Page 202 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

It’shis.

It’s been his from the moment we’ve met.

50

NIKOLAI

I’m halfway home when Arslan calls. “They aren’t there,” he says, breathless.

“What?”

“Belle and Elise are gone. Security shows them running out of the house right after you called me. They got into a black sports car. The men tried to follow, but they lost her. They’re gone.”

Possibilities and unanswerable questions pop into my head faster than I can sort through them.

“What’s the move?” Arslan asks.

“We search for them. Every Greek hangout, their headquarters. Every square inch of the city where a Greek or Battiato man has ever set foot. Xena said the Greeks are working with the Italians now, so anything is possible.”

“On it,” Arslan says. “I already have men searching, but I’ll join in, too. Where are you going to start? Let me know and I’ll meet you there.”

I clench the steering wheel, doing my best to fight through my rage and think clearly. Belle muddies my senses, but she deserves my best. She and Elise both do.

“Meet me at that Battiato bar where you saw Giorgos meeting with—”

Before I can finish the sentences, I turn to the right and see a truck barrelling towards my car. There is no time to hit the gas or brake or turn.

There is only time to brace for impact.

The truck hits my passenger side door at full speed, sending my little Ferrari spinning like a fucking top.

I don’t know how many times the vehicle spins, but when I open my eyes, the road is gone and all I see is the cloudless blue sky.

For a moment, I think I might be dead. Maybe this is the transition to heaven.

But then I realize if heaven and hell are real, I’m almost certainly heading down. Plus, I can still hear Arslan’s muffled voice roaring through my speaker phone.

“Nikolai! What the fuck happened? Are you there? Hello? Nikolai!”

I blink a few times and then take in my surroundings. My car ended up ramped on top of another vehicle along the side of the road, the hood angled up towards the sky. All my windows are shattered and smoke is pouring out from under the hood.

But I’m alive, and I’m not injured. Not as far as I can tell, anyway.

I unclip my seatbelt with a groan and reach for my phone where it fell in the backseat. Twisting around sends a sharp pain lancing down my neck, but it’s bearable.

“Nikolai!” Arslan bellows. “Where are you? What the fuck happened?”

“Calm down.” My voice sounds far away, like I’m talking underwater. That can’t be a good sign. Maybe a concussion.

“Shit. It sounded like you got hit by a train.”

“Close enough,” I rasp, pulling uselessly on my door handle. “I got in a car crash. A bad one. Someone slammed into me.”

“Was it an accident?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I haven’t even seen who—”

Suddenly, I hear the familiarpop, pop, popof gunfire pinging against the back of my car.

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