Page 65 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

“Miami?” My brother’s eyes widen. “That’s sick. No one’s ever owned the city all by themselves.”

He’s right. Although we’re the kingpins of the city, every criminal organization in Florida has spent decades fighting over pieces of it—the Italians, the Irish, the Cubans, the Colombians, the Mexicans.

No one has ever managed to own it all.

Not yet.

And I doubt anyone could try without bathing the entire state in blood. The gain isn’t worth the risk, but to a madman like Emiliano, anything would be worth it.

Before I can say anything else, a loud bang on the door catches my attention.

Jesus Christ, I hate it when they knock on the door like that. Whatever it is better be urgent, or else I’ll fucking shoot the bastard.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open and Dimitri scurries inside. His entire body is covered in sweat and he’s panting like he just jogged down Mount Everest and barely managed to survive.

What catches me off-guard is the sheer panic in his eyes. I immediately think of Audrey. “What is it?”

“It’s your wife.”

My throat tightens. This fucker should know better than to keep me in suspense. “What happened to her?”

“She’s missing.”

My jaw ticks. I’m barely holding myself back from striding across the room and snapping his neck in half, but I don’t have the time for murder when Audrey could be in danger right now.

“When did you see her last?”

“I’m not sure, but the CCTV shows she left the house three hours ago. I called her, but her phone’s been switched off and the tracker on her car is disabled.”

I turn to Sergei, who’s already on his feet. “Did you keep the tail on her like I asked?”

He nods. “Volkov’s on it. I’ll call him and find out.”

“Hurry.”

He pulls out his phone and dials Volkov’s number—the secret guard I had follow her because I knew damn well something like this would happen. She just doesn’t listen, and when I find her…God, I’m going to be so fucking pissed at her for almost giving me a heart attack.

After a moment, Sergei ends the call and faces me. There’s a brief fracture in his expression, but it’s gone before anyone else would notice it. Still, it’s enough for my senses to go on high alert.

I know something’s wrong.

“Say something, goddamnit,” I growl.

He opens his mouth, but his phone beeps with an incoming message, cutting him off. He unlocks the phone and scrolls through the messages before returning his attention to me.

“Boss, there’s something you need to see.”

Unease curls in my stomach. Whatever it is, I know it’s bad. “What the hell is it?”

He hands the phone over and I read his messages with Volkov.

The first photo hits like a punch. The second drives it deeper, and by the third, something inside me has gone frighteningly still.

I stare at the screen, my grip tightening until the edge of the phone bites into my palm. Right there on the screen are pictures of my wife standing with my enemy—Emiliano.

And worst of all, she doesn’t look like she was forced to be there.