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I put in the code for the office where all the keys are kept. The keypad beeps, and the door clicks open. My fingers run along the keys hanging on the wall, each one representing a different kind of escape. I select the one for a simple Toyota Corolla. A common car that won't catch anyone's attention.
I walk through the garage, still trying to figure out exactly where I’m going to go in that unremarkable car. The luxurious vehicles almost purr at me seductively, their sleek designs promising speed and power. But I’m a man on a mission, even if I haven’t quite made a plan yet.
I reach the silver Corolla and am about to unlock it when I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Lightning fast, I draw my pistol and point it in the direction of the movement.
I lose my ability to breathe for a moment, shock rendering me paralyzed.
Angel Valachi is leaning against the passenger door of a McLaren Speedtail. He's in bad shape. His clothes are covered in soot, and one of his arms is badly burned, the fabric of his shirt gone, and the tender, damaged flesh exposed. Despite his vulnerable position and what must be a lot of pain, Angel is smirking at me.
"You look like shit, Romanov," Angel says, his voice surprisingly steady.
"You’re no better," I reply, keeping my pistol trained on him. "How did you survive?"
Angel shrugs, wincing slightly as he moves. "You had poor contractors. Remember, you made me watch them build the cage."
"That’s a lie. You would have escaped long ago if that were the case," I counter, narrowing my eyes.
"Kicking the bars away from their bases is noisy," Angel explains, looking down at his arm. "I needed a distraction, like a fire. Azrael did me a favor." A wry smile plays on his lips. "Well, almost," he adds.
Of course, Angel Valachi survived. If any man could survive an attack like that from Azrael, it would be this bastard—the man who couldn’t be broken, even by me, Ivan Romanov.
Fucking cockroach.
Angel shifts his stance. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper, yet each word hits me like a hammer. "She’s alive, by the way."
"What?" I walk closer to him.
"My sister. Vivi. She got out."
Relief sweeps over me, intoxicating and overpowering. It penetrates through my grief and shock, reigniting the fire within me.Vivi is alive.My mind races with possibilities, with hope.
"Azrael took her?" I ask, needing to know every detail.
Angel shakes his head, wincing at the movement. "Azrael knew you built a fortress; none of them came inside the house. It was your man, Nikolai."
Nikolai. The one who isn't answering his phone. My heart sinks, suspicion and betrayal clawing at my insides.
Angel struggles to get to his feet, using the car for support. I make no effort to help him, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts. "If you are unaware of her survival," Angel continues, his voice strained, "then you have lost Nikolai." Without realizing it, he echoes my suspicions.
"He wouldn’t dare," I mutter, more to myself than to Angel. Nikolai, my trusted lieutenant, betraying me? The very thought is unthinkable. But the evidence is there, staring me in the face.
If he had escaped with Vivi, he would have called and told me, or at least answered his phone.Fuck. Angel is right, but I can’t let that show. “He wouldn’t dare betray me,” I say, but my words don’t carry the same level of surety.
"He has," Angel says, his smirk widening despite the pain etched on his face. "We’ve been playing his game a long time, Romanov. Think of what you would do in his position. You’re expected to be dead. Azrael has burned down your house in an attempt to kill your hostage. He has the daughter of Lorenzo Valachi."
My mind races, piecing together the puzzle. "He’s going to use her to bargain with the others."
"Exactly," Angel confirms. "He’s probably arranging a deal with the others right now, offering himself as their new friend and the new head of the Romanov empire."
The rage that had momentarily subsided flares back up. "I’ll kill him," I vow, my voice a low growl.
"You’ll have to find him first," Angel points out. “And my sister. There was something…” He shakes his head, his gaze distant. “I don’t trust him with her,” he finishes. “But I can help you, my friend.”
New York City is too big for a random sweep. There are a number of safehouses under our ownership, and a condition of employment with me is that I’m made aware of all the employees' assets. That’s a lot of ground to cover. Angel's smile tells me he knows exactly where my mind is going.
"We are not friends," I stated coldly.
"Come on, nothing forms a bond like a rescue mission," Angel replies, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
