Page 64 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

“Thank you,” I muttered to him as I climbed out.

He closed the door and positioned himself beside me.

We both stared at the building that held so much of my childhood.

The house stood tall and ominous against the night sky. It hadn’t changed much—dark wooden panels, a wraparound porch, the same old rocking chair swaying slightly in the wind.

Mom had made all my blankets and sweaters sitting on that chair. She would hum and tell me stories as she knitted them.

I still remembered one of those days very vividly. We’d been waiting for Dad to come home after he’d been away for almost a month. Mom had been knitting a pink, long-sleeved sweater when Dad’s car rolled in.

I’d jumped up and lurched toward Dad, throwing myself on him the minute he stepped out of the car. He’d picked me up and spun around as he peppered me with kisses.

That, too, was only just a memory now.

“Are you ready to go inside?” Andrei asked. His brows were furrowed, and his lips were pinched with worry as he looked at me.

I bobbed my head. “I was born ready.”

He smiled and pushed a lock of hair away from my face. “Good. Stay close to me, and let me know if you find anything, okay?”

“Sure.”

He gave a sharp nod to his men, signaling them to check the perimeter. They moved quickly, disappearing into the shadows with their guns drawn.

I swallowed hard before stepping onto the porch.

The old floorboards creaked beneath my weight as I reached for the silver doorknob and unlocked it.

A cough ripped from my throat when we made our way inside the house and turned on the light.

The air was thick with dust, cobwebs, and the decaying smell of old books. The white sheets covering the furniture had turned brown, and some of the wooden furniture had started to grow mold from the lack of ventilation.

The house had been abandoned for years. Neither Mom or Dad wanted to visit the place that held memories of their past, so they’d closed it down and decided to stay away.

I ran my fingers over the wooden table in the foyer, brushing away dust residues.

Andrei wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “We don’t have much time,” he reminded me gently. “We need to find what we came here for and leave before anyone else notices we’re here.”

I nodded, reminding myself I wasn’t here to relive old memories. There was plenty of time to do that later. For now, I was here to find something, and I needed to focus on that.

I moved through the house, searching for clues until I came to a halt in front of the large painting hanging on the living room wall. It was an abstract piece, with chaotic strokes of deep blues and grays, but my eyes locked onto one detail—the eyes hidden within the brushstrokes.

The typhoon’s eye holds the calm.

If this was the typhoon’s eye, then…. I racked my brain for a minute, repeating the words from the text message.

Typhoon. Eye. Calm.

I was sure there was a message here. I’d found the eyes; what remained wasthe calm. I narrowed my eyes on the details of the drawing, taking them in. The blue and gray strokes looked like a storm.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

My father had always told me to look for the calm within the storm. The eyes, in this case, were the calm within the storm. This was the clue I’d needed all along.

My heart raced, and an enthusiastic smile spread across my face. “It’s behind here!” I announced. “Tyfun-1 is behind this painting.”

Andrei stepped forward and observed the painting, his finger hovering over it. There was a flicker of hope in his eyes, and he didn’t ask a single question before he gestured to his men. “Take it down.”

---