Page 20 of His Hold

Besides possibly the entire Russian mafia? "No. I write lifestyle pieces for Modern City Magazine. The worst I've done is give a bad review to a restaurant."

Officer Miller studies the carved message. "This suggests otherwise. Someone wants you to stop investigating something."

"I... I've been looking into my sister's disappearance." A calculated partial truth. "She vanished five years ago."

"Was that case ever solved?"

"No." The word tastes bitter. "The police found nothing."

The younger officer perks up. "Maybe this is connected? Someone who knows what happened to her?"

"We'll look into it," Miller says, but his tone suggests he's already filed this under random break-in. "For now, is there somewhere else you can stay?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine here."

"We strongly recommend—"

"This is my home." I meet his eyes. "I'm not leaving."

They take photos, dust for prints, ask more questions. I play my part – the scared but determined sister, just innocent enough to be believable. Finally, they leave with promises to increase patrols in the area.

Once they're gone, I lock my door and slide down against it.

Was it a warning? A message? Or was it just random? God. I hate how paranoid I’ve become, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

On instinct, I text the one person who might understand.

Nikolai.

Someone trashed my place. Was it you?

A minute passes. Then another. My phone buzzes.

No. But if someone is targeting you, maybe you should chill on the whole detective thing.

Wow, Mr. Ramensky, is that concern I hear? Should I call the tabloids?

I just hate funerals. Especially yours. I just know the catering would be terrible.

I snort. A laugh when I shouldn’t be laughing. It’s infuriating that he can still make me smile when I should be furious.

Good to know my tragic demise would inconvenience you.

Exactly. You’d ruin my week. Selfish.

The humor slips away. Because no matter how stupid it is, part of me wishes he actually cared. Which is ridiculous. He’s the biggest suspect in my sister’s disappearance, and here I am letting his jokes comfort me.

But I’m not stupid. If it wasn’t him, it’s someone else tied to the Bratva—or someone who knows about my investigation.

I stare at my ransacked apartment, my heart pounding. Whoever did this wanted me scared. Congratulations. It worked. Now I have to be more careful. But first, I’ll be more proactive about this whole thing.

My hands shake as I reach for my phone again, scrolling to a number I've never used.

It’s pathetic, really. I saved his number years ago but never called. After Irina disappeared, I couldn’t bring myself to. And not even when her name became just another cold case in the police’s cluttered files.

The truth is, I never believed Anton had anything to do with it. They broke up not long after I left for my mother. Irina told me casually, like it was nothing. Like she was fine.

"He’s sweet, and it was fun while it lasted, but I need to focus on myself."

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