Natasha followed my gaze to Stella, and a merciless look crossed her face.
"This isn't about her," I shouted. "If you want revenge, take it on me!"
She released my chin and stepped toward the man holding Stella.
"Let me see the child," she said.
"No!" I lunged, but my captors twisted my arms harder and held me down.
Natasha crouched in front of Stella and studied her. The little girl's chin was set; blue eyes swollen and wary.
"She doesn't look anything like Igor," Natasha murmured, reaching to touch her face.
Stella snapped—she bit Natasha's finger.
"Ah!" Natasha yelped and jerked her hand back.
"You little—" Natasha raised her hand to slap her.
"No!" I screamed, my voice gone. "Natasha! She's five! Please!"
"Boss said not to hurt them. We're still negotiating with Vorontsov." The leader intervened, stopping Natasha.
Her hand froze. She inhaled and let anger roll hotter. Then she straightened and looked at me. "Don't worry, Elena."
She gestured to the thugs. "Take them."
They hauled us out. Stella was carried, sobbing, down a hallway strewn with bodies—our guards lay where they'd fallen, blood seeping across the floor. I nearly vomited.
"You killed them." My voice shook. "You killed Igor's men."
"They didn't make the right choice. Not worth mourning." Natasha walked away without looking back. "Some people follow whoever pays more."
There was a rat in our midst. My stomach dropped.
A cold wind hit us as they dragged us outside. Night had fallen hard. Streetlights spat pale pools of light. The black sedans waited. Men opened doors and shoved us into the back seats.
"Get in." The man who'd held my arm barked.
They slammed me into the back of one car. Stella went into another. She pressed her small hands to the window and pounded at the glass, mouthing "Mom" over and over.
"Stella!" I lunged, but the door slammed.
"Quiet." The man beside me growled. "Or I'll stuff cloth in your mouth."
I bit my lip and forced myself to be silent.
The cars tore through the city. I tried to map the route, but we soon left populated streets and plunged into an industrial stretch.
After about twenty minutes, we stopped at an abandoned pier. No lights. A few dim lamps flickered on distant ships. Theydragged me out onto cold concrete. Wind stung my face. A huge cargo ship loomed at the dock—dozens of armed men on deck.
A man stood at the gangway in a sharp custom suit, hair slicked back. A hooked nose, scars across his face. When he saw me, a satisfied smile spread across his mouth.
Even without ever meeting him, I knew Salvatore.
"Welcome, Miss Elena," he said, smug.
They shoved me up the gangway. The boards creaked underfoot. Stella's cries followed, but I couldn't turn.
