Page 10 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

Her piercing emerald eyes were the first thing to catch my attention. They were brighter than shattered glass catching the light. And then there was her thick, dark lashes and her raven-black hair that framed the curve of her shoulders.

She was petite and looked almost too delicate to touch, but there was an intricate tattoo right there on her wrist where I’d held her.

Damn it, I hadn’t even realized I was holding her then or how tight my grip was.

I refused to allow any other thoughts of her or her beauty in my mind. I needed to concentrate on one thing, and that was what she knew about the Tyfun-1.

She knew something. I could tell from the way her pulse jumped when I mentioned her father’s last call—the way she tried too hard to act indifferent. She was hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was. If the secret didn’t lie in that text or the last call he made, then it was in their meeting the night before he was murdered.

A sharp knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Dobryn stepped inside the office, closing the door behind him. Dobryn had worked for me for years, and he was one of the men I trusted the most.

I studied the dark expression on his face. “What is it?”

“The police found out about the Tyfun-1.”

I sat up, jaw clenching. “How?”

He shrugged. “I have no freaking idea how they found out. It’s all over the news. “They’re calling it Typhoon-1, and just like us, they’re working hard to get their hands on it. Apparently,they see it as a major threat—something about how dangerous the synthetic formula is.”

“The cops aren’t that smart; I’m certain we’ll get our hands on it before they do. We have Peter’s last message and his daughter.”

He didn’t agree, which meant he had something else to say. The suspense was killing me, and I could feel my frustration start to bubble.

“What else?”

He cleared his throat. “The police aren’t the only ones looking for it.”

“Fuck.” I fought back the rage flaring inside me. “Who else?”

“The Irish, maybe the Americans, too. Somehow, word got out that no one has any idea where Peter stashed the drugs before he died. Now everyone’s trying to find it.”

I grabbed onto my tie, loosening the knot that now felt like a noose around my throat. Perfect, just what I needed.

Dobryn scrutinized my expression cautiously. “You look grim yourself,” he noted as he sat on the chair across from my table. “Let me guess, the meeting didn’t go as planned, did it?”

I leaned back in my chair, swiveling from side to side. “The girl is harder to get through than I thought.”

She might not have known exactly who I was, but she recognized that I was from the mafia and understood how cruel I could be; yet, she stood her ground. I didn’t know whether to praise her for her boldness or consider it plain stupidity on her part. Either way, I was impressed. No one outside the mafia had ever stood up to me like that.

“Is there a chance she really doesn’t know about the Tyfun-1?” Dobryn asked, giving me the same doubtful look Rafayel had days ago. “She might’ve heard without knowing what it was.”

I shook my head. “She knows.”

“How can you tell?”

“Her reaction.” I steepled my fingers in front of me, thinking back to my conversation with Giselle. “She didn’t ask what the Tyfun-1 was or what the text meant. To a normal person, that text would’ve been nothing more than gibberish, but she wasn’t curious.”

Dobryn nodded in agreement. “What’s your plan now?”

I shrugged. “I’m still thinking the best way to go about the girl, but after meeting her today, I know it won’t be easy to get anything out of her. It’ll take time, and I’ll have to get her to trust that she won’t be in danger somehow.”

“We don’t have time, sir. The cops are on our tail. They already know Peter worked for us. It’ll be a matter of time before they figure everything out and raid our businesses.”

“That won’t happen.” I pulled out my drawer and, grabbing Peter’s phone, I tossed it to Dobryn. “We have to keep them busy for now.”

He caught the phone mid-air. “How do we do that, sir?”

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