Chapter 9
799 Words
Alexander POV
The first thing I feel is wrongness.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Wrongness.
Angelica’s presence has weight. Sound. Rhythm. Even when she’s quiet, the house knows she’s there. I know she’s there. My body has adjusted to her existence like gravity.
That morning, the gravity is gone.
I wake up alone.
That in itself isn’t unusual—she likes to dance early, especially when she can’t sleep—but the silence feels off. Too clean. Too empty.
I sit up instantly.
Her phone is on the nightstand.
Angelica never goes anywhere without it.
My blood turns to ice.
I’m out of bed and dressed in seconds, moving through the mansion with lethal calm. Guards straighten when they see my face.
“Where is she?” I ask.
No one answers fast enough.
“I asked,” I repeat quietly.
Elena steps forward, pale. “She went to the garden an hour ago. Two guards were with her.”
“Were.”
One word. Enough to confirm everything.
I don’t shout. I don’t rage.
That comes later.
“Lock the house down,” I order. “No one leaves. No one enters.”
My men move instantly. Doors seal. Gates slam shut. Phones are confiscated. Cameras pulled up.
Every second that passes is a failure.
I watch the footage myself.
Angelica walking barefoot through the garden, hair loose, wearing one of my shirts. Laughing at something Elena says. Alive. Safe.
Then—
A blind spot.
Thirty seconds.
That’s all it took.
The next camera catches chaos. One guard drops. The other turns too late. Elena fights like hell—but someone comes from behind her.
Someone who knew exactly where to stand.
Inside.
My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles split.
“Bring me everyone who was on shift,” I say. “Now.”
They line them up in the main hall. Guards. Staff. Drivers. Faces I’ve trusted for years.
I don’t bother threatening.
I just look.
Fear cracks faster than loyalty ever does.
It’s one of the drivers. Mid-level. Quiet. Easy to overlook. He doesn’t last five minutes under pressure.
“Max paid me,” he sobs. “He said you’d never notice—”
I shoot him in the head before he finishes.
The sound echoes through the mansion.
No one flinches.
“Find her,” I say into the silence. “Burn every contact. Every safe house. Every street Max has ever walked on.”
Ivan steps beside me, voice tight. “Alex… if he took her, it’s because he wants you to come.”
“I’m already coming,” I reply.
But I don’t chase blindly.
I hunt.
⸻
Max wants war.
He gets annihilation.
I tear through his world methodically. One location after another. Warehouses. Clubs. Offshore accounts. Men who swear they don’t know anything until I make them understand pain.
Every hour without her is torture.
I see her everywhere—in shadows, reflections, empty rooms. I imagine her scared, restrained, trying to be brave because that’s who she is.
The thought of his hands on her—
No.
I shut it down before it drives me feral.
“She’s alive,” Ivan says finally, holding out a phone. “Intercepted signal. Short transmission. Encrypted.”
I take the phone.
It’s a message.
A photo.
Angelica.
She’s sitting on a chair, wrists bound but unharmed. Her face is pale—but her eyes are furious, not broken.
Relief and rage collide inside me.
Then the next message comes through.
MAX:
Come alone if you want her breathing.
I smile.
A slow, terrifying thing.
“He still thinks this is a negotiation,” I say.
“It’s a trap,” Ivan warns.
“Of course it is.”
I turn to my men.
“I want Moscow sealed. Borders closed. No planes. No exits. Anyone connected to Max—anyone—gets dragged in.”
I grab my gun.
“She is my wife,” I say. “He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine.”
Ivan hesitates. “Alex… if something happens to you—”
I cut him off, eyes burning.
“If something happens to her,” I say softly, “there won’t be a world left for me to survive in.”
I head for the door.
This isn’t about power anymore.
This isn’t about pride.
This is about the one person who made my life feel like it belonged to me again.
And I will tear down every empire, kill every man, and burn every city if that’s what it takes to bring her home.
Max wanted my attention.
Now he has my full devotion.
And I am going to show him what happens
when you steal from a king
who has nothing left to lose.
- Writer
