Page 19 of Captivated By the Bratva

“Yeah.” Alek grunted. “And not only that, but he also directly put us into the middle of it. It sounds like when Gregory was getting beaten, he blurted that he knew Nadia would be home soon. Becauseyou, a high-ranking Valkov, were on the case to retrieve her.”

I nodded. “All right.” It was common knowledge that the Petrovs were loosely beneath the overall Valkov protection circle.

“I’m not telling you this to put pressure on the situation, but Avilov didn’t seem happy that I sent anyone to help bring Nadia home for her marriage.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. He’s obsessed with her only beinghis, and he’s not fond of the idea of any other man being near her.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking back to the dorky guy who’d hit on Nadia at the bar. “Well, I’m on it.”

“Listen, Maxim,” Alek warned. “He’s not going to be happy if she’s not here to marry him. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why. We’ve never had to deal with their family much, but what I know isn’t good. Lev Avilov is a demented man. He could cause a war over this, should you fail to find Nadia and bring her home.”

And war—another war—is the last thing we need now.As if we didn’t have enough problems already.

“Find her, Maxim. Find her and hand her over as soon as possible.”

“I will.” Saying it out loud felt… wrong.

“Lev wants his bride, and anyone who stands in the way of that will be his enemy.”

Then he won’t want to hear that competition, that other man I left bleeding in the alley, is already trying to get in the way.

“I can’t handle any more fires to put out,” Alek warned tiredly. “Not with Dmitri missing.” As if on cue to remind us of how hectic life had become back at the mansion, Alana’s cries sounded in the background.

“I’ve got this,” I promised him before we disconnected the call.

And I would. One way or another, I would locate that alluring runaway bride. This time, I’d hold on to her tighter, too.

8

NADIA

My arrival went as smoothly as possible. Mexico was hot, humid, and so different from the air in London that I paused for a few moments just to breathe. Relaxation wasn’t possible. Not yet. I had to hide somewhere since I’d taken the impulsive leap to run this far.

And therein lay my problem. All the hotels in the touristy center of this area were ungodly expensive. The rentals further out were more affordable but all booked up. Go figure I had to be here during the traditional spring break time. Hardly anything was available, and what was open was too costly to manage more than a couple of nights.

Getting a car was my first plan of action, and once I did that, I regretted it. I had to use my passport. I used the credit card Zoe let me borrow. She was an angel not to push me about details, seeming to understand that I had to stay on the down low. I meant it. I would pay her back someday. Somehow. With money I had no clue how I’d obtain.

And that dash of irony killed me. If I were married to Lev, I’d be the wife of a majorly wealthy man. Still, the allure of easy money didn’t tempt me. Not a single bit.

This rental was a necessity, though, and I prayed that the criminal staff Mr. Avilov hired would be slow to track my passport being scanned here. It was impossible to hide anywhere in the world. Digital trails remained in place everywhere. But I did feel better about being behind a wheel.

“So long as I stop trying to drive on the other side of the road.” I rolled my eyes after muttering to myself. I’d grown up with driving on the right side of the road, but the few times I’d driven at university threw me off.

I had no place in mind. I hadn’t done any research. Woefully unprepared and reacting to that Avilov man had me rash and panicked.

Now was a good time to try to think of a next step, though. I was too scared to turn on my phone for too long. That, more than anything else, could be tracked. I’d seen enough movies and shows to understand that the devices we all carried with us every step of the day were the ultimate source of tracing.

At the airport, I used my phone to call a few hotels listed on advertisements, but I powered it off once I realized I couldn’t afford anything.

Instead of relying on technology, I pulled over at a scenic viewing ledge. I didn’t care what historical or geographical site this was. I wished I could be curious. But this wasn’t a vacation. I stopped only because it wasn’t crowded with tons of people.

The huge, weathered map anchored under a shelter was my goal. Maybe I could get a better sense of where I was and where Icould hide if I at least scanned the area. If not, I’d need to drive back to all the touristy stands and shops to buy an actual map.

I was exhausted, stressed, and so damn tired. But I had to keep running until an ideal hiding site came to me. On the stained and chipped plastic board, I saw historical landmarks and vague depictions of roads. It wasn’t an accurate map, and my hope fell when I peered at it. The map told me what I already knew but didn’t want to admit.

If I wanted to find somewhere to stay, it’d have to be in the city. With all the tourists. Outside the mecca of commercialism along the water and all the attractions for travelers was… nothing. Vast land with no markers. Smaller cities existed outside of the vacation area, and I knew better than to traipse into the “wild” on my own with no resources.

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