My hands shake when I realize that part still hasn't landed properly. Not a misunderstanding. Not security theater. Men walked into a boutique with guns and intent, and eyes locked on me. The same men who took my son. The thought makes my vision blur red. I drag a hand through my hair, breathing hard, trying to slow my thoughts and failing spectacularly. Because it's not just them.
It's Marianne.
And Sean.
Sean.
My stomach turns at the memory of his hand on her back. Familiar. Possessive. Like they'd rehearsed it. Like they were comfortable in each other's space in a way that had nothing to do with chance. What the hell was he doing there?
I stop pacing long enough to press my palms against the window.Think.
My father must have sent them. That's the reflexive thought. The safe one. The one that still wants him to be the villain that Iunderstand—controlling, cold, obsessed with optics. He can't be bothered to call me, but he sends his lackeys after me.
But that doesn't explain the attack. That doesn't explain guns in a casino boutique. That doesn't explain why men would risk an international incident to grab me.
Unless—
My chest tightens. Unless Amauri and Carter aren't enough anymore. Unless they realize something I'm not prepared to face yet. That I matter. Not politically. Not symbolically. But tactically. I laugh once, sharp and humorless.
Congratulations, Jenna. You've been upgraded from collateral to asset.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes something ugly and determined settle into place. I turn back to the room, eyes scanning Massimo's office like it might answer me if I stare hard enough.
Marianne wasn't trying to help me.
She was trying to move me. Get me alone. Get me out of Massimo's orbit. Get me somewhere she controlled. Sean was the contingency in case she needed force. My pulse spikes again. I don't know how he fits into this yet. I just know he does.
The worst part?
Somewhere deep down, past the fear and the rage and the betrayal, something colder clicks into place. They came for me because my father didn't bend. I already knew that, but part of me was still hoping… it makes me wonder, would he bend if they had me too? If I thought that for a second, they wouldn't have to abduct me. I'd run to them screaming, arms waving, sayingtake me, take me.
I wish I could still say that my father does the things he does for ideological reasons, because he truly wants the drugs off the streets. A few days ago, I believed that. Not today, though. Not after the paper trails I've found. Not after seeing the gleam inhis eyes. After seeing how much the idea of playing the martyred man who lost his family appeals to him.
A knock on the door interrupts me. "Come in."
Max sticks his head in. "Just wanting to check up on you. Do you need anything? Changed your mind about the doc?"
"I'm fine," I assure him.As fine as I can be. "I don't need a doctor, I wasn't hurt, which, by the way. Thank you." I don't think I thanked him yet.
He did save me.
"I just did my job."
I force a grin. "And a good one at that. I'll tell Massimo to give you a raise." But even I don't believe that I have that kind of power.
"By the way, next time, if you want to meet someone, just tell me." He winks, but it doesn't look friendly. "No need to play charades."
I hold his gaze. "Noted."
Our eyes hold for a few more moments, then he nods. "Alright then, if you don't need—" He's about to close the door and leave when a thought strikes me.
"The men? You did get one alive?"
"That was smart thinking on your part. Yes. He's alive, we have him."
I don't even know what I want yet, or why I'm curious. "Where is he? Will he be questioned?"
Max looks more than uncomfortable now. "Uhm…" he runs a hand through his hair. "You shouldn't bother yourself with that."
