The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner echoed like a drumbeat of dread in Nikolai's living room. He paced back and forth, every step a thunderous echo on the hardwood floor, his black dress shoes clicking with the impatience that burned beneath his skin. His tailored shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat despite the cool air.
His men were scattered across the city—combing train stations, watching airports, sweeping the bridges, shaking down anyone with so much as a whisper of information. But still... nothing.
Not a single lead.
It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Rose vanished from the Halloween carnival in Brooklyn, swallowed by the crowd, the noise, and the darkness. And each passing hour felt like a blade twisting deeper into his chest.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark raven hair, disheveling the usual sleekness. Nikolai had always prided himself on control. It was his armor, the iron mask he wore in a world of betrayal and blood. But now?
Now, control was slipping through his fingers like sand.
"Please be good, Rose," he whispered to the silence around him, his voice low and ragged. "Please don't fight them. Don't use that sharp tongue of yours. Just... stay alive."
The soft ding of the elevator snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. The doors slid open, and Scar Face stepped into the room with his usual brisk pace. He carried a black file in one hand and the weight of bad news in his eyes.
Nikolai straightened, his entire body tensing.
Scar Face handed over the file silently. Nikolai opened it, his eyes scanning the first page—and then narrowing.
"Salvatore met with Marius," Scar Face began. "A day before the announcement of the early Halloween festival. He paid him ten million dollars—cheque."
Nikolai's jaw clenched, his molars grinding.
"Ten million?" he muttered, staring hard at the numbers on the page. "What the hell for?"
"We haven't confirmed the purpose of the payment," Scar Face replied, his tone clipped. "But it wasn't for fun. No one drops that kind of money unless it's for something big. Right now, the strongest lead we have is that Salvatore played a major part in setting up the carnival. The same carnival where Rose disappeared."
Nikolai closed the file slowly, his gaze darkening like a brewing storm.
"Why would that bastard do this?" he asked, more to himself than to Scar Face.
Scar Face leaned against the arm of a chair. "It might be about the deal. With Lorenzo dead, the collaboration between your the bratva and the Cosa Nostra collapsed. Rose was the bargaining chip. Without her, there was no alliance. Maybe Salvatore didn't want you to keep her after all."
"Then he would've taken her for himself," Nikolai argued, his tone sharp. "He was obsessed with her. If this was about claiming her, he would've made it loud."
"Unless someone made him a better offer." Scar Face crossed his arms. "Someone who wanted Rose enough to go around you. Someone powerful enough to pay Salvatore to get her out of your hands."
Nikolai's fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "So who was it?"
"We don't know," Scar Face said grimly. "But whoever it was, they were smart. No sightings. No security footage. She hasn't turned up at any bridges, airports, or train stations. She's just... gone. Vanished."
Nikolai dropped onto the couch, running both hands down his face, as if trying to wipe away the horror clawing at his thoughts.
Gone.
Like she never existed.
The only logical conclusion was that whoever had taken her had experience—real, tactical experience. Someone who knew how to disappear off the grid. Someone who had planned this down to the second.
Scar Face continued. "We've expanded the search beyond the city. But outside of New York... we don't have the same reach."
Nikolai knew that. His power was anchored here—New York was his kingdom. His connections, his people, his control. Beyond these borders, his influence frayed. Only Sergei, with decades of criminal legacy behind him, had a network strong enough to span the country.
But Sergei had every reason to hate him.
He had killed Fabio, causing Lorenzo to cut off the alliance and ruin Sergei's plans.
Even if it was to protect Rose, even if it was justified, Sergei would see it as betrayal. And if Sergei believed Rose was the reason the alliance broke, he might never agree to help.
Or worse...
"I'll talk to him if it comes to that," Nikolai muttered, his voice cold but steady. "Even if I have to beg."
Scar Face arched a brow but said nothing.
"I'll do whatever it takes to get her back."
Scar Face nodded and left quietly, his footsteps fading into the silence of the penthouse.
Nikolai remained seated, staring down at the file still clutched in his hands. The paper trembled slightly—an imperceptible quiver, but enough to show the truth.
He was terrified.
And when Nikolai was terrified, the city bled.
A flicker of Rose's smile burst into his mind, unbidden—her fiery curls bouncing as she laughed, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. He could almost hear her voice, that teasing lilt in her tone when she called him out for being an emotional constipated bastard.
If she was hurt… if someone laid a finger on her…
He would set fire to everything.
No price was too high. No deal too dark. No blood too sacred.
He would get her back.
Or he would burn the world trying.
-----------------
The metal door creaked open again, the harsh sound slicing through the thick silence of the room like a blade. Rose looked up instinctively, already dreading what fresh torment might follow.
It was him again—the tattooed brute with the perpetual sneer. Benito. His heavy boots hit the floor like dull hammers as he stepped in, holding a shallow metal basin filled with water. The smell of iron and old detergent clung to it. Behind him trailed Kevin, quieter and clearly less inclined to this line of work. He clutched a folded white robe in his arms. Just a robe.
Benito's dark eyes drifted to the tray she'd pushed aside earlier. The bread was gone. The soup bowl was empty. The pills too. A small huff escaped him, the corners of his mouth curling into a sardonic smirk.
"I guess you aren't so invisible after all," he muttered, setting the basin on the floor with a metallic clang. "Wash up."
Rose blinked. "Why?"
"Don't ask—just wash," he barked back impatiently. Stepping forward, he unfastened the metal cuffs binding her to the bed. As soon as the shackles clicked open, Rose recoiled slightly, her hands flying to her aching wrists. Her skin was red and sore where the cold metal had dug into her for what felt like hours—days, maybe.
She sat upright, watching them carefully, but the men didn't move to leave. Kevin shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the room, his eyes nervously skimming the rusted pipes, peeling walls, and floor—anywhere but her. Benito, on the other hand, didn't even bother to look away. He stood planted with his arms folded, eyes cold and unapologetically fixed on her.
Rose narrowed her eyes. "Are you going to watch me undress and wash myself?"
Benito's expression didn't flicker. "Do you expect us to leave you alone here? Uncuffed?"
She let out a sarcastic laugh, though it came out shaky. "You can just wait outside the door. It's not like there's a hidden tunnel under this mattress or a secret passage in one of those boxes that'll let me escape."
She gestured around the grimy room, the sarcasm dripping from every word.
Benito arched a brow but said nothing.
"She does have a point though," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Benito shot him a glare. "Shut up." Then he sighed as if she were a child trying his patience. "You have five minutes. Take off all your clothes and underwear. You're only expected to wear the robe. Everything else will be provided when we get there."
Rose's heart skipped. "Get where?"
"Your store," he said bluntly, the words slicing through her like glass.
He turned and walked out without another word, Kevin following silently, the door slamming shut behind them with a heavy finality that seemed to echo forever in the small, dark room.
It took a few seconds for the weight of what he'd said to settle in her bones. Your store.
And when it did, it was like the floor beneath her dropped out.
They were going to sell her.
Not just hold her. Not just threaten her. She was going to be auctioned off. Like a piece of merchandise. A product with a price tag.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she bit them back fiercely, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her sob.
"Nikolai," she whispered, her voice cracking with desperation. "Save me."
She stared at the basin on the floor. The water rippled slightly from the impact of Benito's drop, but otherwise sat still and silent. Slowly, she moved toward it, kneeling beside it and dipping two fingers in.
She hissed at the temperature.
Cold. Icy cold.
The kind of cold that clung to skin and turned your bones brittle. Of course they wouldn't warm it. Why would they? They didn't see her as human anymore.
She sat back on her heels for a moment, breathing in deep through her nose and exhaling slowly, trying to still the tremble in her chest. Her fingers brushed the hem of her shirt.
One piece at a time, she told herself.
She unbuttoned her top with slow, mechanical movements, each tug of the fabric feeling heavier than the last. When she reached her jeans, her fingers fumbled, her hands suddenly clumsy. She blinked rapidly, her vision swimming.
She stood in only her underwear now, and the room felt colder than ever. Her arms crossed over her chest instinctively, even though she was alone.
Was this what it had come to?
No. She shook her head slightly. I am not a product. I am not theirs.
But she had to play along—for now. Until she could find a way to run, to fight, to scream for help.
She slid off her underwear last, her skin crawling with humiliation, and stepped cautiously toward the basin. She knelt, cupping the frigid water in her hands and splashing it over herself, biting back gasps as it hit her skin.
Her teeth began to chatter. Her fingers turned pink and stiff as she scrubbed at her skin. Her reflection shimmered faintly on the surface of the water—pale, scared, but burning inside with something more potent than fear.
Survival.
She finished quickly, grabbing the robe Kevin had left behind. She wrapped it tightly around herself, the fabric rough against her skin, but at least it was dry.
She sat on the edge of the bed hair dripping, heart racing. Her gaze drifted to the door again.
Nikolai... if you're coming... come now.
And she waited.