Page 75 of Captivated By the Bratva

“I think Brandon and Yusef assigned someone to look into that already. I’m heading downstairs right now, though. I’ll follow up and make sure someone’s on it.”

“Thanks, Nikolai.”

“We’ll keep you posted.”

I sighed, exiting the penthouse to check the neighborhood again. Henry was canvassing the area, and he still had the Valkov employees here on the task. But I couldn’t sit around. I had to move. I had to physically involve myself in looking, becausewaiting for answers and updates would drive me insane. Every minute that Nadia was gone, I felt the crushing weight of pain on my heart.

Where are you, sweetheart? Where?

Just like I did yesterday, I walked the perimeter of the building. Out here, under the sunshine, everything looked so ordinary. Life carried on as usual. Street vendors walked around selling wares. Pedestrians hustled along on commutes to their offices. Buses zoomed by.

No one else was acting like war had been declared. Nothing signaled grief and anger, or misery and impatience. My frustration was a living beast trapped within me, and seeing the normal, everyday scene of the city pissed me off more.

How could no one have seen her? How?

The surveillance from the building either had to have been scrubbed or someone pulled off a goddamn magic Houdini trick to get her out of the penthouse. It was as though she’d vanished into thin air after struggling to get free. Henry had an IT employee working on the files here, but backtracking and figuring out a cyber trail didn’t usually result in instant answers.

I had to be patient, but that seemed like an impossible feat. Every minute felt so long. Each hour passed grudgingly slowly.

When I walked along the back of the building, I spotted the grungy homeless man. He was watching me pass by, but before I moved away to complete my circuit, he cleared his throat.

I stopped, glancing at him.

He didn’t speak, but I was confident he’d made that noise to stop me.

Then, ever so slightly, he tilted his head to the side.

Without being obvious, I scanned the area but focused on the direction he’d indicated. Nothing stood out. Only the work alley to my left and more of the same to the right.

I wondered if it was a jerk. An involuntary motion from some sort of physical issue, but I dismissed the idea. This was the same man who’d been camped out here since I arrived in Chicago.

He hadn’t changed. And I recalled at once what stood out about him. He looked as grungy as all the other homeless people I’d asked yesterday. I’d stopped at them all and given them money for any clues if they’d seen Nadia being taken away.

This guy was different, though. His eyes weren’t bloodshot. He looked as hopeless and filthy as the others, but he acted with an innate sense of wellbeing that couldn’t be disguised as poor health or hygiene.

“Can’t you spare some change?” he asked, tilting his head more clearly to indicate the yet-to-be-filled aluminum pan he was collecting money in. Street peddlers didn't typically attract my attention. They blended in, all the same as they begged and solicited handouts.

But something snagged me. I didn’t have time to talk with him if he couldn’t tell me anything. I walked closer anyway, reaching in my pocket for a few coins to toss in.

I raised one brow, studying him closer.

“Did you find your wife?” he asked, lowering his voice but maintaining that slangy tone.

“I didn’t say that she was my wife,” I replied coolly. Nadia would be mine in every sense of the word, but this guy didn’t know that.

“Will she be yours?” he pressed.

“What’s it to you?”

“You were asking around about her yesterday.”

I nodded. “It’s of great importance that I locate her.”

He stared up at me, making me more intrigued. His gaze was clear and serious.

“I am asking if she is a sold woman or if she isyours, Mr. Valkov.”

I didn’t move. I held my breath in and fought not to show any reaction to his knowing my name. It might be common knowledge that the tall building behind me was a Valkov property, but I doubted it. We often used layers of protection, owning land and buildings under shell corps and untraceable names. All syndicated crime families did that. It was why—as Nik and Alek discussed with me—we struggled to know where to find the Kastavas who had Dmitri captive as well as where Lev Avilov might take Nadia.

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