Page 38 of Bratva Wolf

“I’m surprised they have cameras.”

He scoffs. “I’m not. The super keeps tabs on everything in the building, but the cameras look hidden, so I’m not sure everyone realizes they’re being watched.” He pauses.“I don’t see any sign of him or Scarlet.”

“I don’t know where else he would have taken her?”

Fingers stops typing, pausing for dramatic effect. “Are you sure he took her?”

“What the fuck does that mean? She didn’t decide to go with him to fuck him.”

“Dude. She’s a stripper.”

“She’s mine.”

“Women have a way of making you think that, even if they’re knocking boots with another guy.”

“She’s living with me, Fingers. My baby is in her belly. She’s not banging anyone else.”

Fingers coughs. “Oh shit. Wow. Man. Congrats. You haven’t told the family.”

I blow out a breath. “No. I haven’t. You and Wystan are the only two that know.”

Wystan tips his head in agreement to the conversation he’s heard in his earpiece as we step out of the stairs, standing in front of Tony’s apartment door. I drive my shoulder into the door, and it breaks through the jamb. Wystan moves into the apartment with his gun drawn. He may be my younger brother, but he’s my go to when I need help. He’s violent in a silent assassin kind of way. He scrutinizes each room throughout the apartment and comes back, putting his gun in his pants. “No one.”

“Fuck. Tear the place apart. Who the fuck is he? Where would he go?” Fingers makes a funny sound on the phone. “What?”

“Uh Nothing.”

“Damn it. What?”

“Do you know who your girl is?”

“That’s not ominous at all. What did you find?”

“She’s a Petrov.” Fingers clicks his tongue. He’s no longer typing.

“Scarlet Petrova. Yeah. What of it?” I hold my breath afraid of what Fingers has found about the woman I love.

“She’s that Petrov.”

My mind flicks to nine-year-old me seeing Ivan Petrov with a gun in his hand aiming at my head. “How?”

“She was with her grandmother when the hit went down.”

“She would have been an infant.”

Wystan stares at me. It’s the same look he gave me when he wrecked my car when he turned fourteen. He glances at the papers in his hand. Scarlet’s photo sits atop a bunch of papers. There, in black and white, is a dossier of my Red. She’s the long-lost daughter of the man who tried to execute my family.

I flick through the pages. Her grandmother remarried a few times since her husband, Dima died forty years ago. That’s why her name is different. Ivan bought his mother the house before Red was born. Shit, I bellow. “Fuck!” I look at Wystan. “There’s nothing about me in this file. This isn’t about me.”

My phone buzzes. Mrs. Abashin is calling. I answer and disconnect the call with Fingers. “Hello?” My brother is giving me the ‘be cool’ look, and I need to be careful.

“Scarlet’s in trouble.” Her voice is strained like she’s been running.

“Where is she?”

“A man called and said if I didn’t come to him, they were going to kill her. They think I’m going to tell the police about the murder I saw those men do.”

“Okay. What did they say?”

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