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And she had to get over him. For Olivia. For herself.
She turned down the alley behind Roasted and started for the back door, trying not to think about her first official meeting with Roman on the day he’d intervened between her and Adam in that very spot.
The sooner she forgot about him the better.
She ignored the voice in her head that said it was impossible. It had to be possible because she had no other choice, for more reasons than one.
She was about halfway down the alley when she started digging in her purse for her keys, knowing she’d need them to open the supply room door.
Which was probably why she didn’t notice the SUV parked against the building opposite Roasted and half-hidden by a dumpster.
By the time she noticed it, the doors were opening, two big men in jeans and leather jackets coming toward her.
She spent about a second telling herself they were just people, that anyone would look ominous walking in an alley.
Then her brain registered that they were looking right at her, their steps quick and purposeful, one of them carrying a black piece of fabric in his hand.
She ran for the door to the supply room, her keys in her hand, adrenaline surging through her body.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
She’d just reached the door, was raising the keys to the lock with shaking fingers, when one of the men grabbed her from behind.
A guttural scream sounded from her throat in the moment before a strong hand came around her mouth.
One of the men grunted angrily, then said something to the other man.
In Russian.
He slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth, silencing her screams. They pulled something over her head, and everything faded, light barely visible through the fabric.
She kicked and flailed, trying to loosen the iron grip on her arms, but a moment later she felt a sting in her neck and her brain barely had time to register the fact that she was being drugged — being taken from Olivia — before she started to lose consciousness.
The last thing she registered was her keys, slipping from her hand.
37
ROMAN
“You know I respect you right?” Max said from the driver’s seat of the Jag.
“Just say it,” Roman said, staring out at the streets of Harlem as they made their way to Ruby’s apartment.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Max said. “Not now.”
“We’ve taken precautions,” Roman said, referring to the two men from Chicago tailing them to Ruby’s apartment.
Max shook his head. “It’s not enough. You shouldn’t even be in the city.”
They’d had this discussion before.
Max, insisting that Roman should hole up outside the city while Max and the other men attacked Igor’s remaining business interests in an attempt to get him to step down.
Roman, insisting that he would stay and fight alongside the men, that he wouldn’t lock himself in an ivory tower as his father had done, leaving the dirty dangerous work to his men.
“This won’t take long,” Roman said. He changed the subject. “Any word on Gavrilov?”
Debis Gavrilov was one of his father’s most important — and volatile — brigadiers. Roman’s takeover would be easier if he had the man on his side.
