When I took Elena, I had no idea what I was going to do with her. After visiting my lawyer, that question only grew bigger. But now, I have something to work with. Somehow, some way, I need to get in contact with the Lukovs. First, I need to brace myself and prepare for any kind of blowback.
Aware that Patch is right, I also know that I have to play this my way, just like I have from the start. And I can’t let Elena see how much she reminds me of the one thing I can’t afford to lose.
“I need intel,” I say, absently tapping the arm of the couch. “On the Lukovs, the Balakins, and the Grimaldis. I need to know how they’re reacting to this.”
“You know me. I’m already pulling the threads,” Patch murmurs, letting go of a hushed yawn from his end. “Focus on keeping her alive, in line, and under the radar.”
“Done and done.”
“Good,” he says, letting a contemplative silence hang between us. “And don’t forget…you didn’t screw yourself into oblivion tonight. You moved the right pieces in the game.”
Then, the line drops, and I exhale. Setting the phone down, I sit in that heavy quiet, left alone to bear the lingering thoughts and the city’s hum beyond the windows.
Despite how broken my plan felt after tonight, now I know it just needs restructuring. There’s nothing wrong with a couple of revisions.
Still, even with renewed determination to make this work, my mind drifts to Elena and how she’ll hate enduring this. She’ll hate knowing I’m leveraging her just like all the others in our world do.
But this is the only way forward. I have to do it for Lily, and for the endgame I’ve been risking my life for.
As much as she might hate me, Elena Lukov will walk away from this safe and alive, and I will get my sister back.
Chapter 8 - Elena
Everything has happened too fast. Way too fast.
That thought loops through my head again and again when I wake up, heart hammering in my chest like I’d just woken up in the middle of a nightmare.
For a split second, I don’t know where I am. I only register that the ceiling above me looks unfamiliar, and the room doesn’t smell like my place. Then, I tense all over as everything crashes back.
The event at the club, the abandoned warehouse, then Wyatt…the car chase, the lawyer’s office, the marriage I never asked for.
My stomach twists, and I sit up too fast, causing the room to spin. Despite the controlled temperature, the spare bedroom feels cold, lacking decor. It feels more like an upscale hotel room than anything.
Glancing down at myself, I find the black oversized shirt swallowing me up, along with the sweatpants I had found in the closet. Even acknowledging that I’m potentially wearing clothes that belong to him makes me squirm, and the faintest flutter of heat in my chest feels like a betrayal.
This is ridiculous…all of this.
Being tied to him in such a bogus way, along with the fact that I’m trapped in a room in his condo against my will. Locked away like I’m not a person.
My eyes shift to the door, where it remains closed and surely sealed tight. That thought alone makes me grit my teeth.
A small part of me wants to just stay in here and avoid him as much as possible, but the growl of my stomach saysotherwise. The last thing I ate was a few catered finger foods I snagged in passing while preparing for the event, and it was hardly enough to sustain me then, let alone after a full night of pure chaos.
I have to eat something, even if it means begging Wyatt to let me out.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand, and every muscle feels tighter than usual as I cross the room and reach for the door handle. I hesitate for a beat, wondering if it’s even worth trying. Then I brace myself for resistance.
Surprisingly, it turns easily in my hand. It’s unlocked, and the revelation makes me pause.
The fact that I’m not fully locked in here shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it is when the thought of being stuck feels more like a rock sitting in my gut.
I stare at the door for a long moment, then with a measured breath, I slowly pull it open and peer into the hall.
The space is quiet and full of soft morning light. I don’t hear any voices or see anyone, which feels both like a blessing and a potential problem in disguise.
Somehow, it seems like a test to me. As if Wyatt is trying to determine just how trustworthy I am, which makes my pulse spike.
Stepping into the hall, barefoot, I take everything in hesitantly. The whole place looks pristine, with clean lines, muted colors, and fresh scents. Nothing looks out of place, and somehow, it feels more like a temporary place than a home.
