"And Roman," Abram continues, his pale eyes boring into mine with vicious satisfaction, "you're going to step down as Pakhan. Immediately. You'll hand over your territory, your operations, everything you've built. To me."
The words don't make sense. Can't make sense. He's demanding my empire, my life's work, everything I've bled for.
"If you refuse," Abram says, his voice dropping to something soft and deadly, "if you don't do exactly as I say, your wife and child will disappear. Permanently. You'll never see them again. Never know what happened to them. They'll just be gone, like they never existed."
My vision blurs at the edges, rage and terror warring in my chest. I think about Eva this morning, about the way she looked at me when she said she loved me. About the slight curve of her belly where our child grows. About the future we were just starting to build together.
And Abram has taken it all.
"So here's my offer," Abram says, standing slowly, his massive frame unfolding with deliberate menace. "Let me walk out of here. Right now. And we'll discuss the terms of your surrender. Or refuse, and I'll make one phone call that ensures you never see your precious wife again."
49
EVA
Consciousness returns in fragments. The chemical taste of chloroform coating my tongue. The throb of my skull where it connected with something hard during the struggle. The cold seeping through the concrete floor beneath me, making my bones ache despite the layers of clothing I'm still wearing.
I force my eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through grimy windows high above. A warehouse. Abandoned, judging by the rust staining the metal beams overhead and the way my breath forms clouds in the frigid air. My hands are zip-tied behind my back, the plastic cutting into my wrists with every slight movement. My ankles are bound too, and when I try to shift position, pain shoots through my shoulders from being in this awkward angle for God knows how long.
My first coherent thought is of the baby. My hand instinctively tries to move to my stomach, but the restraints hold firm. Panic floods my system, hot and immediate. Is the baby okay? Did the chloroform hurt our child? The questions spiral through my mind, each one more terrifying than the last.
My second thought is of Roman. He must know by now that something's wrong. He's probably tearing the city apart looking for me, his blue eyes cold with the kind of rage that makes grown men piss their pants. The image of him bursting through the warehouse doors, gun drawn, ready to destroy anyone who touched me, makes my chest tight with longing so powerful, it nearly steals my breath.
I love him. The realization from last night crashes over me again, even more devastating in this moment of terror. I love Roman Sokolov with a desperation that defies logic, and I might never get the chance to tell him again.
Footsteps echo through the warehouse, heels clicking against concrete with deliberate precision. I tense, my body coiling with the instinct to fight despite the restraints. The sound grows closer, and a figure emerges from the shadows near the entrance.
I should be surprised to see Irina Titova standing there, elegant in a designer coat, her dark hair swept up in that sophisticated chignon she always wears. But I'm not. Some part of me has known since Katya's warning at the wedding, since the sabotaged dress, since the hatred I saw flickering in her green eyes when she thought no one was watching.
Irina smiles when she sees I'm awake, and the expression is all teeth and malice. She moves closer with that predatory grace I've seen Roman use, and I realize with sickening clarity that she's learned from the best. She's been in this world long enough to adopt its mannerisms, its casual cruelty.
"Eva." Her voice is warm, almost friendly, like we're meeting for coffee instead of in an abandoned warehouse where I'm boundand helpless. "I'm so glad you're awake. I was worried Marcus used too much chloroform. That would have been unfortunate."
My throat is dry, my voice rough when I finally manage to speak. "Marcus works for you."
"Marcus works for Abram." Irina settles onto a crate near me, crossing her legs with casual elegance. "But yes, I arranged for him to replace Viktor on your security detail. It was surprisingly easy, actually. Roman's so distracted by you, by the baby, by playing house, that his usual vigilance has slipped."
The words are designed to hurt, to make me feel responsible for my own kidnapping.
"Why?" The question tears from my throat. "Why are you doing this?"
Irina's laugh is bright and genuine, like I've told a hilarious joke. "Oh, Eva. Sweet, naive Eva. You really don't understand how this world works, do you?" She leans forward, her green eyes glittering with something that looks like excitement. "Let me explain it to you. Consider it my villain monologue, like in those American movies you probably love."
She stands and begins pacing, her heels clicking rhythmically against the concrete. The sound echoes through the empty warehouse, and I track her movement with my eyes, looking for any opportunity, any weakness I can exploit.
"I've been with Lev for five years," Irina begins, her voice taking on a storytelling quality. "Five years of watching Roman build his empire, of seeing the power and wealth that comes with being Pakhan. And I wanted it. God, I wanted it so badly, I could taste it."
She turns to face me, and the hunger in her expression makes my skin crawl. "At first, I thought I could get it through Lev. He's Roman'ssovietnik, his right hand. If something happened to Roman, Lev would be the natural successor. So I stayed with him, played the devoted girlfriend, waited for my opportunity."
My mind races through implications. "You wanted Roman dead."
"Not dead, necessarily." Irina waves her hand dismissively. "Just removed. Discredited. Stripped of his position so Lev could step in. But Roman is frustratingly competent. He doesn't make mistakes. He doesn't show weakness. At least, he didn't until you came along."
The accusation in her tone makes my stomach clench. "I didn't do anything."
"You existed." Irina's voice hardens with resentment. "You walked into his office with your innocent brown eyes and your desperate need, and you made him soft. Made him care about something other than power and control. Do you know how dangerous that is for a Pakhan? How vulnerable it makes him?"
She moves closer, and I press back against the wall despite knowing there's nowhere to go. "I saw it happening. Watched Roman fall for you despite every logical reason he shouldn't. And I realized you were either my greatest obstacle or my greatest opportunity."
