Louis
Shit. My mind drifts into consciousness, and I immediately wince from the burst of pain at the back of my head. What the hell happened?
I swallow and try to push myself upright, but the movement causes the pain to come back again with a rush of nausea. Goddamnit. They knocked me out well. Wait, they? I groan and force myself to sit up, leaning on the wall and trying to catch my breath. My whole body is sore, a few points pulsating with pain, and my head is so heavy I have to lean back.
Yuriy. Yuriy was here. He brought his men and talked some bullshit about the deal being over. I tried to attack him, yes, but two of his men stopped me while the others took Sasha and Misha away…
No! I grit my teeth, try to get up-and immediately flinch from the rush of dizziness. Okay, maybe I have to take it a little bit slower, but I can’t just sit there and wait till I get better. I have to find them. I have to keep them safe.
After a few seconds of concentration, I manage to get up and, slightly swaying, walk to the kitchen. Where’s my phone? I check my pockets and find it in my pants. The screen was strong enough to survive the assault, even though there are cracks spreading through the screen protector. Whatever. What did I want to do?
I lean on the wall, trying to gather my thoughts, before it finally comes to me, and I search for Riccardo’s contact. I’m not in the right shape to confront the leader of the Russian Bratva. I need help, and after what Yuriy organized this morning I think the Messinas have every right to go against him.
Riccardo picks up after the second ring, and I can hear that he’s wide awake and serious. “Louis?”
“The Russians were here,” I mumble, still breathing heavily and looking around the kitchen for water. My throat is so dry I can feel every word scratching it from the inside. “They took Sasha and…and Misha.”
I grab a glass with unsure fingers and pour in some water from the tap while Riccardo pauses to process my words. He doesn’t sound very surprised when he finally says, “Was it Yuriy?”
“Yeah.” I nod along with it and take a big gulp, closing my eyes. Damn, that feels good, even with the dull pain spreading through the back of my head from the movement.
“I see.” At the same time, I can hear Riccardo move around, his clothes rustling as he walks somewhere. “Listen, Louis, don’t worry, they’re gonna be fine. I’ll deal with it, okay?”
I frown. How is he gonna deal with it? We have to go there. We have to attack them. We have to take my family back!
“But you can’t just-”
“Trust me,” Riccardo cuts me off, still walking. “Don’t do anything stupid and wait for my call. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come and get
Sasha.”
I shut my eyes and rub my forehead. Is this because of the bruise on my head, or do his words really not make any sense?
“We have to get her as soon as possible,” I finally say the only thing that’s clear in my mind, and Riccardo sighs and pauses in his step.
“I know, Louis. I’ll deal with it as quickly as I can. Until then, keep your phone close and don’t get involved. Everything is under control.”
What control? What the fuck is he talking about? But Riccardo hangs up before I can say anything, and I growl under my breath and lean on the counter. I don’t understand it. Who knows what Yuriy has in mind? Sasha and Misha may be in danger right now-and Riccardo wants me to wait.
I don’t know what exactly he has under control, but it didn’t look like control when Yuriy and his men just drove through our territory and barged into my house as if nothing. Where was his control then? Why didn’t he stop Yuriy in the first place? I scratch my nails against the counter as I curl my hands into fists. I’m sorry, Riccardo, but I can’t trust you. Not this time.
I finish the glass of water in a series of quick gulps, ignoring the pain in my head from the angle, and walk to the door. My steps are still unsteady, and my mind still needs some clarity, but I feel good enough to drive my car into the Russians’ territory and fight for my wife and my son. No matter what Yuriy thinks, they are my family, and he can’t take them away from me.
I’ve already lost them once, and I am not going to let it happen again.
As soon as I drive onto the street, I feel the aftereffects of the blow in my head. It’s difficult to concentrate on many things at once, and I feel a headache growing at the back of my mind. But thankfully, I’ve spent half of my life driving the streets of Chicago, and I know the coordinates of Yuriy’s mansion by heart. So I follow the directions in my mind almost reflexively, creating only a few dangerous situations on the road.
When I get closer to the Bratva’s borders, though, I slow down and try not to attract their attention. The last thing I need right now is another confrontation with some morons of a lower rank. But surprisingly, nobody pays attention to me, and even when I cross paths with a group that clearly looks like a patrol, they don’t bat an eye.
Damn. That’s suspicious, isn’t it? Perhaps I have to be more careful -but instead, I pick up speed and drive straight to Yuriy’s mansion. Whatever reason they’re ignoring me, I don’t care. Right now, the only thing that matters is to get to Sasha and Misha as soon as I can.
It’s hard to mistake Yuriy’s mansion for anything else. A few years ago, when I still was too young and low-ranked to be known by the Russians, Riccardo’s father sent me to keep an eye on Yuriy. We had a reason to believe that he was keeping a few of our men in the basement of his mansion-later, we found out it was true-so I had to gather as much information as possible to get them out of there.
I know where most of the rooms are and how to sneak closer to the mansion without being noticed, but I don’t care enough to hide my appearance. Even if the Russians didn’t stop my car, they must’ve reported it to Yuriy, so what’s the point? Besides, I don’t have enough strength of mind right now to create a better plan of approach-so instead, I drive my car straight to the entrance of Yuriy’s mansion and swing the door closed behind me.
The building is oddly peaceful and quiet, with no guards or servants coming out to greet me, and for some reason it pisses me off. I see cars in the parking lot, so that means at least someone is inside. Is it not Yuriy? Did he take Sasha and Misha somewhere else? Shit. No, it can’t be!
“Yuriy, you bastard!” I yell, walking up the stairs to the door. I’m glad to notice that my coordination is better now, but the soreness and exhaustion still keep my muscles stiff. “Where are you? Where did you take them?”
The empty hallway only echoes my words back at me, and with a rush of frustration I take out my gun, ready to shoot at the ceiling, when I finally hear some movement. Are those steps? Is someone coming to face me? I look around, trying to find the source of the sound, but at the last moment I realize that it’s coming from multiple sides, and one of them is right behind me!
I instinctively turn around, firing at the door and whoever is hiding behind it, and step back. The thunder of my own gunshots hurts my ears, making me flinch. Shit. I have to focus! I breathe out sharply and raise my gun, looking at every door and opening leading from the hallway.
“Where are you?” I ask out loud, and the response comes from above.
“This door was made and carved from taiga trees, and you just shot it like a barbarian.” Sergei walks down the stairs with an indifferent expression, and I feel a wave of anger and adrenaline in my veins.
“You’ve stolen my wife like a fucking toy. Do you call yourself civilized?”
I aim my gun at him and open fire, but Sergei jumps a few stairs down, avoiding it, and before I can fire again, someone hits my head from behind. The burst of pain is so strong it blinds me for a moment, and I feel the ground slipping from under my feet until someone grabs both of my arms and forces me to stand up.
My mind is heavy, and my vision is blurry, so I have to blink a few times before I can focus on Sergei’s face in front of me. He stands there with his arms crossed and a cold look on his face, reminding me of his mother.
“Your marriage was just a deal, and you’ve broken it. Accept it.” Sergei looks at the men behind me and nods upstairs. “Take him to Father’s office.”
I groan under my breath and tug at my arms and shoulders, trying to free myself from the grip, but my movements are too slow and uncoordinated to do any good. Shit. I grit my teeth but give up to their nudging, walking after Sergei. They knew what they were doing when they hit me right at the bruise. That second blow shook my mind all over again, and now I have to pull myself together before my weakness becomes dangerous.
With my arms held behind my back, the Russians take me to the second floor where, after a few knocks on the door, they push me into the room hard enough to make me stumble. The pain of the sharp movement and the daylight streaming through open curtains make me wince for a moment when I hear a gasp.
“Louis!”