Page 73 of Imperfect Desires

He doesn’t argue. He just drives.

We pull up outside my place close to 3 a.m. The silence is suffocating. The walls of my home have never felt so empty.

Anton shifts in his seat. "You gonna sleep?"

I let out a hollow laugh. "Sleep? No. I’ll keep digging from here."

He opens the driver’s side door to follow me, but I stop him. "Just stay close to your phone. If anything comes up—anything—I’ll let you know."

"Got it." He nods and shifts his gear into drive.

I watch him drive off before heading inside. The door closes behind me with a heavy click. I’m alone again. Surrounded by silence and memories. I lower myself onto the couch, my head in my hands, and whisper her name.

My phone buzzes. It’s Viktor, and I swipe to answer.

"Fog’s cleared," he says. "Zasha and I are heading back later today. Jet’s been cleared for takeoff."

"Good," I reply. "I really need you to be here."

"Any movement?"

I hesitate, jaw tightening. "Nothing. I’ve turned over every rock in this city. Not a goddamn whisper."

Silence stretches for a moment on the other end.

"I don’t like this," Viktor mutters. "Feels professional. Quiet. Whoever did this knows how to disappear."

“We’ll get them,” I vow before I end the call.

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s one of the favours I’ve called in, Dmitri. "Lev," he says, breathless. "I think I’ve got something."

I sit up straight. "Talk."

“Traffic camera footage from a street two blocks from the airport. The timestamp matches the night Alina disappeared. You’re gonna want to see this.”

I’m already on my feet, and within seconds, I’m back at the screens in my surveillance room. The footage Dmitri forwarded is grainy, but I can see a dark SUV with tampered plates creeping down a deserted stretch of road. With no readable plate or visible driver, whoever was in that car didn’t want to be found.

I stare at the screen. It’s not much. But it’s something. I print the photo and pin it to the board beside Alina’s photo.

"Hold on,kotyonok,"I murmur. "I’m not stopping until I bring you home."

27

Alina

I hear boot sounds before two brutish guards unlock the door silently. One gestures with a slight tilt of his chin. I hesitate, my instinct screaming to resist, but I know better than to provoke them blindly.

My body still aches from the cold floor, from the weight of dread I’ve carried through every sleepless hour. I rise slowly, spine straight, chin up.

They escort me through the dim hallways of the compound, and I catch my reflection in a mirror as we pass—pale skin, sunken eyes, tangled hair. But there’s still fire behind my gaze.

I won’t let them break me.

We stop in front of a double door. One of the men knocks twice before pushing it open.

Mendes.

He’s sitting casually in a leather armchair, drink in hand, as if this is a meeting between friends. There’s a small table beside him and on it—a folded white dress.

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