Liev’s jaw clenches.
“I’m not old.”
She raises a brow. “Sure.”
His face actually goes red.
Red.
I haven’t seen that since we were teenagers fighting over stolen cigarettes behind a market in Prague.
A rough chuckle rumbles out of me before I can stop it. Both of them look at me.
It surprises me how absurd the moment feels. We’re on a fishing boat in the middle of the bay, holding a cartel boss’s daughter hostage while planning retaliation, and somehow, she has Liev flustered like a schoolboy.
I’ve never seen anyone get under his skin this fast. It’s almost funny.
Almost.
Because underneath it all, my mind keeps counting seconds. Waiting for the call that says Alyona is home. Waiting for confirmation that she and the baby are safe.
Only then will I allow myself to relax. Until that moment, this girl across from me is leverage. Nothing more.
And if Hinto breaks his word, I will show her exactly how ruthless I can be. I’ll cut that smirk off her pretty face.
Ryder’s laugh spills out bright and unrestrained; the sound is far too warm for the situation. It’s like she’s sitting at a bar trading jokes instead of tied to a chair on a floating prison.
It does something strange to the air in the room.
Liev flushes a deeper shade of red, color climbing from his collar to his ears, and the sight is so absurd that for a fleeting second, I almost forget why we’re here. She watches him with open amusement, clearly delighted that she’s managed to rattle a man who looks like he could break her in half.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” she says lightly.
Liev mutters something in Russian that would make a priest faint.
Before I can waste another thought on their strange little standoff, my phone vibrates hard against the metal table. The sound cuts through everything.
I snatch it.
“Yeah.”
Devin’s voice shakes on the other end. “She’s here. She’s safe.”
I don’t reply, just hang up. Then I stand, chair scraping back.
“Get her,” I tell Liev calmly. “We’re making the trade.”
And I walk out of the galley without looking back.
Forsyth Park is quiet this time of night, but Savannah never truly sleeps.
Streetlamps cast warm halos over the sidewalks, and laughter drifts from somewhere down the block where a handful of tourists linger outside a bar that hasn’t closed yet. The fountain glows pale under the lights, water spilling in a steady rush that sounds almost deafening in the stillness. The whole place looks too soft, too civilized for the kind of business being conducted here.
I step out of the SUV and shut the door calmly. Liev circles to my left, shoulders tight, eyes constantly moving.
Two more vehicles idle at the curb behind us, engines low, my men staying inside but ready. One of them unloads Ryder, who for a moment looks tired and drawn before wearing what must be a signature smirk. Anyone watching would think we’re just another group of overdressed men out too late, but the weight under our jackets says otherwise.
Hinto waits by the fountain like an impatient tourist who lost his group. He’s wearing sandals and a rumpled linen shirt. Ridiculous.
