“That’s Aurelia. Always puts them first.”
“She wouldn’t tell the Petrovs my name. They tortured her for hours, and she refused to give them what they wanted.”
“Because she loves you.”
I look at him. “What?”
“She loves you. Anyone can see it. She just hasn’t said it yet.” He turns toward the building. “Come on. There’s a waiting room inside. Could be hours before we know anything.”
We head inside, and I realize he’s right. She does love me. Loved me enough to endure torture rather than give them my name. Loved me enough to protect our family even when it cost her everything.
And I almost lost her.
Almost lost the woman I love because I killed Dmitri Petrov six years ago and didn’t think about the consequences.
But we got her back.
She’s alive.
And that’s all that matters right now.
40
AURELIA
White ceiling tilescome into focus slowly.
I blink. Try to remember where I am. Why everything hurts. Why there’s a steady beeping sound somewhere to my left.
Then it comes back. The warehouse. The torture. Viktor’s voice asking the same question over and over. The pipe hitting my ribs.
I try to sit up and pain explodes through my chest. Ribs. Broken ribs.
A hand on my shoulder, gentle but firm, stopping me. “Don’t move. You’ll tear the stitches.”
Cassian’s face appears above me. Exhausted. Unshaven. Eyes bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Where am I?”
“Medical facility. Julian’s people. You’re safe.”
Safe. The word takes a moment to sink in.
I’m not in the basement anymore. Not tied to a chair. Not waiting for the next session to start. I’m out. Cassian got me out.
“The boys?”
“At the estate with Nadia. They’re fine. Safe. I’ve had people watching them constantly.”
Relief floods through me so intense it makes tears burn behind my eyes. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days. You’ve been in and out mostly. Pain medication keeps you sedated.”
Three days. I lost three days.
I look around the room properly now. Private. Medical equipment everywhere. IV in my arm. Bandages on my wrists where the ropes cut into skin. I can feel more bandages on my face, my ribs, my shoulder.
Cassian’s sitting in a chair beside the bed. He’s still wearing the same clothes from the warehouse, covered in dried blood. Some of it is probably mine.
