Page 11 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

I thought for a moment. “First, we’ll have to release the phone to the cops ourselves so it doesn’t become a problem later. We already have the information we need from it; they can have it.”

He narrowed his eyes on me. “You always have a plan, Boss. I’m sure this isn’t just you trying to keep the cops busy.”

He was right. It wasn’t just me trying to keep the cops busy; it was me luring in my prey without having to do too much.

The evidence in that phone would lead to only one person—Giselle. If things worked out the way I planned, she’d make a very good damsel in distress, and I would play my part as her prince charming who’d come to her rescue.

“What if they see that she’s innocent, and they let her go?” Dobryn asked, his brows drawn with worry. He glanced at thephone that still had dried patches of Peter’s blood, at the cracked screen, and I wondered if a part of him was afraid.

From what I heard, he was the one who found Peter the morning he was killed, right in his apartment. I still remembered the way his hands had been shaking when he handed the phone to Egor, the rage in his eyes. He could’ve murdered a person in that moment and not felt anything.

But I thought he also understood that was the reality of our world. On most days, we would be the killers, ripping hardened men from their families. But one day, our luck may run out, and we’d be the ones lying in a casket.

“If she’s innocent, then we can benefit from the investigation somehow. The police won’t stop until they tear the case apart and track every message, every call. If Peter left any clue about the location of Tyfun-1, they’ll find it for us. And in the process, they’ll put more heat on anyone who tries to claim it.”

“So, we’re using a cat to keep the rats away?” Dobryn smirked. “Smart.”

“That, and we’ll use the cats to lure the rats into a trap.” A sly smile curled on my lips. “Who knows, it might even lead us to who killed Peter and how they found out about the drugs.”

Dobryn rose to his feet and clenched his fingers around the phone. “I’ll hand this over to the police like you instructed and keep you updated on their investigation. One more thing, sir. What do I tell thePakhanwhen he asks about Peter’s daughter?”

“Leave thePakhanto me.”

He nodded and left the office.

Alone, my thoughts drifted to Giselle once more. If things went as planned, then I would be seeing her again soon. A twisted wave of amusement rushed through me as I imagined her scowling and seething at the idea of me being her savior.

She was going to hate it, but she would have no other choice but to play along with me; either that or she would possibly lose her freedom. I hoped she would make the right decision when the time came. She was too smart not to.

There was the fact that this would benefit her, too. I bet she was curious about who murdered her father, if not why. Most people are driven by their need for vengeance and justice, I doubted she was much different.

One thing I knew for sure, though, was that she would need me one way or another when the time came.

Chapter 5 – Giselle

I jolted awake, my heart throbbing against my ribcage and a trail of sweat running down my temple.

Sleeping had become elusive. The nightmares were haunting, and it was impossible to forget Dad in the state I last saw him—lifeless, drained of color and life. Most nights since he died had been like this: me waking up from one nightmare or forcing myself to remain awake so I wouldn’t have another.

But tonight was different. It wasn’t the nightmare that woke me up; it was the thudding on the door—or maybe not. Maybe I hadn’t heard anything, and I was dreaming.

I listened for a moment, but there was nothing.

Right, I really was dreaming.

It was thirty minutes past one in the morning. No one would be knocking on my door that late. My mind tried to reel me back to thoughts of the Russian mafia. What if they were here for me? They wanted something, and knowing them, they would stop at nothing to get it.

I sighed, refusing to let the thought bubble any further. That wasn’t entirely impossible, but I had doubts that was the case. I was certainly either dreaming or imagining things.

Swinging out of bed, I pulled on a robe, slid my feet into the fluffy panda slippers I always had at the side of my bed, and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. If I wasn’t able to sleep after, I could just grab the coloring book I got from a bookstore down the street and shade something in to calm my nerves. That always worked.

Turning on the kitchen light, I filled a glass with water and chugged down half of it at once. My heart wasn’t throbbing as much anymore, but I could still feel the anxiety churning away in the pit of my stomach. God, I hated this feeling.

Another knock on the front door shattered the silence of the night. This time, the knock was louder and more demanding.

It wasn’t a dream or some figment of my imagination this time. It was real. Someone was at the door at this time of the night. No one had ever visited me this late before; no one had any reason to.

My hand trembled as I set the glass on the kitchen island and contemplated what to do for a while. Calling the cops was an option, but I couldn’t ring them until I was sure that whoever was at the door would harm me.

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