Page 64 of The Pakhan

When I heard footsteps, I was tempted to race after the asshole, but Caroline’s slight whimper kept my mind on track.

She’d been tossed into the van, fighting to get the bag off her head.

I gathered her into my arms, holding her tightly as I spun around, searching for another asshole.

“It’s okay, zavetnyy,” I told her, winded but full of adrenaline.

She clung to me as I fought to remove the fucking bag from her head, tossing it aside, and letting off a solid roar.

As several sets of footsteps pounded in my direction, I shielded her body, prepared to kill the motherfuckers.

Sergei came flying from around the side, stopping short when he saw me. “Jesus Christ, boss.”

“One of them got away. Find him.”

Sergei nodded, motioning to Maxim and the other soldier to run toward the direction I was pointing. My Capo rushed closer, surveying the scene. “What a fucking mess.”

“The guests?”

“All fleeing for their lives. At least six people were shot but I don’t know the extent of their injuries.”

“The party was used as a ruse to abduct Caroline. I’m certain of it.”

“We’ll get him. Fucking asshole,” he said.

“I recognized the voice,” she said weakly, clinging to me, her eyes imploring.

“Did you see him?” I looked down at her, seeing fear instead of defiance. Goddamn it, I was furious.

“No, he’d placed a bag over my head at that point. But he knew what he was doing.”

Hissing, I glanced around the garage. “Where is my car?”

“Out front. I don’t think you should be seen outside yet.”

“The fucker isn’t coming back. He screwed up. Get the men to grab the bodies, and have one of them follow us. I’m taking her home.”

Home.

The concept seemed stranger than normal to me and I wasn’t certain why.

Other than if I’d lost her, my anger and sadness would have flown off the charts.

And a hell of a lot of good, innocent people would have died.

CHAPTER 17

Vadim

My family had been attacked on several occasions over the years, most of them piss-poor attempts at destroying some part of our organization. But both the attack on me inside the restaurant and tonight’s soirée were entirely different.

They were both personal.

Could I pin the blame on the Cosa Nostra? I was beginning to think otherwise.

Stefano was a murderer, but he wasn’t a stupid man. Coming after me in such an egregious way would place him front and center as enemy number one. And why would he bring his sons there?

It didn’t make sense. Not in the least.

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