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“You were nearly taken by armed men.”

“And your solution is to take me first?”

“My solution is to move you somewhere they cannot get to you.”

“You mean somewhere my father wants me.”

“That is not what I said.”

Then, he reached into the compartment beside him and removed a bottle of water. He twisted the cap loose before holding it out toward me.

I stared at it.

“It isn’t poisoned,” he said.

“That’s exactly what someone with poisoned water would say.”

“If I wanted you unconscious, you would already be unconscious.”

That was probably true, which made me hate him a little more.

I took the bottle. He watched me until I took a sip, then looked back toward the rear window as the car drove along the highway. Manhattan had disappeared behind us, replaced by long stretches of wet pavement, concrete barriers, and the scattered glow of businesses closed for the night.

“You’re collecting me for Raffaele,” I said.

“No, I’m not.”

I tightened my fingers around the water bottle. “You men really love distinctions that only matter to you.”

His gaze returned to mine. “The debt belongs to me. Not you.”

“I don’t owe him anything.”

“I know.”

“I don’t owe you anything either.”

“I know that too.”

“Then stop the car.”

“No.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “You see how the message gets confused?”

“You are not payment for the favor Raffaele did for me, and you are not collateral in his war, Alessia.”

“But you’re still taking me.”

“Yes.”

“Against my will.”

“For the moment.”

“Oh, how reassuring.”

“You can refuse your father. You can refuse his money. You can refuse to ever speak his name again.” Sergei leaned forward, bracing his forearms against his thighs. The movement brought him closer, the shadows inside the car deepening the hard planes of his face. “You cannot refuse the fact that men entered Nocturne with guns and a plan to remove you.”