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Nothing.
“Mel?” I call, bolting the door behind me.
Nothing.
Padding silently through my home, I stay on high alert, listening for any sounds that might tell me where they are or if someone else is in here with them.
A Crayola coloring book lies open on my coffee table. Half a mug of cold coffee sits next to it. And while nothing looks as if it’s been disturbed—no sign of a violent struggle—the fact remains that they must have been interrupted mid-task.
Creeping toward the hallway, I pull my gun from its holster, ready to put anyone down who’s willing to threaten the girls’ lives.
First, I clear the bathroom—no surprise it’s empty.
Then, I check the guest room.
No one.
Tracking down the hallway, I enter my bedroom.
My heart sinks.
Nothing.
It looks exactly as I left it.
Which means they must have been taken.
Perhaps the only thing worse than being held captive in my condo. Because now I don’t know where they are.
“Blyat.”
Boston’s my best bet—but I don’t particularly want to throw all my eggs in one basket and waste time driving three hours there to find out the girls are being kept in New York somewhere. I need Lev and Denka—and a car that I can bring Mel and Gabby back in.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call my men as I dig through my bathroom drawers. I find a good-sized bandage and slap it over my bleeding cut, not even bothering to clean it. Then I race back down to the basement parking garage. From there, I’ll head back to Brooklyn and Pyotr’s house. Once again, I need his help and resources.
Traffic is even worse heading back across the bridge. I pull up onto the sidewalk outside the Veles family’s luxurious Brooklyn Heights brownstone just over half an hour later.
Lukyan’s standing on the front porch, his signature scowl pressing his eyebrows into a frown. But he gives me a curt nod as I climb the stairs two at a time. I vaguely return the gesture before bursting through the front door with enough force to make it bounce back toward me and close.
“Gleb!” Silvia gasps, sounding startled as she steps out of the kitchen with wide eyes. “Is everything alright?”
Gabby’s tiny frame rests on Silvia’s hip, her thumb in her mouth as if to soothe herself. My head reels as I study the little girl for any signs of duress. But she seems calm and watchful, her green eyes curious.
“Where’s Mel?” I ask, ignoring Silvia’s question as I stride purposefully toward them.
My pakhan’s wife seems trapped somewhere between stunned and confused, so I scan the hallway as I pass it, my eyes searching for an answer.
“Oh, um, she… didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I growl, my voice hoarse with stress.
Before Silvia can explain, the front door flies open behind me.
I whirl, my hand instinctively going to my gun.
Then I freeze.
Mel stands in the doorway, her intricately done-up hair falling out of its pins, so dark curls fall around her face. She braces against the threshold, heels clasped in one hand as she pants for air. She looks stricken—like she’s been running for her life. And her wide eyes laser in on Gabby before her shoulders relax.
