𝐕𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐃 ❷

𝟔𝟑. ✭ 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 ✭

A/N:
As I've said before, I don't speak Albanian. So Google translate is where my source material comes from.

Walking through the front door of this place, being welcome with open arms, is much better than being shot at. I may look absolutely ridiculous in this serving attire, but if it's what gets us in to save Mal and bring Wolf home, I would happily wear it every day for the rest of my life. I glance at Denver's broad shoulders as he walks in front of me, leading the way behind a slew of men.

When we cross the threshold to the compound I'm immediately struck with shock and awe at the lavishness. This is not what I would've thought the inside of a mafia compound to look like. Scott Marling's was a deviant sex club and I have seen others in my time that look more like factories or warehouses. I've yet to see something like this. This rivals even my own taste with its Vanderbilt-esque grandeur.

I hate to admit it, but I am impressed.

Which should speak for itself because it takes a lot to impress me.

Denver turns his head slightly in my direction and whispers, "don't come in your pants over the interior. I know you're probably salivating." I glare at his back but he just looks forward with his shoulders moving slightly from his silent laughter.

My eyes scan the perimeter looking at the guards on either side of the room. There's only a handful, not the insane amount there had been the last time we were here. They're spread thin between the wedding venue and here.

After entering the kitchen space I make quick work of setting down my tray. Denver sets his down next to mine. Under his breath he says, "there's not as many men as I would've expected. I don't know if Wolf is going to be here."

"I don't think they'd risk taking him outside. Tristan told us Tatyana is instructed to take him into their panic room which is connected to the master bedroom. She's probably up there with him since his bedroom his next to theirs as well." Denver cups the back of his neck and gives me a solemn look. It has me whispering angrily, "don't look at me like that, Den. He's here. I know it. We are going to take him home."

"I know you want that, babe, we all do but I just don't want you to get your hopes up. Even if he is here... we may not—"

"Shut the fuck up, Den. I will find him and bring him home." I can't even begin to reel in the desperation that begins to blossom in my chest. "I am perfectly capable of bringing him home. I am perfectly in control. I will do whatever it takes. Whatever. It. Takes. He's coming home. He is."

"Right," he holds his hands up in surrender. "You know I believe in you. Don't ever doubt that." His brow furrows in concern and as much as I know he cares about me it does nothing but irritate me right now. I'm not myself right now.

Denver opens up his tray, revealing an assortment of guns and knives and all black tactical gear for me to wear. Torey had told me the exact wardrobe the men around here wear, had told me the guns they use. So I won't be sticking out like a sore thumb while making my way to the bedrooms. I'm also glad I'd had the forethought to learn the Albanian language when I'd found out who Torey was working with. If any of the men question me I won't be looking at them with a dumb look on my face.

Because me— look dumb? Never.

I snatch the plastic bag filled with clothing from the tray and stuff a holster and two guns inside. I want to take my knife holster but none of the men here use them, so it would look out of place. But there's just something different about knifemanship. With a heavy sigh I leave them in a tray and Denver closes the lid.

Giving him a nod, I head over to the washroom, also making sure there's not a single guard paying attention to me. None of them are, they all look quite bored, in fact. Once I'm inside I change in a hasty fashion, ready for this all to just be done and over with. Ready to have Malyssa and Wolfie back in my arms; where they belong.