Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 66

Ezra's POV

The silence in the hospital room was broken only by the ragged tearing of my own breathing. Andrea was already on the phone, his voice a low, urgent drone initiating the total lockdown I had ordered. I didn't join him. I needed to see the failure.

I strode over to the utility closet. Andrea had left the door ajar. I pushed it open fully. The sight was immediate and sickening. My two men lay slumped against the cleaning supplies, their uniforms neat, their faces pale, their throats sliced with the clean, brutal efficiency of a professional executioner sent by Sokolov.

This wasn't a warning; it was a move for checkmate.

I ran a hand over the clean cut on one of my man's neck—no struggle, no noise, no amateur panic. Just silent murder. They hadn't been expecting it. They had been killed by someone they trusted, or someone who slipped past the periphery of my control.

"They took her, Ezra," Andrea said, stepping up beside me, his own shock giving way to focused determination. "They left Lexi untouched. That was intentional. They know Lexi is leverage, but Davina is the cost."

"They should have taken both," I growled, my voice raw. I closed the closet door softly, a final, futile gesture of respect for the dead. "They want me to know exactly what I traded my position for. They want me to watch the destruction of the only woman I tried to protect."

I turned, my eyes sweeping the room, committing every detail to memory: the pristine hospital bed, Lexi sleeping peacefully, unaware of the carnage outside, the small, dark spot on the floor where Davina fell.

"Black Protocol is engaged," Andrea reported, snapping his phone shut. "The city is locking down. Every camera feed within a five-mile radius of this hospital is being pulled. Our contacts at the port and airport are red-flagging all private manifests. The question is, where would Tatiana hide Davina?"

I didn't need to think. Tatiana was obsessed with power and status. She wouldn't hide Davina in a public place, but somewhere symbolic, somewhere that made a statement about her control.

"She won't take her far yet," I stated, pulling my own comm from my jacket. "She wants me to panic. She wants me to chase. She wants me to see the city shut down trying to find a woman I swore I'd protect. She's keeping her close to her power base."

I paced the small perimeter of the room, my mind already calculating the probabilities of extraction. "Andrea, pull every record on Sokolov property within a fifty-mile radius. Don't look at mansions or warehouses. Look for places of former utility. Old industrial sites, defunct shipping yards, properties that haven't shown legal movement in years. Tatiana uses sentimentality as a weapon."

"Understood. Cross-referencing Sokolov family holdings with properties marked as 'Decommissioned' or 'In Remediation'."

I punched a number into my encrypted comm—a number I hadn't called in years. It connected instantly.

"I need eyes, Victor," I said, my voice low and devoid of humanity. "I need every asset you have on the street, every pair of ears in the political sphere, every snitch in the docks. Tatiana Sokolov has taken Davina. I want a trace on her entire known network. If she bought so much as a cup of coffee in the last twelve hours, I want the receipt, and I want the face of the man who served it to her."

I hung up before Victor could reply. My gaze fell again on the empty space on the floor.

"We have two hours," I told Andrea, my voice flat, cold, the voice of the Pakhan taking control of the chaos. "If she gets Davina on a private flight out of the country, the price escalates to impossibility. We don't have time for elegance. We are going to rip this city apart, corner by corner."

"I love you," I sobbed into the quiet cold. "Please... find me. I don't care about the darkness, just come."

A harsh, metallic screech suddenly tore through the basement silence. The heavy steel door flew open, slamming against the concrete wall.

My breath hitched in my throat. I looked up, blinded by a flash of light. Two men stood silhouetted in the doorway, neither of them Tatiana. They weren't wearing scrubs. They were built like bricks, dressed in combat-ready gear, and they carried a large, ominous travel case.

"The boss said she needs to be prepared," one grunted, his voice gruff and emotionless. He moved forward, casting a wide shadow over me. "Quickly. The auction is moving up the schedule."

I scrambled back, terror spiking anew. They ignored my frantic movements. They pulled out a change of clothes—silks, sheer and expensive—and a collection of professional-grade makeup and hair tools. This wasn't a punishment; it was preparatory grooming.

I screamed, a muffled, desperate sound, as the second man gripped my arms, holding me fast to the wall. The first man reached out, his touch cold and invasive, tearing at the front of my shirt.

This is it. They weren't torturing me for information; they were prepping the merchandise. My fate was already being finalized, and the last vestiges of my hope dissolved into a renewed, frantic prayer to the only devil I trusted.

Ezra. You have to be faster.