Page 145 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

I get closer, and Drago nods, that small signal that she’s okay. My wife is okay.

In a dark room, only lit by that single bulb, Sandrine sits in the same kind of chair. Also tied up. Also blindfolded. But with tape over her mouth.

“Mommy!” Violet cries out and twists to get out of my arms.

She wants her mother. Not me.

Drago is behind Sandrine with a knife to cut her free.

“Wait,” my Bratva brain says.

“Pakhan?” Drago straightens, obeying me.

“I want Mommy!” Violet cries out, kicking.

Sandrine is right there, close enough that I can smell her shampoo and hear the pulse in her throat.

I keep hold of Violet. “Just a minute, solnyshko.”

I step up to Sandrine and take the blindfold off, then gently remove the tape over her mouth. Her eyes squint, but they immediately search my face.

I notice a smear of dirt along her cheek. Her hair was pulled loose from the combs that held it in place earlier this morning. Her coat hangs open, and I look closer at her clothes for something torn, something exposed, something no one should see but me, because she is mine.

No, they didn’t touch my wife. Not that way.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

She blinks, her hands still tied behind her back. But she doesn’t answer.

“Mommy!” Violet shrieks, hands outstretched.

“Pakhan, we must leave.” Drago leans forward and slices Sandrine free, defying me.

The minute her arms are loose, she’s reaching for Violet. “Give her to me,” she growls.

I get a flashback, remembering the note I wrote to Ares Zervas months ago when I knew he had Sandrine.

Give her to me…

I place Violet in her mother’s arms.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. Daddy saved us.” Her eyes are on me while Drago cuts the ties from her legs.

Drago is correct. We have to leave. We have no idea who crashed out that rear door, or if he’s bringing back twice as many men as I have guarding us.

“Let’s go. Now. Move.” I motion for her to walk ahead of me.

I count a few seconds and then step behind them, my gun raised. The distance is deliberate. Necessary.

The soft scuff of her boots against the concrete and the slight hitch of her breath as she carries my daughter guts me. All in between Violet’s soft whimpers.

Outside, the cold air cools my heated skin for a brief moment. The SUV door is already open by the time we reach it. Sandrine waits to get inside the car, and my heart breaks seeing her red-rimmed eyes that have no idea why I’m being such a dick.

“Get in the car,” I say, my tone even, my gaze connecting with hers only briefly. “We’ll handle this at home.”

Pain flickers across her face. “Yes, Pakhan,” she answers like a fucking lackey.

God, that hurt.