I’ve been calling Emery repeatedly, redialing her number the second the call goes to voicemail. She still isn’t answering.
“Call me back,” I spit into the phone. “And get back to the penthouse as soon as you can.”
I’ve already called the front desk of the apartment building, but they weren’t any help. “I’m sorry, sir, but no one has seen anything,” the woman at the front desk told me. “If you’re worried about anyone’s health or safety, we can call the police to perform a wellness check.”
I declined, for obvious reasons. The last thing I need is cops on top of all the other shit I have to deal with.
Finally, I’m within a few blocks of the building, inching my way through busy midday traffic, when I look over and see a dog barking on the sidewalk.
It takes me a second to place Travis because I’m not expecting to see him. But as soon as I do, I swerve over to the curb, cutting off an angry pick-up truck behind me, and leap out of the car.
“Travis?” I call, even though I’m close enough to recognize the words “Service Dog” embroidered around his bright orange collar.
Alarm bells are going off in my head, but I try to quiet them. Calm. Precise. Those are the qualities of a don. Panic only gets you killed.
I call the dog’s name again. He lunges towards me, but he can’t go any further. That’s when I realize he’s still on his leash. And the other end of his leash is tangled in the bushes behind him.
I follow the line of the leash until I see a familiar wheel sticking out of the foliage. The rims are painted a bright, neon pink.
“Isabella?” I spring to the bush, fighting my way through the foliage to get to the wheelchair. It all happens so fast that I don’t have any time to consider what I’ll find.
Or what I won’t.
Twigs and branches scrape over my skin and tear at my shirt before I finally make it to the other side of the hedge. Before I finally make it to Isabella.
The little girl is hunched down in her chair and shaking. But alive. Thank fucking God, she’s alive.
I sigh with relief, exhaling tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying. “Isabella, what happened? Are you okay?”
She is shivering even though it’s a warm day. Her face is pale, slicked with cold sweat.
“You’re in shock,” I note, smoothing her hair away from her face the way I’ve seen Emery do so many times. “Where’s your mother?”
Isabella looks up at me, her blue eyes wide and eerily familiar. I see Yasha at her age, my little brother before he became the monster he is now.
“Where is your mother?” I repeat, squeezing her shoulders.
Isabella shakes her head. “I—I don’t know. She told me to go. So I did.”
“Why did she tell you to go?”
“Because the woman was there and she hit Mama. We were supposed to get Pop-Tarts, but then she hit Mama and, and, and… I didn’t know where to go.”
“A woman? What woman?”
Tears are brimming in her eyes. I can see her teetering on the edge of panic, so I kneel down in front of her and take her hands in mine.
“Breathe,” I tell her, inhaling and exhaling with her. “You’re doing great. You did exactly what your Mama told you to, didn’t you? You got away. You’re smart and you’re brave. You’re a good girl, Isabella.”
My heart wants to rip itself in half, thinking of Emery crying out for Isabella to get away. Whatever she was going through, she was trying to protect Isabella.
Now, I have to protect her.
“Is Travis okay?” Isabella asks fearfully. “He kept barking and barking.”
The dog was frantic when I pulled up, but he has relaxed now. He’s back at Isabella’s side, looking up at me as if awaiting further instructions.
I reach down and pat his head. “He’s okay. He was doing his job. He knew you needed help, so he barked and got my attention. He’s a good boy.”
“Good boy,” Isabella mumbles. The dog turns and rests his snout in her lap.
I want to shake information out of Isabella. Time is of the essence. I need to know who has Emery. Where they’re taking her. What they’re planning to do to her.
But she’s only six. I can’t push her too hard or she’ll break. The questions will have to wait.
I load Isabella and Travis into my car and fly back to the penthouse. On the way, I call Stefan and tell him what happened.
“Emery is gone?” he asks in disbelief.
“So it would seem.”
“What happened to her?”
