“Don’t.” Sophia’s voice cuts through. “Mikhail, don’t you dare. He’ll kill you.”
Lorenzo laughs, the sound echoing off unseen walls. “She’s probably right. But you’ll come anyway, won’t you? Because despite everything, despite all your talk of being a monster, you’re weak. You love her. And that love will be your downfall.”
The video shifts again, showing Sophia’s face in close-up.
There’s something in her eyes, something she’s trying to tell me, but I can’t read it through my panic.
“You have one hour,” Lorenzo says. “Come alone or watch her die on live stream.”
The video ends, replaced by a text message with an address I know by heart.
The warehouse where I first took her.
Where I chained her to a pipe and told her she’d pay for her father’s sins.
Where this whole twisted story began.
Now it’s where it might end.
29
SOPHIA
The chain around my wrist is cold, familiar.
I stare at the rusted pipe where Mikhail first bound me, and a bitter laugh escapes my lips. I knew he’d pick somewhere symbolic.
Full circle.
We’ve come full circle.
But I’m not the same terrified college girl who begged for mercy in this warehouse.
That girl died somewhere between the forced wedding and the moment I pulled a wire from an explosive vest.
The woman who remains knows exactly what she’s doing.
Lorenzo paces in front of me, his blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
He thinks he’s won, that I’ve walked into his trap like some naive fool desperate to save her husband’s soul.
Let him think it.
Men like Lorenzo always underestimate women, especially ones they believe are motivated by love.
He’s not entirely wrong. I am here because of love. But not the way he imagines.
“Comfortable?” Lorenzo asks, gesturing to my restraints with mock concern. “I wanted you to feel at home. This is where your story with Mikhail began, after all. Poetic, don’t you think?”
I test the chain’s length, noting exactly how far I can move. Three feet in any direction. Enough. “You’re predictable, Lorenzo. I knew you’d bring me here.”
His smile falters slightly. “Predictable? My dear, you walked right into my hands.”
“Did I?” I lean back against the pipe, forcing my body language to appear relaxed despite my racing heart. The small device taped to my inner thigh presses against my skin, a reassuring weight. “Or did you walk into mine?”
Lorenzo’s expression darkens.
He crosses the space between us in three strides, his hand shooting out to grip my chin.
