He says nothing. Just tugs me forward, his pace unhurried.
“Do you even know who I am?” I shout, the words echoing uselessly in the still air. “I’m Nikki Ricci! The QueenNikki! You can’t just steal me like I’m luggage! I have eight million followers! They’ll find me!”
I twist hard, aiming a sharp elbow for his gut, but he smoothly sidesteps. I sprint three steps toward the road before another arm clamps around my waist. “Let me go!” I scream, kicking like a feral animal. “I swear to God I will ruin you!”
No one answers. No one even looks impressed. Which, in a twisted way, might be the worst part. My biggest weapon, my digital army, is useless here. They don’t care about my eight million followers. They probably don't even know what a follower is.
“Help!” I scream as loud as I can. “Somebody help me!”
I’m dragged up the steps and through a heavy, ornate door. It shuts behind me with a loud thud, a sound that feels too final, like a tomb closing.
I’m not in control anymore and I’m terrified.
CHAPTER 4
RAFE
The moment they drag her into the villa's main hall, I see all I need to see. She's loud and obnoxious. But under it, under all the noise and the show, I pick up the real thing. Panic, coiled up tight. It's in her eyes, darting around the room, searching for an exit.
She's scared.
I stay put in my chair, a heavy piece of furniture in a big, empty room. I let the silence grow.
She fights Enzo's grip. Not hard, just enough to show she's still trying to write her own story. Still trying to believe she runs this show. It's a sad little effort, though I expected it.
"You need to let me go," she calls out. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, or what kind of sick game this is, but this is kidnapping. This is illegal. My people will be looking for me. They'll know I'm missing. You can't do this."
Enzo doesn't even react. He just guides her to stop right in front of me to let her fear simmer while I watch.
She stares, then blinks fast. Her gaze runs over my face, my suit, the room itself. She's trying to put it together, trying to make sense of what's happening, and she can't. She recognized me immediately from her video, but she's trying to hide it.
"Who are you?" she asks, her tough act wobbling at the edges. "What do you want from me? Who do you think I am?"
I don't answer. Not right away. I push myself up from the chair, slow, deliberate. My eyes never leave hers as I walk closer.
She mentally tries not to step back, but her body gives her away. She backs away from me. An inch. Two inches. Then she catches herself, plants her feet solid, like it means something not to move away from me.
"I want to know exactly what you saw," I say finally. "And more important, I want to know who you told."
She scoffs nervously. "What? When? I was just filming myself for a stupid video. That's what influencers do. It's my job. I don't 'tell' people anything. I post it. To millions of followers." She tries to wave a hand, but it shakes a little.
"You put a tag on the exact spot where you were filming," I tell her. "You uploaded a video from a drop zone for my organization and filmed a sensitive exchange. You put faces on camera that weren't yours to put out. You sent them to a world full of people who look too close, who dig too deep. The problem's the same whether you tell them or you simply post it. Now everyone saw something they shouldn't have. And now we have a big fucking problem."
I pause, assessing the tremble in her fingers. She doesn’t understand the game she’s stepped into. But maybe she could learn.
“You didn’t just go viral. You turned on a floodlight in the darkest corner of my world. That kind of mistake gets people killed.”
Her lips part, then close. A silent swallow. Now there's real fear. The kind that settles in once the excuses run dry, once her little normal world crumbles. Her act's falling apart now that she's realizing what she did.
"It was an accident," she says, softer. Almost a whine. "I swear. I didn't know what I was filming. I wasn't even looking behind me. I was just looking for the light, for my best angle. For the views. The same thing I do every damn day."
"But others were looking," I say, stepping closer. "Let's talk about your followers. They're strangers with too much time, too many questions. They saw what you missed. They noticed every little thing you didn't. And they started asking questions. Questions we can't let get answered."
Her eyes flicker, searching for something in mine. Mercy, maybe. "You can't really think I meant to… to film something illegal. I don't even know what I filmed. I just saw an expensive car and a cool background. That's all."
"Which is exactly why you're still breathing."
She flinches. The truth, hard and ugly, cuts through all her self-important nonsense.
