Page 64 of Owned By the Russian

He apologized to their guest before sliding his finger across the screen, frowning as he answered, “What?”

Viktor’s voice was sharp, urgent. “We have a problem.”

Ilya’s stomach turned. “What kind of problem?”

Viktor sounded grim. “We lost Aleksander. He slipped out and went dark.”

Ilya’s entire body went rigid. A cold weight settled on his chest.

“That’s not all,” Viktor continued, his tone even heavier. “The bodyguard assigned to Valentina and Irina was found dead.”

Ilya rose to his feet, his pulse thundering in his ears. “And the girls?” he forced out, voice deadly quiet.

Viktor hesitated.

Ilya’s blood turned to ice. His grip on the phone tightened, his patience snapping like a live wire. “Where the fuck is my wife, Viktor?”

Silence.

Then?

“They’re gone.”

Chapter 25 - Valentina

Valentina woke up with a sharp inhale, her senses snapping to life before her mind could catch up.

Everything was dark. No?not dark. Covered.

A blindfold.

Panic shot through her immediately, her breath coming fast and shallow as she struggled against the ropes biting into her wrists. She didn’t think shoe-shopping for her wedding would turn into a nightmare. One moment, she was laughing with Irina, desperate to go home and heed Ilya’s request, and the next, she was slammed against a chest, backed into a corner, chloroform forced into her nose before she could think of defending herself.

The chair beneath her wobbled slightly with her movements, its metal frame creaking. Her heart pounded, her body stiff with fear, but she forced herself to stay still, to breathe, to think.

Think, Valentina.

The air was thick with the scent of motor oil, damp concrete, and something metallic?blood. A warehouse, maybe? Some kind of storage facility?

Her stomach twisted.

The baby. Irina.

She fought against the rising terror, shifting in her restraints, testing their strength. Too tight. Her fingers were already numb. She clenched and unclenched them, trying to keep the blood flowing.

A noise?subtle, but there. Breathing. Shallow, ragged.

She wasn’t alone.

“Irina?” she tried, but her voice came out muffled. Cloth?something stuffed into her mouth. Gagged.

Fuck.

She forced herself to listen, to focus. There were footsteps in the distance, low murmurs of conversation in an accent she recognized but couldn’t quite place yet. She stilled, feigning unconsciousness, trying to piece it together.

Then?hands.

Rough, calloused fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face up. The blindfold was yanked off, and she blinked against the harsh light, her vision blurring before settling on the man in front of her.

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