On deck, there was a heavy mast. Two men hauled me forward and lashed my wrists to it with rough rope. I fought, but the fibers bit into my skin, each twist tightening like a burning cuff.
"Mommy!"
I looked up and watched as they wheeled an iron cage onto the deck. It was small—about three cubic meters. They shoved Stella inside. She grabbed the bars and pressed her forehead to the wire, crying, "Mommy! Mommy!"
They set the cage roughly five meters from where I was bound—close enough to see every tear, far enough that I couldn't touch her.
"Baby, listen to Mommy." I forced my voice steady though tears blurred my sight. "Don't be afraid, okay? Like when we play hide-and-seek. Daddy will come for us soon."
"Really?" Her voice was a thin whisper.
"Really." I forced a smile through the pieces of me. "Daddy's the strongest, right? He'll save us. Be brave, like a little princess."
She nodded hard and clung to the bars. My heart felt like a knife, but I had to hold it together. I couldn't let her see me fall apart.
Natasha watched from the side as if enjoying the show. Salvatore strolled to the rail, lit a cigar, smoke curling into the night.
"Tell Vorontsov," he said. "Tell him his woman and his daughter are in our hands."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Igor
"Don, Salvatore's men pulled back."
Sergey's voice on the line was tight with panic. I sat in the leather seat of the private jet opposite a bloodied Artyom. We'd just finished a fight and left a small Italian town; we were headed for New York — Salvatore had just struck the city hard, and I had to get back and take control.
"What?" I narrowed my eyes. "Say that again."
"Five minutes ago. They all withdrew at once." Sergey rushed it out. "We were ready to clash at the Brooklyn pier, but they pulled out."
A cold, sick feeling hit my temples like ice water. Salvatore wasn't the type to pull back without a reason. He'd planned this strike on New York and moved people and resources for months. He wouldn't abandon it on a whim.
Unless — unless New York was a feint. Unless his real target wasn't New York at all.
"Shit." I hung up and shot to my feet. "Artyom, turn the plane around. Now!"
"Don?" Artyom froze.
"Fly us back to Italy!" I barked. "Elena and Stella are in danger.Fuck — Salvatore baited me with New York to draw me away so he could hit Italy while I was gone —"
The phone buzzed before I finished. The name on the screen chilled me: Natasha. She didn't call unless something ugly was coming.
My hand trembled as I answered.
"Igor." Natasha's voice was cool, pleased. "Long time no see."
My fingers tightened until the phone hurt. "What do you want?"
"Me?" She laughed softly. "I just missed you. Missed your voice, your eyes, that damn coolness. For five years, I replayed your face at the engagement banquet — that look when you were ready to throw everything away for another woman."
"Cut to the point." My temple throbbed.
"Don't be hasty, darling." She giggled. "I brought you a present. Check your phone."
The line went dead.
Seconds later, my phone vibrated. Two photos arrived. I opened them, and the world collapsed.
