Page 142 of Desperate Crimes

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Chapter Thirty-Six-Leanna

Ipanic for all of fifteen minutes.

The kind of bone-deep, soul-splintering panic that sinks its claws into your lungs and refuses to let go.

But then—I slap myself.

Literally.

“Ouch,” I mutter and rub my cheek.

But fuck no.This isn’t who I am.

Two things are dead wrong with this picture where I just sit here, waiting by the window like some weeping debutante from a tragic Russian novel.

First, I’m not a patient person.

I don’t like to wait for anything, and I really hate surprises.

Second, I’m a fucking Volkov.

I was born with privilege, wealth, and a pair of parents who wrote the book on attitude problems—seriously, look it up.

So, if Nico thought he married some pampered little socialite who’d fold when the world turned dark, he thought wrong.

I pace once.

Twice.

Then I grab my phone and stab my father’s number like I’m drawing a blade.

“Leanna,” he answers instantly, voice tight.“I’m handling it?—”

“that’s fine, but so am I.Now, I want a team.Wheels up in ninety minutes.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, my father curses in about six languages.

I am not impressed.

I can curse in seven.

“No, Doshka!Absolutely not?—”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I snap, spine straight, voice steel.“I’m asking for help.”

“Leanna, this is crazy?—”

“You’re not hearing me, Dad,” I bite out, fury twisting behind my ribs like a blade unsheathed.“And if I am crazy?Look in the damn mirror—because I got it from you!”

“You’re my daughter?—”

“Exactly!”I say, my voice echoing off the marble walls of my hallway like a war cry.“I’m a Volkov.And now, I’m a Fury.Nico is mine, and I’m getting my husband back.Do you hear me?He’s coming home.”

There’s a breath on the other end.Sharp.Stunned.Like he’s realizing that the girl he raised now wields her voice like a weapon.

Good.

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