Fierce Pursuit – Ivanov Crime Family Read Online Zoe Blake

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Mafia, Taboo, Virgin Tags Authors: Zoe Blake Advertisement

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"So, how'd it go?" Var asked in that smug, I'm-the-older-brother voice that tempted me to break his perfect white teeth.

"I found her." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, victory and defeat in equal measure.

"That's excellent news, but I didn't see her in your personal effects. Is she in your pocket or⁠—?"

"Fuck you." I was exhausted. Hungry. And filthy. Blood dried on my collar, suit beyond salvation.

Although I didn’t have the time, I knew I’d need to change before going on the hunt again, otherwise I’d draw even more unwanted attention to myself.

Var chuckled as we stepped outside, the crisp night air a welcome slap after the stifling precinct. The city sprawled before us, a maze of concrete and steel, and somewhere within it, Marina was running. Hiding.

"I was told to remind you that you broke protocol. As the Vor v Zakone for the Ivanovs' American operations, you owed Gregor a visit the second you landed. You should have flown straight to D.C. and⁠—"

"Once again, this is personal, not business," I snapped, patience fraying at the edges.

"Nothing in our world is personal." Var raised a brow as my voice edged into dangerous territory, his own tone sharpening in response.

I took a deep breath, forcing the rage down where it belonged. "Look, I don't want Gregor involved. Not yet. Not until I know what's going on."

Var stiffened, his casual demeanor dropping. "Who's after her?"

I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. "Solovyov."

Var swore under his breath, the Russian curse harsh and guttural, as he took out a cigarette and offered me one. The familiar silver case caught the glow of the streetlight, gleaming. "If Solovyov is involved, then you really should have called Gregor. Even if only to warn him that that sociopath might follow you. Gregor deserves to know if that man is in his territory."

I clenched my jaw, teeth grinding together. I'd already said too much. The words hung between us, impossible to take back.

"Call him. Now," Var ordered, his voice hardening. "And know this, Gregor won't let you take out a vendetta on an innocent woman just because you're pissed at your dead wife."

"This isn't a fucking vendetta." My headache pulsed at my temples, each beat a hammer against bone.

I hated being forced to explain myself.

"Bullshit. You deserve payment in blood for what happened to your wife, but⁠—"

Var barely reacted when I shoved him against a brick wall, his only response a slow arch of his brow. His back hit the rough surface with a thud, but he didn't flinch. Didn't struggle. Just watched me with those calculating eyes, measuring my control—or lack thereof.

I let go, exhaling sharply, forcing my pulse to slow. "I'm not trying to kill Marina."

Var straightened his suit jacket, running a hand over the wrinkles I caused, before pulling out another cigarette to replace the one I knocked out of his hand. He tapped the tobacco end against the case, the soft sound at odds with the tension crackling between us.

"If you're not trying to kill her, then why are you chasing your dead wife's sister?" he asked before lighting it, the flick of his lighter illuminating his face in the darkness.

"I'm trying to save her," I growled, the truth of it burning in my chest. "Now get the fuck out of my way."

I'd wasted enough time.

Marina could already be halfway out of the city by now.

She thought she was safe, thought she had eluded me.

She thought wrong.

CHAPTER 5

KOSTYA

Iwas exhausted, starving, and running out of time.

I needed to find Marina and get back to Russia before Gregor decided to have me killed on principle.

My plan had been simple: sit her down over a meal, explain what was happening, and then board the next flight to Moscow. But no, Marina had to be just as stubborn, if not more so, than her sister.

So now, I was going to do this the way I should have from the beginning—my way.

I knew where she lived, of course.

I went straight there after leaving the police station and stopping long enough to change suits, my patience threadbare. A few lights were on inside, shadows shifting behind the thin curtains. She was home. No doubt getting ready to run again.

The last thing I needed was another chase through Chicago.

I made my way to the tiny backyard, grabbed a rusted metal lawn chair, and jammed it under the back storm door handle. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to throw herself out of a damn window. I made a mental note to keep her far from any on the first floor.

Satisfied, I returned to the front door, my pulse hammering, head aching. I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to smother the anger simmering in my chest.

She was probably scared. Adrenaline had overridden her common sense, that had to be it.

She was, after all, a woman alone, stranded in a foreign country, working in a rundown diner.


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