Elena shook her head. "Not your fault. There's a leak in your security. That's how Natasha's crew got in."
A traitor. My fingers tightened. I swallowed the flare of anger. Punishment would come later. Right now, the priority was getting them out alive.
I pulled Elena into a quick, controlled embrace. Guns were trained on us, but I didn't move further. I pressed my mouth to her ear and whispered, "Listen. I'll drop a blade into your hand when I can. Use it when the moment's right. Don't hurt yourself."
She nodded so hard it was almost a shudder.
With a small, practiced motion, I slid the sleeve blade into her palm — fast and invisible. I stepped back and pretended to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, keeping the gesture public and gentle.
Elena's hand closed around the tiny blade. Her eyes widened. She understood.
"Enough!" Salvatore snapped. "Youtook too long."
I let her go and crouched at Stella's cage. The little girl reached for me.
"Daddy! Daddy, hug!"
"Soon, baby." I slipped my fingers through the bars and took her cold little hand. "You were brave, Stella. Daddy's proud."
"I'm not scared," she hiccuped, trying to be brave. "Mommy said you'd come. When will we go home?"
"Soon, baby. Very soon." I kissed her knuckles.
"Business first." Salvatore's patience had run out. "Three days. You bring signed papers here. Any tricks and they die."
I rose and gave Elena and Stella one last look. Elena's hand was already working the blade against the ropes, making almost invisible, patient cuts at the fibers. Only I noticed.
Good. Everything was moving the way it needed to.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elena
The blade Igor had given me was tiny, almost weightless in my palm. But it was our only way out.
My hand shook, but I forced myself to steady it. The rope was thick and digging into my skin. I pressed the blade to the fibers and began to work, inch by inch. Slow. Careful. Quiet. I couldn't let the two men watching me notice.
I watched Igor holding Stella's small hand—Stella trusting him, clinging to him.
The first strand snapped. I kept cutting. Salvatore growled at Igor to get on with it. My heart hit my throat; time was running out. I didn't stop. The second strand gave.
"Watching your man die for you—how does that feel?" Natasha's voice hissed in my ear. I jumped, nearly dropping the blade. I clamped my fingers around it and hid it in my palm.
"You not talking?" Natasha leaned so close her red lips brushed my cheek. "Or are you too scared to say anything?"
I drew a breath and forced myself to meet her eyes. "What do you want me to say? Beg?"
"Begging won't save you," she smiled. "I am going to kill you.Slowly. Painfully. I am going to make Igor watch you die. He'd lose it. He'd go mad."
"You'll never have him," I said, calm, still slicing at the rope. "Because he never loved you."
Her smile froze.
"I don't get it," Natasha said, her voice suddenly almost sincere, confused. "How am I inferior to you? I'm prettier. I can do more. I'm the right Bratva queen. Tell me—what's wrong with me?"
The third strand snapped. One thin thread left.
"You want to know?" I said. "Then lean in."
