Page 97 of Cinderella and the Daddy
Dimitri's laugh is like gravel in a cement mixer. "You Americans, always so direct. But yes, I think we can come to an arrangement. Kozlov has been?—"
I don’t correct him. He knows damn well I’m Russian. It’s meant as an insult.
I couldn’t give a shit what he thinks about me or my heritage.
The door bursts open without so much as a knock. Viktor fills the doorway, his usual stoic composure cracked just enough that ice shoots through my veins. My lieutenant doesn't interrupt meetings with a pakhan unless the world is ending.
"Boss," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "We need to go.Now."
I don't question it. Can't afford to, not when Viktor looks like that. I stand, extending my hand to Dimitri. "We'll finish this conversation soon."
The pakhan nods, already reaching for his phone. "I look forward to it, Luka. Give Kozlov my regards when you kill him."
The elevator ride down feels like it takes forever. Viktor stands rigid beside me, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides. He's holding something back, something that's eating him alive. But we’re being watched.
Show no weakness.
Inside, I’m dying. I know whatever has happened is bad. Leo. Cindy. Their names are bouncing around in my head with every agonizing second the elevator slides down.
The doors slide open and we stride across the marble lobby toward the exit, where my SUV waits, engine running.
It's not until we're sealed inside the armored vehicle, bulletproof glass separating us from the world, that Viktor finally speaks.
"The compound was hit fifteen minutes ago. Two shooters, both Russian. They went after Cindy and Leo."
I curse. My hands clench into fists so tight my knuckles go white. "Are they?—"
"They're safe," Viktor says quickly. "Grigori got them to the safe room. He took a bullet to the leg, but he's walking it off. Tony was the backup. They are unharmed."
Cindy. Leo. Safe. That's all that matters.
But not all that needs to be settled.
"The shooters?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.
"One's dead. Caught three rounds to the chest trying to breach the main entrance. The other..." Viktor's smile is as cold as winter in Moscow. "He's waiting for you."
Good.
My fingers drum against my thigh as the SUV eats up the miles toward home. Toward my family. Toward answers. Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to go straight to that safe room, to hold Cindy in my arms and confirm with my own eyes that she's whole and breathing.
But first, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with.
The compound looks like a war zone when we arrive. Guards patrol the perimeter, automatic weapons visible and ready. Tire tracks scar the perfect lawn where the SUV carrying the shooters must have tried to escape. Didn’t get far from the looks of it.
My men part like the Red Sea as I stride through the main entrance. No one speaks. They know better than to interrupt when I'm wearing this particular expression. Death walks behind me, patient and hungry.
The room is in the basement. Soundproof. Windowless. Designed for conversations that can never see daylight. The man tied to the metal chair is young—maybe twenty-five—with thekind of desperate eyes that tell me he knows exactly how this is going to end.
Blood drips steadily from his shoulder where one of my men put a bullet. Not fatal, but painful enough to keep him conscious and motivated. His face is already swelling from whatever welcome party greeted him when they dragged him down here.
"You know who I am," I say, not bothering with introductions. It's not a question.
He nods, sweat beading on his forehead despite the basement chill.
"Then you know I don't have patience for games. Who sent you?"
"Yuri Kozlov," he gasps out immediately. Smart boy. He's heard the stories about what happens to people who waste my time.
