Page 91 of Wicked Vows (Suvorov Bratva 2)

I wipe my eyes.

I don’t know. And I’m not sure I have the strength to find out.

As another wave of nausea crashes through me, the doorbell rings twice and three firm knocks follow. I frown as I peek into the hallway.

Not a sound from the other rooms.

I reach the foyer before Viktoria has a chance to appear. And something about the thick silence on the other side of the door feels wrong.

Through the peephole, I see Captain Sharp. With a gasp, I stumble back and cover my stomach, listening as he takes in a large gulp of air.

“NYPD! Open up!” he bellows. “We have a warrant to search the premises!”

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!

“You have two options,” Sharp calls out. “You can open the door. Or we can open it for you.”

Men chat in short bursts on the other side. I don’t bother to eavesdrop. It’s unnecessary at this point. I rush down the hallway to Pavel’s office.

He needs to know.

We need to delay Sharp long enough to get Zoya out.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Pavel

Urgency pushes me into action. I organize the papers on my desk, set them aside, and grab a paper map of the city. “Let’s try again, Kostya.”

He nods. “Yes, pakhan.”

“We need a response plan to these shootouts. We should station brigadiers in Midtown, on the Upper East and West Side, and—”

Liya barges into the room. Kostya leaps from his chair and reaches for his gun. Admittedly, I would have done the same thing, but I know it’s just my wife.

My frightened, panicked wife with eyes so round that they look like spotlights.

She looks at Kostya and then at me. “Sharp is here.”

My expression sours.

“He has a warrant. They’re definitely going to grab Zoya,” she says shakily. Her hands clutch her stomach. “I haven’t told Zoya yet.”

I nod at Kostya. “Quietly. To the guest room.”

Kostya blinks once in the affirmative and moves to the door, silently checking the hallway. He ushers us a few doors down to the guest room when he clears the hallway. Three loud and distinct thuds reverberate from the foyer.

I open the door and scan the room as we flood inside. Zoya pops up from the window nook. “What the hell is—”

Liya shushes her.

I whisper, “The NYPD is here for you and your father.”

She gulps.

“I need you to listen carefully,” I say to everyone in the room. “We need to devise a plan to collect Kiril from downstairs.”

Liya grabs my hand, threading her fingers in mine. Her palm is sweaty, yet her breathing is steady enough to speak. “I’ll distract them.”

---