But she doesn’t get to disappear over my guilt. That’s not how this works.
I punch the side of the stair railing so hard that the wood cracks. Blood beads along my knuckles but I don’t care. The pain helps me focus.
The house is in full lockdown now. Enzo’s issuing silent orders with nothing more than a tilt of his head. The men are moving efficiently, ruthlessly, and terrified.
Because no one—no one—touches the girl without consequence.
But they don’t know her the way I do.
Aurelia isn’t waiting to be rescued. She’s planning her next move.
She’ll stay calm. She’ll play whatever game Orlov wants long enough to buy herself an inch. And if she finds that inch, she’ll cut a man’s throat with it.
But even with all that… she’s still a girl who’s alone in a cage right now. Someone probably already hit her. Maybe twice. Maybe worse.
And that’s on me.
That’s on me.
I run down the stairs and cut straight to the armoury. I’m not waiting for Enzo’s green light. I’m not standing around for strategy meetings. I’m not asking permission to hunt the men who took her.
She’s mine to protect.
And if I don’t bring her back alive, there won’t be a single Orlov left to bury.
Chapter 21
Aurelia
FLASHBACK
Six years ago
The boy’s hand hovers in the air between us, steady, patient. Not pushy like the guys inside the club, not careless like Elijah, not fake-sweet like the idiots who kept asking me to dance. He doesn’t look away from me, and for some reason, that unsettles me more than anything.
I hesitate before I slide my hand into his. His palm is warm, dry, not clammy like I expect from a stranger smoking outside a club. His grip is firm, but not crushing, already knowing exactly how much strength to use.
“Aurelia,” I say, surprising myself with how relaxed my voice sounds.
No, Ace. You’re supposed to say Ace.
Somehow it feels like he wouldn’t buy it anyway. Like he’d see right through the nickname, straight to the truth.
His head tilts slightly, “Aurelia,” he repeats, the syllables rolling low and rough in his Russian accent. My name hasnever sounded like that before—like something intense, like something so tempting.
I swallow hard, shifting on my feet. “It’s my birthday,” I blurt, because apparently my brain doesn’t know when to shut up. “Sixteen.”
His lips twitch. He looks forward first, like he’s not sure he cares, then back at me. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and suddenly the tears are gone.
His voice, the way it grounds me—it steals the loneliness right out of my chest.
“Why were you crying?”
I bite my lip, glancing at the ground. “I was just…” I consider if I should lie, but then I remember that I will never see this boy—man, shit, I don’t even know how old he is—again. So I finish, “I wanted to have my first kiss tonight, but the guy I have feelings for was kissing my friend instead.”
He doesn’t say anything but takes three steps closer to me, forcing my back against the wall of Confine.
