I didn't believe him. I pulled Stella behind me and pointed the blade with shaking hands. "Get away! Don't come near us!"
"Put the knife down," he repeated, leveling a gun at us. "Last warning."
I looked at the gun, then at Stella. If he fired from that close—there was no hiding.
"Please," my voice cracked. "Please don't hurt her. She's just a child."
"Put it down." His voice was flat.
I tightened my grip. I couldn't let go. That knife was my only chance.
He lost patience. He lunged, grabbing my arm. I swung at his hand, but he was faster. He clamped his other hand on my wrist and twisted. Pain lanced through me, and the knife clattered to the floor.
"Mom!" Stella screamed. She broke free and charged, tiny fists hammering the man's thigh. "Let go of my mom! Bad man!"
The thug glanced at her, yanked her up by the arm like she weighed nothing, and threw her aside. She tumbled and hit the floor hard.
"Stella!" My heart split.
She pushed herself up—blood on her knee—but she didn't cry. She bit her lip, eyes full of stubborn fear.
The leader signaled a younger man to hold Stella.
"Don't touch her!" I thrashed, trying to get free, but the clamp on my wrist was an iron vise. Pain seared my arm.
Stella's face went red; tears finally fell. She tried to reach me, but the young thug held her tight. She kicked and screamed, but his grip was iron.
Two more men hauled me out from the corner, one on each side. I stomped and lunged for my daughter, useless.
"No! Let go!" My voice was raw.
Then the sound of high heels clicked in the hallway—crisp, composed. Every thug parted as if saluting.
Natasha entered.
She wore a black gown that hugged every dangerous curve. Her makeup was flawless; red lips curled into a smug smile. Her brown eyes were cold knives when they pinned me. I saw nothing buthatred there.
"Finally, we meet." She stopped three meters away. "The thief who stole my fiancé."
"What do you want?" I kept my voice steady despite the burning need to know.
Natasha stepped forward, heels tapping. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face—an almost tender gesture that made my skin crawl.
"Because of you, my family lost everything." Her voice went cold. Her finger dragged down my cheek like a blade.
I clenched my teeth to keep quiet.
"When Igor broke the engagement, the FBI tore down our business," she said, tears flickering at the edges of her eyes. "Without Vorontsov's support, we fell from heaven to hell overnight. Creditors swarmed like sharks."
Her voice trembled. "My father was backed into a corner—he put a bullet in his head. My mother watched and went mad."
My stomach pitched.
"She's still in an asylum, screaming every day." Natasha grabbed my chin and dug her nails into my skin. Pain flared. "And you're here, living happily with a beautiful daughter."
I looked at Stella—still held against the young thug's chest, eyes wet. She saw me and reached a tiny hand toward me. "Mom! I want Mommy!"
"Baby, don't be scared." I forced myself to calm from the splinters of me. "Mommy's here."
