65. Chapter 65

65

Dimitri

S aveliy shifts in the passenger seat. "Boss. They touched down at O'Hare International Airport three hours ago."

The Escalade's tinted windows turn the evening sun into a weak piss-yellow glow.

Wren.

I stare at the photos spread across my lap, jaw clenched so tight I taste copper.

My chest constricts, like someone's got their fist around my heart and is squeezing. She's there, clear as day. Hair shorter now, framing a face that's… Suka . More angular. Harder. The years have carved something new from her features.

I trace her face with my eyes, drinking in every detail like a dying man in the desert. Three years. Three fucking years, and she still has this power over me. Makes me want to punch something and protect her all at once.

There's Lenny, not the skinny runt I remember. Kid's put on some muscle. But it's the smaller one that fucks me up. Tiny hand in Wren's. Can't be older than three.

"Who's this kid ?" The words taste like puke.

Oleg leans forward, his cold eyes catching mine in the mirror. "Alexander Davis. Two years, eight months."

" Davis… ?"

Saveliy's eyes dart to mine, then away. "It's Wren Davis's son, boss…"

Two years, eight months.

Fuck. This can't be real.

She told me she was on the pill. I squeeze the photos, crumpling them in my fist. Unless she's been fucking around with some other mudak .

My chest tightens. Blood rushes in my ears. What the fuck is this feeling? Makes me want to find whoever touched her and break every bone in his body. Slowly.

"Any info on the father of the kid?" I spit out the words. My jaw's so tight it might crack.

Oleg shifts in his seat. His eyes flick to Saveliy before answering. "No, boss. No mention of a father in any of the reports."

Could it be…?

Nyet. Don't go there, durak. False hope is for weak men.

But the thought's there now, burrowing into my brain like a fucking parasite. I need answers. Now.

"When exactly did they land?" I snap, fingers drumming on the wheel hard enough to hurt.

Saveliy checks his phone. "Flight touched down at 2:17 PM, boss. They left the airport, and they went straight to this Sunset Inn."

I lean back, mind racing.

" Blyat ," I snarl, slamming my fist into the door. "Those mudak are using them to get to her. To me."

"Boss," Oleg's voice comes from the front. "We've got movement."

"What kind?"

"Wren's on the move. White Ford F-150, rental. License plate Delta-Echo-937."

My jaw clenches. She's making her play.

"Where's she heading?"

"Downtown," Oleg says. "Toward the old industrial district."

My gut twists. That area's a fucking maze of abandoned warehouses and dead ends. Perfect for an ambush.

"Keep eyes on her," I order. "Do not engage. You hear me? Nobody fucking touches her."

" Da , boss," they reply in unison.

I lean back, mind racing.

What's your play, Wren? What do you know that we don't?

"Incoming call, boss," Saveliy says. "It's our guy tailing Zimniy."

I nod. He puts it on speaker.

"Talk."

A breathless voice comes through. "Boss, Zimniy's making moves. He's heading to—"

The line goes dead.

Silence fills the car. Then Saveliy curses. "Lost him. Signal's jammed."

I slam my fist into the seat. "Find him! Now!"