9. Mikhail

"Please," the night manager whimpers from where he's cowering behind his desk. "I just hand out the keys. I don't know anything about who the guests are. I don't monitor who they invite or who comes and goes. I don't have any clue what is going on with?—"

I cock the gun already pointed at his face. "Shut up. I can't hear what they're saying."

The figures moving around on the screen in front of me are fuzzy around the edges. The security system has to be a decade old, at least. There's no audio, but I lean forward anyway. I want to crawl through the screen and be in that moment.

Like I should have been the first time.

"There is no sound," the manager points out. But the words cut off in another desperate whine when I jab the gun in his direction.

The footage is an eerie mirror image of the video my father showed me. Instead of Viviana standing on Trofim's doorstep, I'm watching my older brother knock on Viviana's hotel room door.

It was easy enough to trace her movements from the mansion to the pharmacy. Then from the pharmacy to the cheapest motel in a five-mile radius. The night manager feigned "guest privacy" for all of three seconds before I pulled out my gun and he logged into the security footage like his life depended on it. Which it did.

"When was this taken?" I growl.

"The timestamp in the corner is wrong," the manager says.

"No fucking kidding. It's not December 31, 1999?" Raoul slaps him in the back of the head. "Tell us something we don't already know."

The manager is innocent of everything except being an idiot. The only way to get clear answers out of him is through threat of violence. So I kneel down in front of him, the muzzle tucked under his second chin.

"How long did the woman stay here?" I ask clearly. "And when did this man knock on her door?"

He closes his eyes and blows out a shuddering breath. "An hour, maybe?"

"An hour? She was only here for an hour?"

He shrugs. "I think. It could have been less."

"So this footage—" I jab my finger at the screen on the desk. "—is from the first night she arrived? Four days ago?"

"I think it was four days. I'm not—She checked in a few nights ago. She was quiet and kept her head down. I didn't pay much attention to her. I was more focused on the room next to her. Men were coming and going from that room all night and the police have been on us about cracking down on prostitution."

"The point," I bark. "Get to the fucking point."

"I was distracted and I didn't see this guy show up," he scrambles to explain. "When she walked out of this room with her key, it was the last time I saw her. The maid went in the next morning and her stuff was still there, but she was gone."

I turn back to the screen, watching as Trofim carries Viviana's limp body through the door and down the cracked sidewalk to his car.

"He knew where she was," Raoul whispers, saying exactly what I'm thinking.

If Trofim was here within the hour, then someone must have told him where Viviana was staying.

Now, I need to know who.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, my phone rings. I pick up and Anatoly is already mid-sentence. "—there now. Get there right fucking now!"

"Get where? What are you?—"

"Trofim was spotted thirty minutes ago at a bar the Giordanos own. Agostino was with him. He and Agostino were sitting at the same booth. They're working together." He's talking fast, squeezing as much information as he can into every second. "You need to get there now. If you find them, I guarantee you'll find Viv."

Viviana's father is here in the city and there's no way it's a coincidence.

Viviana's father is working with my brother. He helped Trofim kidnap his own daughter.

Before I can stop myself, I send my fist through the poor night manager's monitor. The screen cracks. The edges flicker with life, but the center is a large, black hole of jagged glass.

"Ah, man," he mutters miserably.

All I can focus on is the rush of blood in my ears.

The only reason Viviana was in this shitty hotel for Trofim to take in the first place is because I kicked her out. I sent her out to fend for herself and she was snatched within an hour.

Now, he's had her for days.

"What's happening on your end?" Anatoly asks. "Tell me where to meet you and I'll?—"

"Stay with Dante," I order. "Raoul and I will take this."

"I'm always the babysitter," he mumbles.

"There isn't time to get back to the mansion. He's had her for days, Nat. Days."

Anatoly curses under his breath. "I know. You need to get to her."

"And I need to know Dante is safe. You're the only person I trust to take care of him. If anyone comes into the house, shoot first and ask questions later."

"You know I'll protect him with my life. Now, go get Viv."

Raoul is at my elbow the second we hang up.

"You heard everything?"

"Agostino and Trofim are working together," he confirms with a nod. "It makes sense. If Agostino is in the city, there's a good reason. He would have been on Viviana the second she stepped foot off of your property. If Trofim found her within an hour, we know who to blame."

"That means we also know who to kill first," I grit out.

Because I will kill Agostino Giordano. Not just for betraying his daughter and handing her to Trofim. No, mostly I want to kill him for thinking he has any claim whatsoever on my wife.

No one touches what's mine.

We fly across the city, but the bar is closed when we get there. Not surprising given it's well after three in the morning. Raoul starts to slow down, but I gesture for him to keep driving. "We're going to pay Agostino a house visit."

It's risky. This kind of operation would usually be in the works for days, if not weeks. But we don't have that kind of time.

We might already be too late.

I'm not going to waste another minute planning or plotting. If Viviana is in her father's penthouse, I'm going to rip the walls down and get her out.

Thankfully, I don't need to explain any of this to Raoul. He already understands.

He slams on the gas and drives headfirst into danger without a single hesitation.

Agostino doesn't own the building his penthouse is in, which is his second mistake. The first mistake, of course, being crossing me to begin with.

The after-hours guards on duty in the underground garage are equipped to hand out parking violations and scare away graffiti artists. The young kid walking around the corner with a nightstick on his belt barely even looks up from whatever video he's watching on his phone when I approach him.

"Take a walk," I snarl.

The twenty-something jolts. Fumbling with his phone and making sure it doesn't end up shattered on the pavement is his main concern until he looks into the barrel of my gun.

His mouth falls open, but I speak before he can. "Take a walk and don't come back within thirty minutes unless you want your brains painted on the walls."

The kid swallows and nods dumbly. It's not hard to tell he isn't a threat. He's not making enough money to lose his life standing up to me. I swipe the keys from his belt before he scurries away silently.

Once inside, I turn every corner expecting guards or security. There's nothing. Just an exhausted doorman next to the elevator. Raoul knocks him out and we use his universal elevator key to make our way to Giordano's penthouse.

"That was easy," Raoul remarks as the floors pass one by one.

He's right, but I hear what he's not saying.

If Viviana is here, there should be more security.

I shove the thought away and focus on the next right step. Right now, that's getting to Agostino.

The elevator doors open with a quiet mechanical whirr, but there's no bell to announce our arrival. No telltale chime. Maybe that's why no one comes rushing out from the hallway to the right to demand to know what we're doing here.

Or maybe no one is home.

The lights are off. Raoul and I make our way through the entryway and across the living room using nothing but the ambient light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The apartment is chic and modern—all sharp edges, shades of gray, and exposed concrete. His penthouse is a midlife crisis if I've ever seen one.

I try to imagine Dante's dinosaur night light plugged into the sockets or Viviana's books stacked on the pristine coffee table. I try to imagine her and Dante living here, part of the Giordano family, but it's all wrong.

Because she doesn't belong here. She never did.

The clock in the sitting room says it's almost five. Raoul and I have spent hours darting all over the city looking for her.

We're wasting time.

"Agostino!" I yell.

My voice echoes off the concrete walls as Raoul lunges for me.

"What in the hell are you thinking?" he hisses, dragging me back. "You're giving us up."

I shake him off. "I'm not wasting anymore time." I tear down the hallway, kicking in doors as I go. "Where is she, Agostino? Tell me where Viviana is!"

The house is eerily silent, but I know he's here. I can feel it.

I approach the door at the end of the hall, gun raised. "Open up or I'm shooting down the door."

"We don't even know if he's in there," Raoul argues quietly. "People will hear you blasting away in here. We can't find Viviana from jail."

Raoul has clearly reached his quota of flying by the seat of our pants. But for the first time in days, I feel perfectly at ease.

"Three!" I yell, cocking the gun. "Two! One?—"

The lock turns and the door cracks open. Agostino slides his empty hands through the door first, palms up. "Quite the wake-up call, Mikhail. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He's wearing a rumpled button-down shirt and dress pants. His eyes are rimmed in shadows. I haven't seen him in a few years, but he looks older. Worn.

He also looks like Viviana.

They have the same angular chin and turned-up nose. The same blood running in their veins.

This man watched Viviana grow up from a baby into the woman she is today, yet he tossed her to the wolves at every opportunity.

Before I can stop myself, I toss my gun to the floor and lunge for Agostino Giordano's throat.

As soon as my fist connects with his face, I regret every punch I wasted in the gym. Hitting Agostino feels so much better than any punching bag ever has.

Blood and spit flies. Agostino throws up his arms to shield himself, but he's spent too many years behind a wall of guards. He inherited his position from his father and, when the going got tough, he used his daughter as a bartering chip. Agostino hasn't forgotten how to fight; he just never learned in the first place.

"Please," he begs between blows.

I don't let up. I don't slow down.

I can't.

Not while Viviana is still in danger because of him.

"You're a piece of shit." I kick him in the ribs and feel something inside of him give way. "You sacrificed your own daughter and you deserve to die."

"Mikhail." Raoul speaks low. A warning.

Agostino deserves to die, but not yet. Not until I know where Viviana is.

I fist the front of his shirt and jerk him off the floor. A few buttons snap loose, but he manages to get his feet underneath him. His lip is split and blood pours down his chin.

"Where is she?" I snarl. "I want to know where you're keeping her."

He shakes his head. "I don't?—"

He doesn't get to finish the lie. I slam him against the doorframe. His head bounces off the wood so hard that I swear I can see the stars in his eyes.

"You do know where she is. I know you know. Which is why I'm going to pull out a tooth for every second of my time you waste." I look back at Raoul. "Find some pliers."

Raoul is a fan of discretion. He prefers to slip in and out of a hit with as little fuss as possible. It's why I don't send Raoul and Anatoly on runs together when I can help it. They have very different styles of dealing with targets.

Tonight, I'm erring on Anatoly's side. I want Agostino to suffer.

Before Raoul can even turn around, Agostino crumbles.

"She's with Trofim! Trofim has her," he blubbers. "He threatened me. I didn't have a choice when he?—"

His head snaps to the side when I punch him, the words dissolving into a bloody spray.

"Men like us always have a choice. You should have been willing to die to protect her."

I should have died to protect her. I will if it comes to it.

"I'm going to die now, aren't I? You'll kill me. Even when I tell you she's at my safehouse in Staten Island, you're going to kill me."

I glance over my shoulder and Raoul nods. He knows where the safehouse is.

"You're going to die and it's going to be by my hand, but not tonight." I back away and Agostino falls to a bloody heap on the floor. "Right now, I need to get to Viviana."

Trofim has had her alone for days while I was wasting away in the gym.

I can't waste another second. No matter how much Agostino deserves it.