Midnight Sanctuary (Bugrov Bratva #2)(47)

How did I let this happen? I wonder.

This estate, my siblings, the Bratva—those things have always been my safe place. Those were the things that I considered home.

Now, when I think of home, all I see is her.





28





URI





I walk out of the bathroom to find my phone ringing on my desk. The number is listed as private but I answer it anyway. I have a feeling who it might be, and as soon as I hear the voice on the other end, my hunch is proven right.

“Hello, cousin. I have some good news for you.” Dimiv is giddy with excitement. Say what you will about the man’s methods—his enemies surely aren’t a fan of them—but he gets results. “I tracked down a location for Drozdov. An address where he’s rumored to keep his purchases. A storehouse of sorts, you might call it.”

I’m holding the phone so tight it’s in danger of cracking to pieces in my hands. “Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you in person when you scoop me from International Arrivals. But I’m sweating my balls off in this hellhole of a country, so hurry the fuck up, man.”

“You flew all the way here?” I ask in surprise.

Dimiv snorts. “Some fucker steals my baby cousin and tries to sell her into sex slavery? You bet your ass I flew in. You and Nikolai need me.”

“You’re a good man, Dimiv.” I’m already striding through the house and snatching keys from the pinboard by the garage. “On my way.”

I’m almost at the front door when Nikolai appears from around the corner. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“That was Dimiv. I’m on the way to the airport to pick him up and we’re heading to one of Drozdov’s places.”

Nikolai’s eyes bug out of his head. “Dimiv is—he’s—he found—I’m coming.”

“No.” I plant a hand on his chest to stop him from following me. “I need you here, looking out for Lev and Alyssa. Dimiv and I have this covered.”

My brother’s face falls and his shoulders collapse forward. But then something lights him up. “Alyssa has an appointment with Grigory today. Don’t you want to be there for the check-up?”

Fucker. He knows what buttons to push.

“Alyssa will understand. This is about Polly. Tell her I’ll see her tonight.”

Before he can argue further, I close the door and rush towards my black SUV. I tear through rush hour, with traffic cameras popping off like fireworks as I rip straight through intersections and cut off damn near every vehicle on the road. Let the tickets pile up—I’ll pay them all gladly if it means bringing me to Polly even one second sooner.

At the airport, I find Dimiv standing impatiently on the curb, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “Ass or cash?” I joke as I pull up in front of him with the window rolling down.

Dimiv looks up and grins. “I bet your ugly mug wishes I’d say ‘ass.’” He throws his duffel into the back and jumps into the passenger seat. “Good to see you, cousin.”

We embrace over the center console and he pounds my back twice, the way my uncle used to. It brings me right back to my childhood—summers in Russia, wrestling matches in the backyard, pierogies and pastilas every evening. Dimiv even smells like Uncle Petyr: cigarette smoke and Soviet-era Old Spice cologne.

“I wish we were reuniting under better circumstances,” he says with a sigh when we break apart. “You should have called me the minute shit hit the fan.”

I pull out and take the on-ramp that leads to the highway. “You have your own shit to deal with in Moscow.”

“Family is family, Uri. I know you’d show up if I called and said one of my boys was taken by some mudak with more greed than common sense.”

“I would. How are the boys, by the way?”

“Bogdan is studious and quiet. Osip is a handful and a half. Reminds me of you and Nikolai at that age. He needs a good ass-whipping from time to time—also like you and Nikolai at that age. Hell, at this age, too.” He chuckles when I scowl, then pulls his phone out. “I’ll put the location in your GPS. Looks like forty minutes to get there, give or take. We’ll need reinforcements.”

I nod and accelerate into the left lane. “Text Nikolai. Have him send three teams to the address. They’ll be there faster than we will.”

Dimiv falls silent as he sends Nikolai the text. Once he’s done, he leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath. “America,” he says with a sigh. “It’s been almost eight years since I was here. Can you believe it?”

The last time Dimiv had been in the States was for the funerals. He brought his wife, Dagmara, who was pregnant with their oldest at the time.

“I can’t,” I admit. “Eight years. Fuck.” I glance towards him. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch more.”

He waves away my apology. “Fuck that. We don’t need to keep in touch. We’re family.”

I smile. Dimiv has always had my uncle’s sense of loyalty, fierce and unapologetic. It was a bitter loss when he announced to us that he was moving to Russia.

“When are you coming back?”

Dimiv rolls his eyes. “Not this again.”