Page 133 of Beautiful Cruelty

My finger drums against the latest intel report from Demyon. Six more locations to hit, each one promising to free more women and children from Kirsan's clutches. The familiar weight of exhaustion settles over me as I study blueprints and security details.

A sharp knock at my office door breaks my concentration.

"Come in," I call out, not looking up from the papers spread across my desk.

The door opens to the cadence of footsteps that I haven't heard since the first days I arrived at Pankration.

I raise my head to see Olga standing before me, her face a perfect mask of composure.

"Why are you here?" The words come out harsh, exactly as intended.

"Believe me, bastard, I take no pleasure in being here." Olga's lips thin into a line. "But the bratva must be protected."

"Protected from what?" I lean back in my chair, studying her. Something in her expression sets off warning bells.

"Sayanaa is here in Seattle." Olga's words hit like ice water down my spine. "She arrived three days ago with a dozen of her own men."

My hand stills on the desk. "What does she want?"

"I have to commend that pretty little wife of yours, bastard." Olga's eyes narrow. "She kept your secret well enough from me when I questioned her. But if you thought that Kirsan wouldn't know about your thievery… If you thought that Sayanaa wouldn'tjumpat the chance to get it back for her father, and in the process, remove the obstacle between her and you."

The thought of Sayanaa anywhere near Lacey makes my blood run cold. I remember the way Sayanaa looked at Lacey in the cathedral, how her eyes lingered on Lacey before she left. And the dangerous smile that ghosted her lips just before she did.

"How do you know this?" I demand.

"Paris is still a city of rumors." Olga's voice carries no warmth. "And you can always count on Sayanaa to beveryvocal about any slights against her family, real or imaginary."

"If she's only here with a dozen of her own men," I say, dismissing Olga's warning with a wave. "Then she's not a real threat. Not one that matters."

Olga's lips curl into a cold smile. "When that crown landed at Sayanaa's feet, the insult did not go unnoticed."

"That was theater, just like her little show of power with her men inside the cathedral." But even as I say the words, unease crawls up my spine.

"She chose her theatrics well that gave you a chance to back down, bastard." Olga's voice hardens. "You, on the other hand, humiliated the Kuulars before everyone and anyone who mattered. Kirsan has given Sayanaa full authority to restore their honor. More of them will be coming, if they're not here already."

I grip the edge of my desk, knuckles whitening. "Kirsan would never empower Sayanaa like this."

"He will and he has." Olga cuts me off. "So I ask again. Where is your pretty bride?"

"She's in her office," I say. "I was just there."

Immediately, memories of our earlier encounter flashes through my mind. Lacey perched on her desk, her fingers tangling in my hair, her soft gasps echoing in the space between us.

I force the memories away. Now's not the time.

"Take me to her." Olga's command cuts through the air. "Now."

"Why the sudden concern?" I rise from my chair, studying Olga's taut expression. "Last I checked, you made your feelings about her quite clear in Paris."

"Don't mistake this for concern abouther." Olga's eyes narrow. "I care about the stability of the Stravinsky Bratva. And like it or not, bastard, your wife's fate is a part of that stability now."

I move around my desk, jaw clenching at Olga's words. She falls into step behind me as we exit my office, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors.

When we reach the door, something feels wrong.

I push the door open, and my stomach drops. The room is empty. Irina's sketches are still spread across Lacey's desk, but her chair is pushed back as if she left in a hurry.

"Where is she?" Olga demands.

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