Page 75 of Forbidden Vows

“No, no, don’t be modest,” Ian politely interjects. “You put in most of the hard work. Own it and be proud of it. You deserve the accolades.”

Glancing out the window, I watch the shopfronts whizz past as we make our way through River North. I love this city, warts and all. It’s my home, and I know it’s underbelly better than most. Ciara and I were lucky to be raised as Donovans. Many of my father’s underlings struggled harshly to reach the top of the food chain. We were born up there.

“I don’t know about that. Technically speaking, it kind of got handed to me,” I mutter.

“You were given a barren space, and you turned it into what is likely going to be a very successful business and a wonderfulcustomer experience,” Ian insists. “Do not sell yourself short.”

Anton agrees. “You had the resources and the capabilities. Ian’s right. Be proud of yourself, especially under these circumstances.” He pauses and looks out the window. “Have you heard from Ciara?”

“No,” I shake my head slowly. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages. It’s been two weeks, Anton. I’m frightened for her.”

“My intel confirms she’s still alive,” he says. “She hasn’t left the Donovan property; she was seen earlier this morning in the back garden.”

“How do you know?”

Ian scoffs. “We had to send a drone over in order to avoid detection. The entire mansion has been taken over by Kuznetsov’s men.”

“What about Paddy and the rest of our security detail?” I ask.

“We don’t know,” Anton replies. “Andrei is making inquiries across the city. Morgues, hospitals, anything.”

“God, this is awful.”

“It could be worse.”

“Really?” I give him a confused look. “How? How could any of this be worse?”

Anton looks at me, and I see the dark shadows settling in his deep, hazel eyes. A grim reminder of what he has seen and lived through, long before our paths ever crossed. “It could be an all-out war in the streets of Chicago, like back in the ’30s or even the ’70s.”

“Or the ’80s, when crack entered the scene,” Ian reminds us.

“You’re right; that was a particularly gruesome decade,” Anton sighs. “Point is, it could always be worse. We’re gathering evidence against Kuznetsov as we speak. One way or another, I am taking that bastard down, and I will do everything in my power to get Ciara out of it before she gets hurt or worse.”

“In the meantime, we move on,” Ian says. “You’ve got the café’s grand opening party to organize. A soft launch next week, and an official opening in about a month. That’s what Laura suggested, anyway.”

I was on board with that timing until the brewery fire. Now, I’m not so sure. “It might be dangerous to hold a public event in this current climate,” I respond. “Kuznetsov’s goons might target us.”

“I doubt that, knowing we’d all be there, the Karpovs and other high-ranking members of the Bratva,” Anton says. “He’s a monster, but he’s not a fool.”

“He’s not the brightest pea in the pod, either,” Ian mutters. “I heard from my buddies in the CPD’s Arson Unit that they’re hot on a trail that involves Paul Mattis. Paul to Sergei is just a stone’s throw, isn’t it?”

“Well that’s a positive lead,” Anton says.

“We’re on to something. And we’re fortunate to have some support within the CPD. They’re not fans of a potential Kuznetsov administration either. They know how Sergei’s people operate.”

“The fact that the Karpovs have been running the Bratva for the past few decades is why the morgues weren’t overflowing.”

“You’ll get him, I know you will,” I tell Anton.

He gives me a soft smile, his happy expression fading as he looks somewhere over my shoulder. A cold shiver travels down my spine as I follow his gaze.

“Oh, shit,” Ian mumbles.

“What is it? Oh.” I lose my breath altogether once I realize we’re parked outside my café.

“Eileen, stay in the car,” Anton says and jumps out. Ian is quick to join him.

I step out despite his command. My heart breaks into a million pieces as I slowly try to take it all in.

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