The sound is so quiet I almost miss it under the engine noise. But I feel it. Feel the tiny mechanism engage.
The tracker is active.
Relief floods through me so intense I almost sob. But I swallow it down. Can't make noise. Can't let them know I'm awake.
The van starts to slow.
My stomach drops.
No. Not yet. I need more time. Need them to keep moving so the tracker can?—
The van stops.
The engine cuts off.
Silence. Except for my breathing. Too loud. Too fast.
I force myself to go limp. Close my eyes. Let my body sag against the floor like I'm still unconscious.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on pavement. Coming closer.
The back doors of the van open. Light floods in, bright enough to see through my closed eyelids.
"She still out?" A man's voice. Rough. American accent.
"Hit her pretty hard." Another voice. Younger. "Might've given her a concussion."
Laughter. Cold. Cruel.
Hands grab my ankles. Start to drag me toward the open doors.
I keep my body loose. Keep my breathing steady. Keep my eyes closed.
The tracker is active. It's sending a signal.
Dmitri will find me.
He has to find me.
Dmitri
The laptop screen glows in the darkness of my office. I stare at it, willing the green dot to appear.
Nothing.
My hands curl into fists on the desk. Blood from the cut on my knuckles smears across the polished wood. I don't remember getting cut. Don't remember anything except Vittoria being dragged away and the door that wouldn't fucking open.
"Come on, solnyshko," I whisper to the empty room. "Activate it. Please."
The door opens. I don't look up. Can't tear my eyes from the screen.
"Lorenzo's handling the police." Pietro's voice. Flat. Cold. "Telling them it was a robbery gone wrong."
"They'll never believe that."
"They don't have to believe it. They just have to accept it."
Footsteps cross the room. Pietro stops beside my desk. I feel his eyes on me but I keep staring at the screen.
