They chain me to a metal chair in the center of the concrete floor, the restraints so tight my hands go numb within minutes.
Anya circles me like a shark that’s caught the scent of blood in the water.
“Dante Moretti was a very bad boy,” she says conversationally, lighting a cigarette. “He took something that belongs to the Petrov Syndicate. A lot of somethings, actually.”
“Fuck you. Fuck Dante.” I glare at her through the pain. “Alaric is going to kill you all when he finds me. Just you wait.”
The slap comes without warning, snapping my head to the side hard enough to make my ears ring. Stars burst behind my eyelids.
“Wrong answer.” Her voice remains pleasant, like we’re discussing weekend plans. “Let’s try again.”
“I don’t know anything about his business!” Tears blur my vision. “We weren’t even together when he died. I left him months before?—”
Another slap, this one hard enough to split my lip. I taste copper and salt.
“You dated him for two years. Lived with him for one.” She grabs my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Shared his bed, ate at his table, signed his papers. You really expect us to believe you know nothing about where he hid our money?”
“I never signed anything! I didn’t know about any business!”
One of the men steps forward and backhands me across the mouth. My head snaps back, and something warm trickles down my chin.
“This is what happens when you trust people in our line of work,” Anya says, taking a long drag of her cigarette.
The betrayal cuts deeper than the physical pain. I thought I was being clever, manipulating some innocent maid into helping me escape. Instead, I was the mouse walking into the cat’s mouth.
“You should have stayed in your golden cage, little bird,” the man says, hitting me again. “At least the Morettis keep their pets alive.”
Hours blur together in a haze of questions I can’t answer and pain I can’t escape. My ribs ache with every breath, and my hands are completely dead from the restraints.
“Last chance,” Anya says, grinding her cigarette under her heel. “Where did Dante hide the accounts?”
“I don’t know.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I swear to God, I don’t know.”
She nods to one of her men, who picks up what looks like a car battery with cables attached.
That’s when I hear it.
Gunfire.
Anya’s head snaps toward the sound, and her cigarette falls from her lips. “What the fuck?—”
The warehouse doors explode inward in a shower of splinters and metal. Men with guns pour through the opening, muzzle flashes lighting up the darkness like deadly fireworks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to make myself invisible as bullets tear through the air above my head. Someone screams. Glass shatters. Bodies hit the concrete with wet thuds.
When the shooting stops, the silence is so complete it feels like death.
“Clear!”
“Building secure!”
“Boss, over here!”
Footsteps approach through the smoke and debris. I open my eyes to see Alaric kneeling in front of me, his shirt splattered with blood. His green eyes burn with something I’ve never seen before—something that might be fear.
“I’ve got you,” he says, pulling out a knife to cut through my restraints. “You’re safe now.”
The ropes fall away, and my arms drop like dead weight. I can’t feel my hands, can’t feel anything except the overwhelming relief that I’m still breathing.
