I don’t know what led me to Oleg’s bedroom. Maybe I want to see for myself where the monster lays his head at night.
Opening the heavy doors, I enter a room fit for a king, albeit a mafia king. All glitzy gold decor, floor to ceiling marble and chandeliers dripping with crystals. It’s tacky, exactly what I would expect from a man without a drop of class.
My fingers are curled tight around my pistol as I clear the room, moving from the walk-in closet to the adjoining bathroom. There’s not a paper out of place, not even a discarded suit jacket draped over a chair or a pair of slippers abandoned on the plush white carpet.
But as I move past the giant canopied bed in the center of the room, something catches my attention. The mattress is askew; the duvet rumpled, and peeking out just underneath the bed is a black pistol.
Bending, I pick up the gleaming metal. After checking that the safety is on, I tuck it into my waistband. The hairs on my neck stand on end as I scan the room again. There’s a bucket of cleaning supplies in one corner, but nothing else is out of the ordinary. A maid could have run scared from here when she heard us blow-up the guard tower. It would be enough to make anyone bolt in fear.
Waving my hand over the device to trigger the mic on our comms, I call through to Yulian, my right hand and head of security. “I need an update.”
His voice comes through my ear-piece a moment later. “He’s not here,” he says, confirming what I already knew in my gut.
“And Kira?” I bark.
“Nothing. No sign of her. Your brothers tore apart Oleg’s office. They found nothing.”
I curse under my breath, frustration pulsing through me. Oleg Antonov should be dead by now, and I should have been the one to slit his throat and watch him bleed out. For what he did to my father. For what he did to my entire family.
“Anything in the bedroom?” Yulian asks.
“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “What about the others?”
“The innocents have been released, and we're questioning three of his top lieutenants now.”
“Good. Keep them alive until I come down.”
“Copy that.”
Anger pumps through my veins, and I grab a flower arrangement off a table and hurl it against the wall. Glass shatters into a thousand pieces and water sloshes everywhere, soaking the carpet as flowers scatter across the floor. The destruction quiets the rage inside me, as does the knowledge that my final order today will be to burn this place to the ground. I might not be walking away with Oleg’s life, but leaving his beloved estate a pile of smoking ashes will take the edge off. For now.
I turn to leave the room, but a faint noise stops me in my tracks. A muffled sound, like a cough. I stiffen, a shiver of awareness snaking down my spine.
Tightening my hold on the Glock, I go stock still, listening. Years of training kick in. My men are swarming the property and we’ve taken out all key targets, but it’s always possible someone slipped through the cracks. It could explain the gun on the floor.
The sound again, like a stifled sob. Silence falls, but this time as my eyes sweep the room, I find something I overlooked earlier.
Tucked into the far wall is a faint outline of a door. There’s no doorknob, but now that I look more closely, it’s something.
In five quick strides, I'm in front of the door, listening. I inwardly curse at my sloppiness—if it was Oleg or one of his men hiding in here, I’d be dead already. Gun at the ready, I kick at the door, which pops open with a click. I stand back, out of the line of fire. Prepared for anything.
I don’t know what I expect, but it’s not this. My pistol is pointed at a woman cowering on the floor of the closet. A pair of gorgeous gray eyes, framed with thick black lashes, stare up at me in alarm.
“Please… please don’t hurt me.” Her hoarse voice sounds strained. I can almost taste her fear. Her pulse pounds in her delicate throat, and I find it strangely compelling.
My gaze travels lower, and it’s then that I notice she's wearing some sort of naughty French maid’s costume that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I nearly laugh at my twist of luck. One of Oleg’s whores handed to me on a silver fucking platter, with a big, fat, shiny bow.
“Get up,” I order. She winces at my sharp tone but follows my direction, unfolding her body from the ground and stepping out of the closet. She’s undeniably beautiful, all lush curves and pouty lips, but I can’t be thinking with my dick. I motion for her to step forward into the light so I can get a better look at her.
She’s even more breathtaking up close. I’m struck by how young she is. Young and vulnerable, but perfect. She’s of average height with soft curves, her ample breasts spilling out of her ridiculous outfit. Her skin is smooth and creamy, and even with little make-up, her face is gorgeous with almond-shaped eyes that seem to miss nothing.
My chest twists knowing today won’t end well for her.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she rasps, raising her hands in surrender.
I smile softly. I don’t need to threaten her. The gun in my hand is enough of a threat. “I’ll be the one making the demands from now on. First off, put your hands down. This isn’t a bank robbery.” When she complies, I nod. “Now tell me who you are.”