Page 87 of Prince of Control
They’re right–we can’t start a war. Not without my dad’s backing.
Blyat’!
I should have thought of something to say to Lara to keep her from running. Why didn’t I tell her sooner–at dinner? Or on the drive home? The fact that I’d planned to tell her everything tonight only makes losing her a million times worse. I could’ve prevented that terrible scene out there if I’d just had the nerve to come clean an hour earlier. Or days. Weeks. From the beginning.
Now she’s in the clutches of Abrasha Rostov, and I really don’t think he’ll let her slip through his fingers a second time.
“Can you find out where they’re going?” My lower lip swells more with each moment that passes.
“I can’t just hack the FAA at the drop of a hat,” Anya complains, her brow furrowed.
Zoe pulls out her phone. “Maybe I can get someone to tell me.” She looks up the airstrip and hits the call button on speaker phone.
“Yes, this is Zoya Novikova,” she says in a thick Russian accent that sounds exactly like Leo’s mom, Sasha, when she’s tipsy. “My friend Abrasha Rostov has plane there?”
The guy on the other end says, “Okay.”
“Da. His girlfriend left ring at my house, and I’m checking to see if she’s still there? Do I have time to bring it?”
“Ah…I don’t know anything about that,” the guy says.
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Has Rostov jet taken off yet?”
“Rostov? Uh…yeah, it’s on the runway now.”
“Ahhh, I’m too late. I’ll have to mail it to him. Do you know, are they headed back to Paris? Or was it Moscow?”
“The Rostov jet? No, they’re headed to Istanbul.”
A chill settles over me.
He’s not bringing her back to Paris. He’s taking her to Turkey. The Rostovs probably have a palace there. He’s bringing her somewhere he can lock her up tight and keep me away.
“Oh, Istanbul, that’s right. Oh well. I will get address. Spasibo.” Zoe ends the call.
“Good job, Zoe,” I say.
The front door swings open, and Lili rushes in. “Oh my God, Baron. What happened? Leo texted me to come over.”
I make a mental note to punch Leo later when it won’t hurt so badly to move. As I give her the shortest recap possible, Leo makes a video call on his phone, and Phoenix brings an icepack for my face.
Leo’s dad, Maxim, appears on Leo’s screen. Sasha, his mom, leans into the screen with a big smile.
“Leonid! How are you?”
“Uh, okay, Mom, but can I talk to Papa in private for a minute?”
“If you promise to call me tomorrow.”
“Promise.”
“Okay, love you.” Sasha blows kisses as Maxim walks away from her.
“Hey, Papa.” He angles his phone to show my beat-up face for a second then turns it back to him. “Can we conference with you and Uncle Ravil?”
Maxim swears, and his camera jostles as he walks out the door of his penthouse and over to my parents’. “Was it Rostov?”
“Yeah.” Leo props his phone up in the window sill, and the bratva heirs gather around. Phoenix and Anders hang back, out of the picture.
