Page 93 of Righteous Enforcer
I want to hurt her. Fuck, I want to break her for what she's done.
Two days I've been tracking her, barely sleeping, consumed by a rage I haven't felt since I thought she died.
"Why?" The question rips at me. "What the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?"
My hand trembles against her throat, torn between tightening and letting go. I could end this. One squeeze. I've killed for less.
Yet I can't. Even as hatred burns through my veins, something deeper keeps my finger from applying that final ounce of pressure.
"You took my child.” I lean closer, watching fear flicker across her face. "You've made a fatal mistake, Eva."
The day I watched the grainy train station footage, seeing Eva and Mirabella board that southbound train, something inside me hardened.
I sat in that security office for hours, replaying that three-second clip until her movements were burned into my brain.
Alessandro questioned me again about what finding her could mean for the family. “She could be working with Vasiliev. Have you considered that?"
"She's the mother of my child."
"A child she's using to manipulate you."
I remember turning to him then, something in my expression making him step back. "My daughter is out there, Alessandro. Your niece. If you think I give a single fuck about business or the Bratva right now?—"
He'd raised his hands in surrender, finally shutting his mouth.
The waiting was excruciating.
But once I knew she’d disembarked in Atlanta, I was on a plane with Marco, a trusted soldier, within the hour.
Just under three hours later, I stepped off the plane into the suffocating Atlanta heat.
"We'll find her, Boss," Marco said, eyes scanning the crowd as we climbed into our rental.
"I know we will," I replied. "And when we do…"
I let the threat hang in the air. Even I didn't know how it would end.
The good news is that I beat the Bratva to her.
If they were even trying.
Part of me wondered if Eva was running according to some script Ivan had written for her.
A double agent all this time?
The thought ruminated in my head over and over.
But no—I'd seen her face when we ran into Ivan.
That was genuine fear.
Three motels and two bribes later, we found them.
A shabby efficiency on the outskirts of town, far enough from the station to avoid immediate detection, cheap enough to stretch stolen cash.
“Does it have an adjoining room?” I ask the manager.
“Yep.” He doesn’t say more.
