Page 64 of Tattooed Heart

“When were you supposed to call?” I demand.

“After she was taken,” Elena whispers. “To confirm the handoff.”

“And did you?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was trying to get away. To go to my sister's house in Queens.”

I hand the phone to Ivan. “Get this to Lev. I want everything. Tower pings, GPS data if it exists. Anything that might give us a location.”

Ivan nods and disappears from the room.

I turn back to Elena, studying her face. There is genuine fear there but also a hint of resignation. She knows what happens to traitors in our world.

“Your daughter,” I bark. “What proof do you have that they actually have her?”

Elena reaches into her pocket and withdraws a small gold locket. “They sent me this. It's hers. She never takes it off. And they sent videos. Timestamped from today.”

I take the locket and examine it. Inside is a tiny photograph of a smiling teenage girl with Elena’s eyes. The clasp is broken, suggesting it had been torn from the girl's neck.

“Address,” I demand.

“She lives with her father in Brighton Beach,” Elena replies. “242 Dover Street, apartment 3B.”

I toss the locket back to her and pull out my phone, dialing quickly. “Viktor. I need a team at 242 Dover Street, apartment 3B. Extraction job. Teenage girl, likely being held against her will. Use the brownstone two blocks over as staging. Report directly to me what you find.”

I end the call and turn back to Elena. “If your daughter is there, my men will get her out safely.”

A glimmer of hope crosses her face. “Thank you, Mr. Popov.”

“Don't thank me,” I snarl. “If anything happens to Sandy or my child, your daughter won't be enough to save you.”

The door opens, and Yuri enters, carrying a thick file folder and a laptop. He nods respectfully to Aleksandr before setting up at the side table.

“Everything we have on Morozov's known properties and associates,” he informs, opening the folder to reveal maps, photographs, and documents. “Thirty-six locations throughout New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.”

“Too many to hit simultaneously,” Aleksandr notes, examining the list.

“We need to narrow it down,” I agree. “Somewhere private, isolated. Somewhere he feels safe.”

Ivan pulls up satellite images on his laptop. “These eight are industrial properties. Warehouses and abandoned factories. Perfect for holding someone without attracting attention.”

I study the images, committing each location to memory. “Divide them between our men. Full tactical gear, shoot to kill anyone who resists.”

My phone buzzes with a message from Viktor.No girl at the apartment. Signs of struggle. Neighbors say she hasn’t been around for at least two weeks. Working on security footage from the building.

I show the message to Elena, watching her face crumple with fresh grief. “Your daughter was taken, at least that part is true. But Morozov likely planned to dispose of her regardless of your cooperation.”

“Oh my God,” she moans, burying her face in her hands. “What have I done?”

I have no comfort to offer her. All my focus and energy is directed toward finding Sandy. Every minute that passes is another minute she is in Morozov's hands. Another minute of danger for her and our child.

Lev returned, his expression tense. “The paper had coordinates. Upstate, a remote area, mostly abandoned businesses and warehouses.”

“Could be a trap,” Aleksandr warns.

“Or it could be where they're holding Sandy,” I counter. “Either way, we go.”

Ivan cross-references the coordinates with their property database. “Nothing listed under Morozov's name in that area. But his brother owned property there before he died. About twenty acres, isolated, with a rundown house next to an abandoned packaging plant. Officially, it was sold two years ago to a shell company based in the Caymans.”

---