The words come out before I can stop them.
She goes completely silent.
I hang up before she can respond, then sit there staring at my phone and wondering what the hell I just did. Three words I’ve never said to anyone except my mother. Three words that change everything.
And I said them the night before I might die.
I pour another drink and try not to think about what happens if I don’t make it back from tomorrow’s meeting. About Aureliaraising the boys alone. About them growing up without their father. About everything I’ll miss if the Petrovs get what they want.
But I can’t let fear stop me. The boys need me to end this threat. And I will. Even if it kills me.
35
AURELIA
The handover my mouth smells like leather and cigarettes.
I drop my coffee. The cup hits the sidewalk and explodes, scalding liquid spreading across concrete while I try to scream. Can’t. His palm presses harder, cutting off air, and another set of hands grabs my arms.
They’re lifting me. Moving me toward a black van idling at the curb with its side door already open.
I kick backward. Connect with someone’s shin. I hear a grunt, but the grip on me doesn’t loosen. There are too many of them. Three, maybe four. All bigger than me, all moving with the efficiency of people who’ve done this before.
Vance security is half a block away. I saw them when I walked into the coffee shop ten minutes ago. Two men in a dark sedan, watching the street like they always do when I leave the estate.
But they’re too far now. Can’t see what’s happening from where they’re parked.
I try to bite the hand covering my mouth. Taste leather. The man curses in Russian and yanks my head back hard enough that my neck cracks.
Then I’m inside the van, door slamming shut, engine already running before I hit the floor. Someone shoves a hood over my head. Black fabric, scratchy against my face, blocking out light. Hands zip-tie my wrists behind my back. The plastic cuts into skin.
“Don’t fight,” a voice says. Accented. Male. “Makes it worse.”
I fight anyway. Thrash against whoever’s holding me down. Get an elbow into someone’s ribs before they pin my legs.
“Sedate her,” another voice says.
“No. Boss wants her awake.”
The van takes a corner too fast. I roll into something solid. Metal wall or equipment, can’t tell through the hood. My shoulder screams where it makes impact.
They’re not saying anything now, just holding me down while the van moves through what sounds like heavy traffic. Horns blaring. Brakes squealing. The normal sounds of the city that mean we’re still in Manhattan.
Then it gets quieter. Fewer horns. The road is rougher, potholes jarring my teeth.
Time stretches. Could be ten minutes or thirty. Can’t track it with the hood on and adrenaline making my heart beat so fast I can’t count seconds.
The boys.
The thought hits like a fist to the chest. Finn and Liam are at the estate with Nadia. Safe. Julian has security everywhere. But I was supposed to be home in an hour. They’ll notice I’m missing. They’ll look for me.
But will they find me in time?
The van stops. Doors open. Hands grab me again, haul me out into air that’s colder than it should be for afternoon. We’re somewhere with shade. Alley or covered loading area.
They walk me forward. My feet stumble over uneven ground. Concrete, then gravel, then concrete again. Through a door that scrapes when it opens. Down stairs. One, two, three. I count them, trying to remember the layout in case I get a chance to run.
Twelve steps total. Then flat ground. Concrete floor from the sound my shoes make. The air down here is damp. Smells like mold and rust and old blood.
