It begins with us.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Yaakov's POV

I watch as Mohammed and Samin's heads snapped in my direction as I walked past the threshold into my office. They both bowed their heads while I walked around my desk and sit down in my leather chair. My teeth grinded together while undoing my jacket button with a heavy sigh. Noticing some of my men missing I motioned with my head at the empty seats that occupied the space in front of my large wooden desk.

"Where are the others? This meeting should have started twenty seconds ago!"

I barked out, irritated that Danial, Kemal and Cohan were keeping me waiting. The last few days I had felt the frustration and impatiens of this meeting, needing answers only my men and Cohan could give after what we had learned regarding Cohans involvement with the whole shit show. His wife Isabella and daughter were safely brought to my estate in the dead of night, not wanting to draw any attention to men that might have been watching them. Izra was visibly shaken, clinging to her mother's arm as if she were about to be ripped away from her safely at any moment. Fear and panic were imbedded on her thirteen-year-old face, her dark brown eyes darting to every man that was present, petrified on what they might do to her and her mother. Isabella on the other hand wasn't as shocked, confused or worried as I thought she might have been, but instead she was a fucking hurricane that blew straight through my front door. Her black eyes narrowed once they caught sight of mine, a sneer making it was onto her lips as she began to make a bee line straight for me. Each step she took was determined, while my men looked at a loss of what to do. My men were trained to never lay a harmful hand on a woman, but it was quite amusing to see Danial flinch back in fear as he stepped in front of her, trying to stop her from reaching me but, I wasn't worried. She had every right to be pissed off. Isabella was a firecracker, not afraid to speak her mind, not even to me. And I admired her spirit completely. I also felt a little bad for Cohan, because once she knew why she and her daughter were here, I was sure she would kill him herself.

"It takes him a while Yaakov."

Mohammed shrugs, leaning back into the soft leather while resting one ankle on top of his knee.

"You did break three of his ribs."

Samin points out, not one bit fazed by my anger as he mirrors Mohammed's posture. And just as I was about to blow my fucking lid at the both of them for their calm demeanor and relaxed state, Kemal enters the room, nodding his head while opening the door wider for a struggling Cohan and an impatient Danial to enter. I exhale my rage, standing up and rounding my desk as I moved to help Danial seat Cohan into the chair next to Kemal. To say he looked better than the night he was taken away by Samuel would be a lie. All the blood had been cleaned away, leaving way for the stitches to decorate his face and neck. The deep purple and black bruises around both eyes, cheeks, jaw and neck were fully present, looking tender and uncomfortable as he winced back into his seat. His right arm was secured protectively across his torso, shielding his broken ribs as I continued to look down at him, assessing him for myself. He looked tired and broken, drained physically and mentally as his eyes remained closed, taking in quick sharp breaths while fighting the pain and discomfort he was clearly in. I didn't feel one ounce of guilt towards him, nor compassion as he continued straggling to breathe. I tried to feel it, something, anything that would make me believe that I was in fact a man with a beating heart, but there was nothing but emptiness and irritation.

"Glad that you made it, now, let's get to it."

I nod, walking back around my desk and taking a seat. My gaze shifts from Cohan to Danial as I begin the meeting.

"Timza. What did she have to say about the man who delivered the letters?"

"Gave us a description of the courier which matched the security footage we obtained from the day in question. The man's name is Adam Nizra, forty-seven, wife, five children, lives locally and has works for Protective Services, the courier company that delivered the letters for fifteen years. We spoke to the company as well, but it was a dead end. The letters were received via post, Protective Services and the courier are clean."