Page 51 of Sing For Us

Chapter twenty

Lana

Iam talking with my guards and strategic advisors about our upcoming plans surrounding Dario. That fucker has been on the move and slipping under our radar for far too long. I thought that capturing Noa would do the trick of finding out where he is, but I had no such luck. We did, however, get on a small trail of where that fucker could be.

While looking through my baba’s files, I noticed he wrote a lot about Dario. I couldn't bring myself to read them before, seeing his handwriting would've brought me over the edge. But, I'm happy I did. Now I know a lot of stuff. Where Dario most frequently ate, held business meetings, and he is all over the place. His pattern might seem unreliable and unorganized to an untrained civilian, but not to me. My training led me down this path to look between the lines, and I think I figured out Dario.

He might not organize all of his affairs every time at the same place, but he does frequent some places more than others. From my father’s notes, I have gathered that he likes to use an Italian restaurant forty minutes away from Sarajevo for his business meetings, and there is one place my father mentioned, but didn’t elaborate as to what it means for the king of the Vicious Vipers.

A house on Marijin Kutak—the most luxurious neighborhood in all of Bosnia, where only seven houses reside. Fifteen years ago, some rich asshole built that community there, and anyone who isn’t a billionaire can’t go there. They are also protected by Bosnian law enforcement.

Corruption at its finest.

He probably doesn’t live there peacefully because he wants privacy. No, it’s strategic. How my baba got this information is unknown. Alas, it did provide me with valuable information.

“We need to go to Marijin Kutak,” I state as plainly as I can, trying to get this message across to my team. Lately they have been fighting against almost every decision I made, and it’s pissing me off.

“That might be risky; the police protect that community.” Marian, a guard, tells me like I didn’t already know that.

“And? I have been evading the police for almost seven years. I am not afraid of them.”

“It’s still too dangerous. We are not prepared for an attack of that magnitude.” I look around, and I see the other men nodding along. The disrespect from my team is palpable, and I won’t stand for it. Although they do make a good point, I can’t attack Dario mindlessly.

I might die.

And my team has been with me for as long as I can remember.

“Fine. Emin would agree with me though.” I smile and look for my friend, but he is not here. Where the fuck is he? He should be back from his morning routine. It usually takes about an hour and a half, and he has been gone for almost two hours.

“Where is he?” My team starts looking around awkwardly, and I see raised eyebrows, but no one is doing anything. I get my phone and call him.

Fuck, straight to voicemail.

I try the three guards that have been following him, but that’s also a dead end. Voicemail.

“Get somebody down to the park. Now!” I raise my voice to get them moving, and they finally do. Marian calls out that he is going down to the park, and I don’t like the way he is talking to me. His voice has a slight tremble to it, and I make it a note to keep an eye on him.

I make my way to my study and take a seat, looking mindlessly at my computer. Hoping that time will fly by and I’ll see my best friend again.

***

After what seems like forever, someone knocks on my door and enters my study. I immediately stand up because it’s Marian, and he has a grim expression on his face.

“Where are they?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“The guards were found in a remote part of the park with their throats slashed. They have been brought here.” He delivered this message while clutching his rifle and with that slight edge to his voice.

“And where is Emin?” This is the million-euro question, and Marian is hesitant to answer it. The sun that was streaming into my office earlier has been replaced by gray hues from the clouds that are adorning the sky.

“Has anybody tried to find him, or do I need to do everything again?” The guard lets out a cough, but it’s not because of my question. It’s because of how I asked my question—controlled, cold, calculating.

“We are on it. Do you have any idea where he might be?” That’s it. I have had enough of these foolish questions! I produce my gun and point it at him.

“If I knew, I would probably be after him, right?”

“Yes, but–”

“Do you believe that I wouldn’t?”