And I'd chosen to leave him at the most crucial moment.
But it was too late for regrets now.
I had to survive. I had to get back to Sofia, back to Alexander, apologize to them, tell them I was wrong.
The will to live became stronger than ever.
I began coldly assessing my situation. Hands tied behind my back, but feet free. I quietly flexed my fingers, testing how tight the ropes were.
The knots weren't professional—just rough loops. These kidnappers weren't trained operatives, just common criminals, maybe hired muscle from another family.
That was good news.
I pretended to stay unconscious while using my fingertips to explore the rope structure. The rough hemp scraped my fingers raw, but I couldn't stop. I found the end of a slip knot and began working at it bit by bit.
Every movement had to be careful. They couldn't notice.
Heavy footsteps approached. I immediately stopped moving, letting my body go limp.
"This bitch awake yet?" a raspy voice asked.
"Don't know. Go check. Boss is about to make the call," another voice answered.
A rough hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head up violently. The sharp pain made me open my eyes and cry out.
"Well, well. She's up." A bald man with a scarred face grinned down at me. "Volkov's woman. Welcome to hell."
He pulled out my phone, waving it in front of me. "Now we're gonna call your dear husband. Remember—behave, or I don't mind having some fun with you before he gets here."
My stomach churned, but I forced myself to stay calm. I couldn't add more pressure to Alexander's situation.
Slow, steady footsteps approached from behind. All the kidnappers straightened up, looking respectful.
"Move aside," A low voice commanded.
The bald man immediately stepped back. A well-dressed middle-aged man walked in. About fifty, hair perfectly combed, but the lines around his eyes and mouth showed exhaustion and hardship. His left hand was bandaged.
My heart jumped—I'd seen this man in photos!
Marcus Warren. The underground organization leader Alexander had been hunting.
He stopped in front of me, looking down with eyes full of hatredand madness.
"Anna Parker," he said my name slowly, each syllable dripping with venom. "We finally meet. You know, it's because of you that I've fallen this far."
He suddenly grabbed my chin, squeezing so hard I could barely breathe.
"Over a month ago, you photographed my men's deal at the docks," his voice trembled with rage. "Those damn pictures! I just wanted to send some guys to 'visit' you, teach a nosy reporter what happens when you see things you shouldn't, take photos you shouldn't take."
Fear flashed in his eyes. "But I didn't know you were Volkov's woman!"
He released me and began pacing, each step radiating suppressed fury. "My men hadn't even touched you, and Volkov went insane! He personally took out three of my hideouts, killed over twenty of my men! He hunted me like a rabid dog, forced me to flee the East Coast!"
He spun around, pointing at his bandaged hand. "See this? His men broke it! I used to rule this city, now I'm hiding in this damn slaughterhouse like a rat!"
"And all of this," his face came inches from mine, "is because of you! If you hadn't taken those photos, if you weren't Volkov's woman, I'd still be fine!"
"You did illegal things yourself," I said, fighting my fear. "That smuggling, those illegal deals—"
