Page 69 of Imperfect Desires

The call has ended, but the weight of Viktor’s voice still hangs in the air like a noose tightening around my neck. I stare at the screen until it fades to black, my hand still clenched around the phone like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. But everything has tilted off its axis. My knees buckle before I can stop them, and I drop to the floor, back against the cold concrete wall of my safe house.

The girl I walked away from. The girl I told myself I didn’t deserve. The girl I’ve been trying like hell to forget is carrying my child. And someone has taken her.

A deep, guttural sound tears from my chest. I don’t recognize it at first—it’s not rage, not entirely. It’s grief. Raw, blinding grief laced with guilt so heavy it might crush me.

I dig my fingers into my scalp, trying to breathe. The night we spent together at the hotel plays on an endless loop in my mind—her softness, the way she clung to me like I was the only safe place in the world. The way I held her… and left her before dawn.

I was a coward who snuck away while she was still sleeping. And now she’s gone. I slam my fist into the floor so hard that pain shoots up my arm. But I welcome it. I need to feel it because I deserve it.

But I can’t sit here drowning in guilt. I need to find her. Now.

Dragging myself to my feet, I grab the second phone—my untraceable one—and start dialing. Old contacts. Former allies.People I haven’t spoken to in years. I burn through names like matches, lighting one fire after the other.

“Yo, Lev. Long time—”

“Cut the reunion crap. I need intel. Girl’s gone missing. Bratva royalty. Alina Makarov.”

“Fuck… Isn’t that your boss’s sister?”

“She is also my girl.”

A pause. “Damn. Alright, I’ll ask around.”

I hang up before he can say more. No time for explanations. No room for anything except the mission.

I repeat the process of calling anyone who can provide me with intel. I contact friends and foes; I make demands and issue threats. Whatever it takes. I don’t care if I have to break every code I've ever lived by—I’ll crawl through hell to find her.

But hour after hour, the messages come back the same: nothing. No movement. No chatter. No suspicious activity among the Bratva's enemies or the Cartel. No one is claiming responsibility. It’s like she vanished into thin air.

I slam my palm against the wall, the crack echoing through the empty room. Then again. Harder. Until the plaster splinters and my hand goes numb. Still, I punch again and again.

Blood stains the wall, trickling down my wrist, but I don’t stop. The pain keeps me grounded. Reminds me that this is real. That Alina’s gone. And I wasn’t there to protect her.

I stagger back and sink onto the edge of the bed, head in my hands. For a moment, all I can do is take shallow, broken breaths.

The silence in this room is maddening. The walls feel as if they’re closing in. I can still hear her voice: soft, curious, laughing.

And now maybe screaming.

No. I won’t think like that. I can’t. She’s alive. She has to be, both she and my child.

I push up to my feet and begin pacing. My mind sifts through every possible lead. Could it be someone from Viktor’s past? One of the old enemies we buried but didn’t kill? Could it be the Cartel?

My eyes scan the walls of the safe house. I rip down a dusty map and slap it against the largest empty space. Red pins. Blue pins. Yellow pins. I mark Bratva rivals, cartel factions, and independent players.

Every connection I can think of.

Then I start printing surveillance photos. Pictures from years back. Faces of those who once had power and those who arerising now. I tape them up like ghosts watching me work. Names. Dates. Territories.

I cross-reference every location, trace black market arms deals, and flag every unexplained movement of product across the docks. Nothing fits. Nothing leads to her.

Just as I am about to give up, I remember a number I swore I’d never call again: a hacker named Felix who owes me for saving his sorry ass in Miami. He answers on the first ring.

“Lev. Wow. You’re still alive.”

“Track a phone. Girl named Alina Makarov. She had her personal phone on her when she went missing from around JFK airport. Can you ping it?”

There’s a beat of silence. “You know if she had any trackers installed?”

---