Page 107 of Wicked Sinner
"That's not a plan, that's suicide."
I stop walking and turn to face him, letting him see the full weight of my fury. "Then stay here. I don't need you."
"Yeah, you do." He doesn't back down from my stare. "Because whoever took her knew exactly how to get to you. This isn't some random grab—it's planned. Professional. And if you walk in there without backup, you're playing right into their hands."
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. It’s an unknown number.
"Answer it," Tristan says quietly. "Put it on speaker."
I swipe to accept the call. "What?"
"Ah, Caesar Genovese." The voice is heavily accented—it sounds Russian. "I was wondering when you would call."
"Who the fuck is this?" I hiss through my teeth.
"My name is Matvey Slakov. I believe I have something that belongs to you."
Fuck.It was him. Alek Slakov’s son, a fucking loose end that Konstantin’s men never managed to tie up. My teeth grind together as I stare at the buildings in front of me.
“I want my wife back,” I growl, motioning for my men to spread out and start approaching the warehouse from multiple angles.
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible.” There’s something that almost sounds like a smile in Matvey’s voice. “You see, Caesar, I was left with nothing when our fathers failed at their task. I think you can understand this feeling, somewhat. After all, your father wanted to leave you with nothing too. But you managed to make a nice life for yourself. A decent living. You have assets in your name,da? I was given nothing. I kept nothing. And you havebeen a thorn in Konstantin’s side. I think he will appreciate me ridding him of you and your irritating wife. And then, I will take what was yours, and do better than our fathers did.”
"Your father was a piece of shit who got what he deserved,” I hiss. “A conniving climber, just like you are. But you’re not going to get away with this, Slakov. And I’m fucking tired as shit of men thinking they have a right to what I should inherit.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of amusement on Tristan’s face, before it turns back to cold focus.
Matvey laughs, the sound sharp and unpleasant. "We will see. I have an offer for you, Caesar."
"If you’ve laid so much as a finger on my wife?—"
"She is unharmed. For now. But that could change very quickly if you do not listen carefully to what I am about to tell you."
I catch Tristan's eye and nod toward the warehouse. He signals his men to move into position around the building while I keep Matvey talking.
"I'm listening."
"Good. Here is what will happen. You will come to the warehouse, alone and unarmed. You will be given a chance to speak to your wife, before I put you on your knees and put an end to your pretense of being worthy of inheritance. And then, if you obey and let me have what I want, I will let her go."
My jaw tightens. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I’ll give my sniper the signal, and you are dead. She will be too, as soon as your death is confirmed."
The line goes dead.
For a moment, I can't breathe. The thought of losing Bridget, of losing our child before they’re even born, is like a knife twisting in my chest. But then the fear transforms into something colder, sharper, a lethal fury that sets me on edge and makes me want blood.
"We were right—that’s the warehouse," I tell Tristan. "He wants me to come alone."
"Obviously you're not going to do that."
"Obviously." I check my weapons again. "But I am going in first."
"Caesar—"
"No arguments. He's expecting me. If I don't show up, he might panic and hurt her. But if I can get inside, distract him, maybe you can get your men in position to take out his security."
Tristan studies me for a long moment, his head tilted to one side as if he’s seeing something I’m not. "You really love her, don't you?"
