Chapter 514 - The Novikovs (1)
Chapter 514 – The Novikovs (1)
The handsfree device in Gael's ear rang, and the call automatically connected after two rings, then Roy's voice came in hurriedly, "Boss, I've been trying to reach you. Mike just called. There's a suspicious movement in Woodhaven. I suggest you reroute to I-678—"
"Too late," Gael muttered. Fucking hell. If he only got the call a minute early. He gripped his gun tightly, trying to assess their situation as he scanned around them. "The Bratva intercepted us."
"Fuck. Sit tight. I'll call Delta." The call disconnected just as the Bratva soldier banged his window again.
"Open up!"
Meanwhile, Angela was rattled when her phone buzzed in her hand, flashing an unknown number on the screen calling her. She wasn't going to answer but when the man banged the window again, her thumb slid on the green button. The call wasn't on speaker, but a distinctive shout of a man's deep voice rang loud through the speaker.
"Run!!!"
She and Gael exchanged looks and before she knew what she was doing, Angela pressed the speaker button. "Who is this?"
"It's Aleksander." Her half-brother? She furrowed her brows. "I don't have much time. Get the fuck out of there!!! They're coming—Don't touch me! Motherfuck—" There was a scuffle and more yelling in Russian before the call disconnected.
Angela jumped in her seat when someone loudly banged on her window. "Get out of the car! Pakhan requests your presence," said the second Russian.
With her heart hammering in her chest, Angela gripped her phone tightly in her hand and her knuckles turned white. What should she do? Call someone? 911? She couldn't. But they were clearly outnumbered here. "What do we do?" she whispered.
Gael was enraged and he yelled at the man outside his window. "Why the fuck do you have guns if he only wants to see us? Put that away!"
"You step out of the car, De Luca. It's nothing personal. We want her. Not you."
"Everything about her is personal to me! You have to deal with me first before you get to her."
"You Italians are unnecessarily romantic." The Bratva soldier laughed. "If you don't get out of the car, we don't have a choice but to do this the hard way. We'll start with your security—"
"No!" Gael bit out, his nose flaring as he glanced at the rearview mirror. If he gives his signal, his men would undoubtedly use their weapons. But that wouldn't be a smart move now considering the Bratva soldiers were double their number. His men were sharpshooters, but not all of them were fast. He couldn't risk another death. "Alright." He breathed harshly. "The only way you can take her is if you bring me with you. We'll step out of the car. Tell your men to lower their guns."
The Russian, who seemed to be their team commander, nodded to his colleagues and they lowered their weapons.
"Gael, I don't want to go. You can't let them take me!" Angela worried, her eyes misty.
"Listen to me." He looked her straight in the eyes and spoke calmly. "We're going to get out of the car, and we'll go with them. I'm not leaving you alone."
"But…"
"Backup is coming. Right now, this is the only thing we can do. We're at a disadvantage. If we fight them, we'll lose." Gael glanced around again. "They need to bring you alive, if they wanted to hurt us, they would have already done so. And if we don't see Novikov now, he'll do worse than this in the future."
"But they have guns!"
"They like to scare." His jaw tensed. "I won't let them hurt you."
She swallowed. "Okay…"
Gael eased back and opened his door. "Alright, we're coming out." He stepped on the pavement with his hands up, shook his head to his security—telling them not to engage, and then warned the Russian, "If you hurt her, I'll fucking kill you."
The Russian smirked as he took Gael's gun and nodded at his friend who was outside Angela's door. Without doing a more thorough search on their person, they walked the two towards the front of the car and began guiding them towards the black SUV.
"Ow!!! That hurts!"
Gael snapped his head at the man holding Angela's arm so tightly her face contorted. Furious, he swiftly reached for the pocket knife from his belt and stabbed the man's arm that gripped her arm. The Russian immediately let go of Angela, screaming in pain. Gael then kicked him in the calf, causing him to drop hard on his knees—then Gael pressed the blade to the bastard's exposed neck. "I. Said. Don't. Fucking. Hurt. Her."
The Russians pointed their guns at them and Angela shrank to Gael's side. She clutched his back and felt the coils of muscle rippling with each harsh breath.
"D-Don't! He'll kill me!" stammered the Russian.
And as if to prove a point, Gael pressed the blade onto his skin, drawing blood and making the Russian wince. The latter spoke in their language to his friends, sounding fearful.
Reluctantly, the first Russian soldier commanded the others to lower their guns and Gael kicked the one who offended him to the side. "Touch her again and I'll cut up each of you limb by limb."
Gael's arms went around Angela, keeping her flush against his side as they were again led to the SUV.
***
Thirty minutes later, they entered through the wrought iron gates of the Novikov Estate and stopped in front of a huge double-door.
Gael didn't know where his men were. They must've brought his guards somewhere else because they weren't in the vehicles that entered the estate. The Russians took off their masks as they led Gael and Angela inside the mansion. The first Russian smirked at Gael as he walked ahead. He recognized him as one of Novikov's personal guards.
Gael had an arm around Angela while she grabbed his other hand as they followed the guards deeper into the house. The place felt cold and old but clean and orderly. The decorations were lavish with deep dark wood and gold detailing and many various paintings on the walls.
"Where are you taking us?" Gael questioned.
"Pakhan will join you in the dining room." The Russian soldier stopped at another wooden double door with elaborate carving design on it and knocked.
The door opened and a man's head peeked to scan the party before he opened the door wider.
Angela's heart kicked against her ribcage as the thought of what waited for them behind the door scared her. She did not want to face the old man at all.
Gael squeezed her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side, hoping to alleviate her fear.
"Walk!" snapped the soldier.
Angela glared at him for being so rude. And then she squared her shoulders while still holding Gael's hand, and together, they stepped into the dining room.
The first thing she saw were her mother's wide eyes. Cynthia looked pale and clammy as she poured tea into a cup at the head of the table with slightly shaky hands. And then standing near her was Ivan Volkov—who exchanged unreadable looks with Gael.
Then Angela's gaze landed at Anika, who looked nervous that her hands were trembling around the fork and knife while absentmindedly cutting into pancakes. The table had a wide selection of breakfast food and every piece of cutlery and furniture was ornate and fancy. Anika looked up to her and the girl's lips quivered.
Next to Anika was Aleksander. The right sleeve of his shirt was ripped and the right corner of his lip was busted. Their eyes met and he scowled at her as if he was angry or frustrated, his chest heaving, making Angela wonder about the call he made earlier. Why does he look mad? And why did he try to warn her?
Footfalls sounded behind them and Angela sucked in a breath when Matvey Novikov marched towards the head of the table and sat on the chair. The old man slid his stare to Angela, lingering for a few beats and making her stomach drop, and then to Gael.
Without saying a word, Matvey looked at his guards, and then Gael and Angela were pushed towards the empty seats to Matvey's right. The two reluctantly sat down—Gael on the first chair and Angela on the second. Cynthia and Ivan remained standing to Matvey's left.
"How long have your family and mine been working together, Don Alessandro's son?" Matvey asked, his voice cold and toneless as he disregarded Gael's name.
Gael leveled his stare with the old man. He didn't look afraid—rather, pissed off at this whole thing. "Decades."
Matvey bellowed in his thick accent, "Forty-two years. I expect courtesy from you and your father. For after all these years, we are very good friends. And you dare disrespect me like this?!" He slammed his fist on the table and the tableware clang against each other. Anika gasped, a tear rolling down her cheek. "You hid my granddaughter from me and helped these traitors who are my own family!!! Do you know what I do to those who disrespect me?"
Matvey flicked his wrist in command and Volkov was pushed forward. The latter struggled as the soldiers forced Volkov's hand flat on the table beside Matvey's plate.. One soldier lifted a sharp cleaver above his head…and then swiftly slammed it down. "AAAAAAH!!!"