Sunday. Hotel, St. Petersburg, Russia.
OBRAN DRUMMED HIS FINGERS on the desk. His man following the team who'd taken his daughter had reported no sign of movement at the flat in St. Petersburg. Obran would have rather not set foot in that city again.
He'd grown up here, in the heart of the city. As a child he'd begged and stole what he needed to get by. His parents had either died or abandoned him. None could say. That city had forged him, made him grow stronger than the average person.
The day he took the job of being a runner for a forger was the day that had changed Obran's future. Not at first. He'd spent several years being the errand boy, filling out his pockets with what he could steal. It wasn't until he was a teenager that he'd begun helping out.
The rest was history.
He'd taken over the business as a young man, learning how to grow with the needs of his clients. And along the way he'd fallen in love.