The van doors slam shut and we're moving.
I roll onto my side, trying to breathe through the panic, trying to think. The van smells like old metal and something chemical. There are no windows back here. There's just darkness and the sound of the engine and my own ragged breathing.
How long we drive, I don't know. Time loses meaning when you're in the dark. It could be minutes. Could be hours. Every bump in the road sends me sliding across the metal floor. My wrists burn where the zip ties cut into my skin.
I think about Luca.
I saw him fall. Saw the blood. But I didn't see him die. He's survived worse. He has to have survived worse. He's L'Ombra. The Shadow. The man who kills people for a living and doesn't leave bodies to find.
He can't be dead.
He can't be.
But the image of him on the floor won't leave my mind. The way he dropped like someone cut his strings. The blood spreading beneath his head.
I'm crying again. Silent tears that I can't wipe away because my hands are bound. I hate that I'm crying. I hate that I'm this scared. I hate that the last thing I said to him was arguing about marriage instead of something that mattered.
He said he loved me.
And I never got to answer.
The van stops. I hear voices outside. Russian. I don't speak Russian but I recognize the harsh consonants, the rolling Rs. We're in their territory now. Wherever that is.
The back doors open. Someone grabs me and pulls me out. I'm in an alley behind a warehouse. An industrial area. Cold air hits my face and I smell it—salt water, the ocean. We're near water. Brighton Beach, probably. I've heard Luca mention it. It's Bratva territory.
They cut the zip tie on my ankles so I can walk but leave my wrists bound. Two men grab my arms and march me toward a metal door. It opens into darkness.
Inside, the warehouse is mostly empty. The space has concrete floors, metal rafters overhead, a few crates stacked in one corner. And in the center of the space, a single chair.
They push me into it. More zip ties—around my chest, binding me to the back of the chair, around my ankles, securing them to the chair legs. I'm completely immobilized. Helpless.
The men step back and I get my first clear look at them. They're removing their masks. I see faces I don't recognize. Hard men with cold eyes and scars that tell stories I don't want to know.
One of them is different. He's older, better dressed. He's not wearing tactical gear like the others. He has on an expensive suit and a watch that probably costs more than my yearly salary. His hair is dark with silver threading through it and his face is all sharp angles and cruel lines. There's something about him that screams authority. The other men defer to him, step back when he enters the space.
He walks toward me slowly and deliberately, like he has all the time in the world.
"Francesca Mancini." He says my name with a slight accent—Russian, but he speaks English well. "The woman who captured L'Ombra's attention. I have been curious to meet you."
I don't answer. My jaw is clenched so tight it aches.
He circles the chair, studying me like I'm something in a museum. "You are not what I expected. Pretty, yes. But ordinary. I thought the woman who could make Luca Santoro lose his mind would be extraordinary."
"Go to hell."
He laughs—actually laughs. "You have fire. Good. You will need it."
He stops in front of me and crouches down so we're eye to eye. "My name is Vlad Orlov. My brother Maxim was killed by your Luca. Stabbed in an alley in Brighton Beach like a dog."
My blood turns to ice. Orlov—the hit that Luca said went wrong, the one that started the war.
"Maxim was reckless," Vlad continues conversationally. "Always making mistakes, always causing problems for our father. But he was my brother. And in my world, family is everything. Blood demands blood. You understand?"
I understand. I understand that I'm going to die here.
"Luca will come for me," I say. My voice shakes but I force the words out anyway. "He'll kill all of you."
"Yes." Vlad smiles. It's a terrible smile. "I am counting on it. You see, Luca is very good at killing. Very hard to catch. Very hard to trap. But now he has a weakness. You."
