“What about the parking lots?” I ask harshly.
“There was no sign of Mikhail’s car.” He pauses. “We did, however, find the driver.”
I tighten my grip on the phone. “Dania’s bodyguard?”
“Yes.”
Exchanging a look with Leonid, I ask, “Where?”
“At the morgue.”
My heart slams to a stop.
Leonid moves closer, his troubled look intensifying.
“I’m here now with one of Mikhail’s men,” Igor continues. “He identified the body.”
My order is brusque. “Tell me what happened.”
“Car accident, but that’s not the cause of death. Someone popped him in the head.”
“Fuck.” Ice fills my stomach. This is my worst nightmare come true. If anything has happened to Katerina… I can’t even think it. Rage burns like acid in my chest. “Any sign of Katerina?”
“No,” he says with regret. “But we did find the bag with the clothes, money, and passport Dania had mentioned in the trunk.”
Dania wasn’t lying. My kiska was in that car.
“What about satellite footage?” I ask, clenching the phone hard. “Are there any witnesses to the accident?”
“No one reported the accident when it happened,” Igor says. “A good half hour passed before someone called it in.”
“Inform Nelsky.” Covering the microphone with a hand, I direct the order to Leonid. “I want that satellite feed. Now.”
He hurries to the door. “I’ll let him know.”
“Comb the area where the accident took place,” I tell Igor. “Tell our men to start searching in a twenty-kilometer radius. Knock on every door and ask every person living in that vicinity if anyone has seen something. Don’t offer money. They may spew bullshit just to get the reward. Use fear instead.” It’s faster.
“Got it,” he says and hangs up.
I shut my eyes briefly, praying I find Katerina before I have to make a call to Laura that will destroy her as surely as it will destroy me.
My phone pings a second later. I look at the screen, but it’s not the satellite recording that I’m expecting from Nelsky. It’s an image of Katerina lying on a cot in a cell, handcuffed to the bedframe. The text message is signed by Vladimir Stefanov.
Motherfucker.
Fury like I’ve never experienced rushes through my veins, even as fear rips through me, cold and terrifying.
Leonid walks back into the room. “Nelsky says you’ll have the footage in five minutes.” One look at my face makes him stop in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”
I turn the screen of my phone toward him, shaking with rage as I show him the image.
He blanches. “Fuck.”
“Weapon up.” I clench my teeth so hard it feels as if my jaw is about to unhinge. “We’re going after Stefanov. I’m bringing her back.”
He pushes a hand on my chest as I take a step to the door. “It’s a trap.”
I grip his wrist and move his hand away. “Of course it’s a fucking trap.”
“Mr. Volkov,” he says carefully, holding my gaze. “You have to consider the fact that she may already be dead.”
Before he can blink, I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and smash his body against the wall. “She’s alive and well.” I need to believe that.
“For now, maybe,” he says, unfazed by the violence. “Once Stefanov has you, he won’t need her any longer. If we launch an attack on his house, what guarantee do you have that Stefanov won’t slit her throat? He’s not going to wave a white flag and simply hand her over. If he thinks he’s going to lose, he’d rather take her with him to the grave than give her back to you.”
That’s not what I have in mind. I’m not going in guns blazing while hoping for the best.
Leonid must see the intention in my eyes because his jaw goes slack.
“You’re going to suggest a trade,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. “Your life for Kate’s.”
“What else?” I growl, letting him go with a shove.
“Think about it,” he says, coming after me as I make my way down the hallway. “That’s what Stefanov expects you to do. That’s what he wants.”
“Then that’s what he’ll get.”
I send a text message to Dimitri, telling him to round up the men, all fucking two hundred of them. Then I fire off a message to Igor to bring him up to scratch and to inform him that our rendezvous point is Stefanov’s house.
Outside, Yuri leans against the hood of my car. He straightens when I approach. I check that my gun is loaded and get into the car.
“Mr. Volkov,” Leonid says.
I slam the door, cutting off further conversation.
Pounding a hand against his forehead, Leonid paces next to the car.
I wind down the window. “Are you coming or what?”
He drops his hand on his hip, regarding me with a defeated look. “I work for you because I respect you. We all do—Igor, Dimitri, and every guard in your employ.”
“Are you getting sentimental on me?” I ask with a cold smile.
“None of us is the leader you are. That’s why you’re the boss. That’s why we follow your orders. If you die, everything you’ve built will be wasted.”
It’ll go to Katerina. I’ve already set it up with my lawyer. Not that I have any intention of making it easy for Stefanov. “I’m leaving. If you’re coming, get in. If not, it was good to know you, my friend.”
With a curse, he gets into the front passenger seat.
Yuri starts the engine. We don’t speak during the ride. I stare through the window at the familiar landscape, but inside, my blood is boiling.
On the way, I get the satellite feed from Nelsky on my phone. I watch the accident happen with balled hands, from the point when the fucker hits their car to where he carries an unconscious Katerina to a truck parked half a block down the road. From there, he drives straight to Stefanov’s house.
“Svoloch,” I mutter under my breath, squeezing the phone so hard the plastic casing cracks down the middle.
“We’re here,” Leonid says, pulling my attention from the scene I’m replaying on my phone.
I glance up at the imposing gates of Stefanov’s house. “Are the men on their way?”
“They’ll be here in five minutes. They left shortly after us.” His gaze is pleading. “Don’t go in there alone, Mr. Volkov.”
If I don’t, Katerina is dead.
Not bothering to answer, I dial Stefanov.
“Volkov,” Stefanov replies in a jovial voice. “I was expecting your call.”
My voice is tight with repressed fury. “I want to speak to her.”
“Of course you do. Hold on.”
Shuffling and footsteps sound, and then her sweet voice comes on the line. “Alex?”
I sag in my seat, physically weak with relief. “Are you all right?”
A choked sob.
“I’m coming for you, Katyusha,” I say, my voice harsh as I imagine what Stefanov has done or could still do to her. “Hold on for me, my love.”
“Don’t,” she whispers. “It’s a—”