Chapter 16

Dmitry

I t's been another week since I heard anything about how Victoria is responding to treatment, and something doesn't sit right with me. I'm on edge, and right now, I'm doubting every decision I've made recently with regard to my krasota . Every time I contact Harriet for an update, she's either unavailable or she rushes me off the call with excuses. I feel like she's hiding something from me. And whenever I try to dig, my father appears and reminds me I haven't got my head in the game. He's like a broken record.

I sit at my office desk in the manor, a whiskey in one hand and my phone in the other, willing it to ring so I can hear her voice. I don't even care if it's to give me shit, I just need to hear her and know that she's okay.

I place the glass on the desk and run my fingers over the condensation, remembering the last time we were in this room together and she was on her knees for me. When did it all get so fucking complicated?

There's a knock at my door, bringing my attention to the here and now. "Come in," I shout. Marshall enters nervously, apprehension radiating from him. "Take a seat," I offer, indicating to the chair opposite me.

He nods, lowering himself. After a few seconds of silence, I sigh heavily. "Spit it out, Marshall."

He leans forward in the chair. "Don't kill the messenger," he says, smiling nervously, "but I did some digging." I go to interrupt, but he continues before I have a chance. "I know you asked me to stay out of it, but something didn't feel right. Yes, Victoria is batshit crazy at times and keeps us all on our toes, but something just isn't right. Have you heard from her yet?" He says the words so quickly, my brain takes a second to process.

I run my hands over my face and through my hair. "No, not a word." I know Marshall is right, and I can't deny it any longer. Something is off, and I don't blame him for going against me and digging further. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Spill it then, Marshall. I haven't got all fucking day."

"Well, first, I went looking into her medical records, just trying to find out which hospital they transferred her to." He mimics my earlier movement, running his own hands through his hair. "Boss . . ." I can see by the worry on his face that I'm not going to like what I hear next. I brace myself. "Victoria's pregnant." He delivers the blow with a coolness only Marshall seems to have. He watches me, waiting for me to respond, but as the words play on repeat in my head, I can't seem to make my mouth move.

I suddenly slide my chair back and slam my hands on the desk. "What the fuck do you mean she's pregnant? Why the fuck did I not know?" I spin, putting my fist through the drywall. I never would have sent her away if I'd known. And now, the thought of her being alone, probably thinking I've abandoned her, makes me sick to my stomach.

"That's not all, Boss," Marshall adds, wincing when I turn to face him. "The hospital they've apparently transferred her to doesn't exist."

I clench my jaw in anger. "How is that even possible, Marshall?" I ask, my voice low and deadly.

"Harriet signed the paperwork to release her. I imagine the hospital had no reason to question it with her being Victoria's therapist," he answers. "I also discovered that your father never flew to Russia last week. He's been in the U.K. for weeks. He suggested the hospital, right?"

I nod then make my way back to my chair and lower into it. My mind races with questions, and the guilt is ripping me apart. How could I have been so fucking stupid? Why did I not do my own research into where they were taking her? She's the most important person ever to be in my life and I was stupid enough not to check where the fuck I sent her. The dots begin to connect, and I growl angrily. They've taken me for a fucking fool, and I've let them.

"The reality is, Boss, there has to be someone on the inside. You've got a mole somewhere."

I nod again. "This doesn't leave this room until we know who the fuck is involved. The only person we know for certain is Harriet. She said she's been to see Victoria and they'd been having sessions. That can't be true if she isn't actually in a hospital. She also told me Victoria has been taking her medication. There is no way she should be on Xanax while pregnant."

"So, what's the plan?"

"We visit the one person who knows where she is," I state. "Harriet usually sees her last client at seven. We'll wait until then to pay our little therapist an after-hours visit. By the time I'm finished with her, she'll be begging for me to end her."

"What if she doesn't know where she is?"

"Then she'll tell us who does. Someone put her up to signing her off to a non-existing hospital. But we're not stopping until I have Victoria back. She belongs with me. I've failed her enough recently, and I'll be damned if I let her down again. And every bastard involved will be taken out, one by fucking one. No one will be left standing."

Marshall stands to leave, and before he gets to the door, I say, "Thank you for not giving up on Victoria, and for coming to me with this. If you'd listened to me, God knows what would have happened." He offers a small smile and leaves.

He's loyal, and I know he'd give his life for her, even with me being blinkered for so long.

The Range Rover pulls to a stop outside Harriet's office just as the time flicks to seven p.m. Marshall rounds the car and opens the door for me. I smirk as I get out. It's been some time since I got my hands dirty, but this requires my personal touch, and right now, I crave the release of my inner psycho. He's been held captive for far too long.

I crack my knuckles and a surge of energy radiates through me. I will end anyone standing between me and my krasota . The earth will burn until I have her by my side again. Her and my child.

We enter, and the receptionist eyes us suspiciously. "Miss Steele isn't taking any more clients today," she informs us.

"I'm not a client," I tell her, fixing my eyes on the closed office door.

"She's expecting us," adds Marshall.

She picks up the telephone, but Marshall slams his hand over hers, offering her a cold smile. "Let's surprise her instead."

She swallows nervously, her eyes flicking back and forth between us. "Could I . . . erm, get you anything, Mr. Volkov?"

My lip lifts at one side. "No, thank you," I look down at her name badge, "Rosa. You're free to leave now." She begins to gather her coat just as Harriet's door opens. Her eyes widen in panic when they land on me, but she recovers quickly, forcing a tight smile her client's way as he proceeds to leave.

I place my arm around Rosa's shoulders, and she jumps nervously at the contact. "I was just telling Rosa here that she's free to leave now. And we were never here, right?"

Harriet offers a weak smile, locking eyes with Rosa. "Of course, get yourself home."

Rosa releases the breath she's been holding and rushes to pack her things, stepping away from me. Then she heads for the exit, looking more than relieved. "See you tomorrow, Rosa," I shout after her, then I enter Harriet's office. I'm confident Rosa will not breathe a word of my visit to anyone. After all, people around here know exactly who I am and what I'm capable of.

I take a seat on the plush couch, leaning back as Harriet enters the room. Her steps falter when Marshall stands in the doorway, his frame filling it and blocking any escape.

She takes a seat opposite me, and her eyes occasionally flit to Marshall. Her jaw is tense, and it satisfies me to know she's worried right now. "What's the matter, Dr, Steele?"

"Nothing." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I was going to call you back," she rushes to add, "but it slipped my mind."

"It's a bit late for that. I've given you plenty of opportunities to get back to me with updates and you chose to avoid me. So, I had to do my own research, and do you know what I found?" I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees while rubbing my hands together and fixing her with a stony glare. "Rumour has it that Victoria isn't where she's supposed to be." I stand abruptly, and she recoils slightly.

"Erm . . . I don't know what you mean, Mr. Volkov," she almost whispers. At every encounter I've ever had with Harriet, I've never seen her show an ounce of fear, yet right now, she oozes it in abundance. I know without a doubt that Marshall is right—Victoria is missing, and this bitch knows all about it.

"So, you didn't know that the hospital you sent Victoria to isn't actually a registered hospital?" I ask, my tone laced with suspicion. "Or that Victoria is pregnant and therefore would not be taking Xanax like you told me she was."

She shifts uncomfortably, not quite meeting my eyes. "Dmitry, I?—"

"No disrespect, Doctor, but I'm sick of your bullshit," I interrupt. "I'm here for one reason and one reason only . . . where the fuck is Victoria?"

"I just signed the paperwork," she admits.

"You have merely seconds before I get bored, so you should answer."

"I don't know," she cries desperately. I slap her hard, and she sobs uncontrollably. "Please," she begs.

"This will only get worse the more you drag it out." I take some photographs out of my breast pocket and throw them on the table in front of her. "You just decide how many of your family and friends you take with you and how painful the end will be." She looks down at the images in front of her, swallowing hard as she runs her hands over the family shot.

"I . . . I can't say, Dmitry. They'll kill me."

"Harriet, you think you're in control here? I hate to break it to you, but whether you tell me or not, you'll be leaving in a body bag. I'm simply giving you a chance to save your loved ones from the same end."

Marshall hands me some electrical tape, and I grab her wrists. She pulls away slightly, staring at me with sadness in her eyes. She silently begs me as I tape her hands together, but there's no pleading with me. She crossed a line when she helped take what's mine. "Please, Dmitry, you don't have to do this," she whispers between sobs. "I know deep down there's good inside you."

I smirk, glancing at Marshall, who does the same. "Save the therapy session, Doc. I've tried it, and it was decided I'm a lost cause. Even the devil himself can't help me." I grab a handful of her hair and twist her head to look her in the eye. "Now, are you going to tell me where she is?" I bark, and she jumps at the tone of my voice. I'm getting impatient now, and every minute this bitch wastes is another minute Victoria isn't with me.

"Dmitry . . . please . . . I can't. You have to understand."

"The only thing I understand right now is that you are the reason my wife-to-be and unborn child are missing," I snap as I remove my suit jacket, handing it to Marshall. He passes me a pair of bolt cutters from the little torture bag we brought with us.

Her eyes are full of panic, and she begins to rock from side to side in an attempt to break free, but it's no use. I'm an expert at securing my prey.

I approach her with the bolt cutters. "I'm not the one responsible," she rushes out frantically. "I'm just the middleman. I don't have details."

"Continue," I say as I place the bolt cutters on the table and remove my cufflinks, handing them to Marshall. Then, I slowly roll my shirt sleeves up to my elbow.

"I . . . erm . . . please . . ." She's hysterical now as she looks around the room like she's expecting someone to rescue her. Her eyes fall to Marshall. "Are you going to let him do this to me?" she demands, and I turn to look at him with an arched brow.

Marshall grins. "Who am I to stop his fun?"

"You're sick," she screams, tugging on her restraints.

"Yah know, I suspected you right from the start," he says, narrowing his eyes. "I think you've been in on Victoria's downfall from the beginning."

"Don't be ridiculous," she yells.

Marshall folds his arms over his chest. "I'm gonna enjoy watching you suffer for everything you've put Tori through."

I smile at her feeble attempt to get my man to save her, one of my most loyal men at that. "Now, shall we get on?" I ask, picking up the bolt cutters again. I squat, dropping to one knee and taking one of her hands in mine. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, which little finger must go?" I singsong as I tap each finger with the cutters.

She thrashes her head from side to side, her eyes wide with fear. I steady her hand by placing mine over the top. Then, using the bolt cutters to grip her fingernail, I rip it from the bed in one swift movement.

She screams in pain, and Marshall throws me a rag which I stuff in her mouth. I move on to the next without giving her a chance to speak. Her muffled screams fill the room, and a satisfied smile crosses my face.

I look over to Marshall casually. "I thought she'd have a better pain threshold," I say nonchalantly, shrugging. "I think we'll try a couple from this side," I add as I make my way to the other hand. I repeat the same, ignoring her cries of distress.

I stand graciously, moving my neck side to side as the tension eases from my shoulders. I pull the rag from her mouth. "Ready to talk?" I ask, leaning against the table in front of her.

Tears roll down her face, mixing with the sweat covering her cheeks and upper lip.

"Please," she wails, and I can tell she's not ready to break.

I sigh heavily and stuff the gag back in her mouth. "Wrong answer." Muffled words come from behind the cloth. "Sorry, what was that? I can't hear you." I grin. "Marshall, can you make out what she's trying to say?"

"No, Boss. Personally, I think she wants to lose a couple more nails."

"You heard the man," I say with a shrug.

I continue to remove all her nails one by one, each scream offering a little more satisfaction. I'm glad she hasn't offered the information so easily. Where would the fun in that be?

I place the bolt cutters on the floor beside me. Removing the rag again, I watch as her eyes roll into her head. I sigh and give her a sharp slap to the face, bringing her attention back to me.

"You aren't giving out on me that easily. Where is she?"

Her breathing is erratic, and her head lolls forward like she's about to pass out completely. "Her file is in my top drawer. She's being held at a residential address," she murmurs breathlessly.

"Who has her?" I bark, and she lifts her eyes to look at me, shaking her head desperately.

I lift the pictures off the desk. There's one of a young girl barely even eighteen.

"I wonder if she will last as long as you?" I ask, turning and showing her the picture. Her eyes widen and she sobs harder, her entire body shaking. "I could introduce her to my dungeon," I add as an afterthought. "Did Victoria tell you about my dungeon?" I whisper close to her ear.

"Your father and Vivian," she screams, dropping her head to her chest. "Please, just let me go."

I stiffen at hearing my fears confirmed. "Sorry, Harriet, I hate to do this after you've been so . . . accommodating, but I can't have any loose ends." She cries out, her chest heaving with each loud sob. "Actually, scrap that, I'm going to find great pleasure in watching you take your last breath."

Marshall looks up from the folder he found in Harriet's drawer and nods, indicating he's got the location. Relief fills me.

I go over to the bag and pull out an Army blade. I stand before her, pulling her head back so we have eye contact. Hers are full of panic while mine are excited because I want to see the life drain from her and know I am responsible for her death.

As I raise the knife, the glint catches her attention and her eyes widen. She tries to scream, but it's no use. I take the blade and slice carefully along her carotid artery. The blood spirts out of her neck, and her eyes widen farther as she splutters, trying desperately to cling to life.

The crimson fluid soaks through her white shirt, and the metallic odour I love so much fills the air. I let her head drop forward as she takes a final gargled breath, and I stare for a few moments, satisfied that I'm a step closer to saving my krasota .

I wipe the blade on her pencil skirt and drop it into the bag. Grabbing my jacket off the back of the couch, I pull it on and button it up to cover the splatter that adorns my own shirt.

"Call the cleanup crew, Marshall," I order, my tone back to business, as I go to the small bathroom to wash my hands.

"Already on it, Boss," he replies.