The struggle I put up.
Then darkness.
I’d woken up in a windowless room, been given a dress, and told to put it on. When I’d refused, one of the men had smiled and said, “Either you wear it, or I put it on you myself.” I’d changed quickly after that.
They hadn’t hurt me. In fact, they hadn’t touched me beyond what was necessary to move me from place to place.
But the threat had been there in their eyes, in the casual way they carried their guns, and in how they spoke about me like I wasn’t even in the room.
The whole time, I wondered if I’d been taken because of what I’d heard. If one of those men had seen me. They seemed dangerous… maybe that’s why my father did what he had to do.
And now they had come for me because I’d shown up at the wrong place at the right time. And my father? He must be worried sick in his search for me.
If he’d even noticed I’m gone.
Perhaps it hadn’t been long enough.
My father might have thought I was asleep in my apartment when, in fact, I was now being led off a stage by Dante Lebedev—a man who could be embedded in the criminal world my father had sworn to fight against.
Was my kidnapping connected to what I’d overheard? Or was this my father’s enemies making a move against him through me?
Dante’s hand was still on my arm as we descended the stage stairs, the crowd parting before us. I could feel eyes on us from every direction.
These people had been bidding on me like I was a piece of furniture. And Dante had outbid them all.
As soon as we were off the stage, I tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened slightly.
“Don’t,” he muttered, low enough that only I could hear. “Not yet.”
I gritted my teeth but let him lead me toward the exit. The ballroom suddenly felt endless, each step carrying me further into a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked when we were a few feet from the doors. “Why areyouhere? Why amIhere?”
His jaw tightened. “Not now.”
I yanked my arm free the second we passed through the ballroom doors and into the marble-floored hallway.
“What the hell is going on?” I snapped.
Just then, two men in black suits fell into step behind us—security, I guessed.
Dante’s security.
The realization hit me like a slap. Dante wasn’t just here by accident. Nor was he just mixed up with criminals.
Dante was Bratva. He had to be. The way people looked at him, deferred to him. The casual display of wealth and the bodyguards.
Yeah. He wasn’t just playing dress-up in the underworld. Hebelongedin it.
All those nights together, all those mornings waking up in his arms, and I’d never known.
“You lied to me,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
He didn’t look at me. “I never lied. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“That’s the same damn thing.”
He didn’t say another word. He just kept walking toward the exit.
