Abducting The Mafia Romance Author

Edward Pembroke stepped off the business class flight in Munich, the sun casting a warm glow over the tarmac. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored Brioni suit. As he ran a hand through his wavy black hair, streaked with distinguished specks of gray, his dark sunglasses reflected the brilliance of the day. He approached the airport security checkpoint with a confident stride, flashing a charming smile at the young security officer who handed back his passport. She smiled in return, unaware that the man before her held many passports, many with a different identity.

Glancing at his Patek Philippe wristwatch, Pembroke adjusted the knot of his bespoke silk tie before striding through the bustling Munich airport. Every movement was calculated, every gesture refined, yet beneath this polished exterior lay a mind as sharp as it was twisted.​He then took another look at his targets. Heidi Weber-eighteen years old, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a slim athletic figure standing around five feet six, as far as could be judged from photographs. And then there was her mother, Frieda Hasanov-also blonde and blue-eyed, with the same figure, just a little fuller and more buxom at forty-three years old. Frieda was married to Eldar Hasanov, the Azeri oil multimillionaire, though some whispered he might even be a billionaire

Pembroke had done his homework since first being contacted by his client, Mr. Hasanov himself. Hasanov had married Frieda five years earlier after a whirlwind romance, but the initial passion had quickly soured. After a series of affairs with younger women, Hasanov found himself increasingly unhappy in his marriage. A divorce, however, would likely cost him a fortune-tens of millions, if not more. By employing Pembroke's services, Hasanov was ensuring that his wealth remained intact, and Pembroke couldn't help but think that he was worth every penny Hasanov would save. He almost felt he should be setting his price even higher. Were it not for Mr. Hasanov having contacted him, Pembroke might have assumed that the family was happily reunited, with no hint of the dark undercurrents that lay beneath their polished exterior. He was due to join them all for dinner that evening at Mr. Hasanov's insistence. While some in Pembroke's industry might have baulked at this, he relished the opportunity to observe his targets in such intimate, unsuspecting settings. There was a certain twisted pleasure in getting to know them up close, seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter, all while knowing the horrors that awaited them later when they would become his prisoners. He could only imagine the quiet thrill Hasanov might feel, sitting across from his wife and stepdaughter, knowing that the man who would soon orchestrate their abduction was sharing a meal with them. Before his dinner engagement, Pembroke had a less pleasant meeting scheduled, one that required a different kind of preparation. He had changed into a casual disguise-jeans, a hoodie, and a baseball cap-transforming himself into just another unremarkable figure in the city. His destination was a dingy bar in a slum area, the perfect setting for the kind of encounter he had planned. His contact was Barazan Sherhad, a man Pembroke had carefully manipulated and blackmailed from a distance. Barazan, the nephew of a local Kurdish crime boss, had unknowingly become an invaluable asset in Pembroke's schemes. Barazan had a secret, one that Pembroke held over him with cruel precision. ---------- When Pembroke entered the bar, he noted with satisfaction that Baran had taken similar precautions. The young man sat in a corner, dressed in a tracksuit and baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, his posture radiating anxiety and fear. His once confident demeanor had eroded over the past month, replaced by the hollow look of someone being crushed by the weight of his secrets