Chapter 24
HANNAH
I've made everyone miserable for a week now, and I'm proud of it.
I refuse to eat meals with anyone, including Mila—not because I don't love her, but because I know it hurts Dante when she asks where I am.
I've broken three expensive vases, "accidentally" of course.
I've screamed at every staff member who's tried to be kind to me.
I've made Maria cry twice, which I feel terrible about, but I can't show weakness now.
I'm at war.
This morning I flooded the guest bathroom by stuffing towels in the sink and leaving the water running.
Last night I set off the fire alarm at three in the morning.
The night before that, I convinced one of the newer guards that Dante had given me permission to go for a walk in the gardens, then tried to scale the fence.
I'm exhausting myself with this campaign of chaos, but I refuse to give in. I refuse to accept this prison just because I'm carrying his child.
I'm sitting on my bed, plotting my next act of defiance, when Dante walks in without knocking. Again. He looks as tired as I feel, dark circles under his eyes, his usually perfect hair disheveled.
Good. I want him to suffer.
"We need to talk," he says, closing the door behind him.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Well, I have something to say to you." He moves to the chair across from my bed, settling into it with that controlled grace that used to make my pulse race. Now it just makes me angry. "You're making everyone in this house miserable."
"Good."
"Including Mila."
That makes me feel horrible. I've been trying so hard to keep my war focused on him, but of course she's caught in the crossfire. Children always are.
"That's not my fault," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Isn't it?" He leans forward, his blue eyes intense. "She keeps asking why you won't eat dinner with us anymore. Why you won't help her with her drawings. Why you seem sad all the time."
Guilt twists in my stomach. "I never wanted to hurt her."
"Then stop."
"I'll stop when you let me leave."
"That's not going to happen."
We stare at each other, locked in this impossible standoff. I'm not backing down, and neither is he. Something has to give, but I'm terrified of what that might be.
"I have a compromise," he says finally.
I laugh bitterly. "Your compromises usually involve me doing exactly what you want."
"Not this time." He runs a hand through his hair. "There's a safe house. About two hours outside the city. Private, secure, but not here. You could have your own space, some independence."
I sit up straighter, hardly daring to hope. "What's the catch?"
"Security detail. Twenty-four seven. You won’t have to share a roof with me, but you will be under my protection. You will receive medical care. When that child is born, it will remain in my custody. You will choose whether to stay with the child or leave.”
My heart pounds as I consider his words. A safe house. Away from here. It's not freedom, not really, but it's something. And the choice he's offering at the end—stay with the child or leave—that's more than I expected from him.
But there's something else in his offer. Something that makes my blood run cold.
"You're planning to take my baby from me," I say, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.
"I'm planning to keep my child safe."
"By stealing them from their mother?"
"By giving you a choice you wouldn't have if you stayed here." His jaw tightens. "In this house, you'll always be a prisoner. At the safe house, after the baby is born, you can walk away if that's what you want."
I stare at him, trying to read between the lines. "And if I choose to stay with my child?"
"Then you stay. As the mother of my child, under my protection, but not as my prisoner."
It's not perfect. It's not even close to what I want. But it's better than this gilded cage where I'm slowly losing my mind.
"I want to leave," I say quietly. "Now. Today."
Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. For just a moment, the cold mask slips and I see the man underneath. The one who held me in that hospital bed like I was precious.
“Alexei will be ready. One hour.”
He turns and walks out without saying another word.
The decision to leave breaks something inside me that I didn't know could break.
I should go say goodbye to Mila. I should explain somehow that this isn't about her, that I'm not abandoning her. But I can't face those blue eyes without falling apart completely.
I know I have to do this. He’s probably going to kill my father if he hasn’t already. I can’t be with him.
Despite the violence and the impossible situation—I love him. God help me, I love him. I'm walking away anyway because staying feels like slowly drowning.
Alexei appears in the doorway. “Ready?”
"As ready as I'll ever be," I say, zipping up my suitcase.
I head downstairs. It looks like everyone has disappeared. There’s no one around to say goodbye. That’s not a surprise. I’ve been awful to all of them.
My heart hurts for Mila, but I know this is for the best. The longer I stay, the closer we get. Alexei is at the door waiting. I glance over my shoulder one last time hoping to see Dante.
But he’s nowhere to be found.
Resigned, I follow Alexei to the waiting SUV.
The drive from the estate is too quiet. There is an occasional crackle of the radio as other security personnel check in.
They’re speaking in Russian, so I have no idea what they’re saying.
There's another SUV following us—more guards, more protection, more evidence of just how dangerous my life has become.
I stare out the tinted windows and try to figure out when everything went so wrong. Was it that first night in the bar? The moment I swiped right on a dating app? Or was it inevitable from the moment Dante's storm-blue eyes met mine?
"You don't have to do this," Alexei says quietly.
"Do what?"
"Leave. Dante would never force you to go if you wanted to stay."
I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Wouldn't he? He's forcing me to go to a safe house. He's forcing guards on me. He's making all my decisions for me and calling it protection."
"He's terrified."
The simple statement makes me turn to look at him. Alexei is sitting in the other seat behind the driver. He seems more serious than usual. I can feel the heaviness in all of this. I know a lot of that is on me.
"I know he's terrified," I say. "I can see it every time he looks at me. But I can't live my life as his prisoner just because he's afraid of losing me."
"He lost Katya—"
"I know. He told me. But I'm not Katya. We can't live our lives paying for his past mistakes."
Alexei is quiet for a long moment. "You love him."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
"Then why are you leaving?"
"Because sometimes loving someone means refusing to let them destroy you both." I lean my head against the window. "He wants to lock me away, Alexei. Keep me in a cage where nothing can touch me. And maybe that would keep me physically safe, but it would kill everything that makes me who I am. And I still have to think about my father. He’s going to kill him, Alexei. I’m not stupid. I know what’s happening. "
"He just needs time—"
"How much time? Until the baby's born? Until our child is grown? When does it end?"
He doesn't have an answer for that. Neither do I.
“Alexei, can you answer a question?”
“Maybe.”
“Is my father alive?”
“Yes.”
It’s a small relief.
We're approaching an underpass, the road narrowing as concrete walls rise on either side, when Alexei's entire body goes tense.
"Something's wrong," he says, his hand moving toward his weapon.
"What—"
Three black SUVs appear from nowhere, boxing us in. One in front, one behind, one pulling alongside. The timing is too perfect, too coordinated to be random.
"Get down!" Alexei shouts, and then the world explodes into gunfire.
The rear window shatters, glass raining down on me as I throw myself onto the floor of the backseat. Bullets punch through metal with sounds like thunder. I can hear Alexei cursing in Russian. The driver tries to maneuver the SUV through the ambush but failing.
Our escort vehicle tries to pull alongside, but one of the attacking SUVs rams it, sending it careening into the concrete barrier with a sickening crunch of metal.
We're alone. Outgunned. Trapped.
Alexei returns fire through his window. "Backup pistol, under your seat. Can you reach it?"
I fumble beneath the seat, my fingers finding cold metal. The Glock Dante made me practice with feels heavy in my hands, but familiar. Muscle memory from hours at the range kicks in—check the safety, proper grip, breathe.
"How many?" I shout over the gunfire.
"At least six that I can see. Maybe more." The SUV swerves hard, trying to avoid the other vehicle attempting to force us off the road. "Hannah, I need you to shoot. Can you do that?"
My brain is screaming at me that none of this is right. I don't shoot at people trying to kill me.
Except apparently, now I do.
I pop up just enough to see through the shattered window. A man in the SUV beside us is aiming at Alexei, his face twisted with concentration. I don't think. Don't hesitate. Just squeeze the trigger the way Dante taught me.
The recoil kicks against my palms, and the man jerks backward, clutching his shoulder. Not a kill shot—I don't think I could handle that—but enough to make him drop his weapon.
"Good!" Alexei yells. "Keep them back!"
I fire again, and again, each shot feeling more surreal than the last. This is really happening. People are really trying to kill us.
The thought of losing the baby makes something fierce and primal rise up inside me. I'm not going to die here. I'm not going to let these faceless attackers take my future before I even get a chance to live it.
Another attacker appears at the broken window. I fire without thinking. He ducks back, cursing, and I feel a savage satisfaction at making him retreat.
Our SUV lurches as another vehicle rams us from behind. I'm thrown forward, my head connecting with the back of the seat hard enough to make stars explode across my vision. The stitches in my scalp pull painfully. I taste blood where I've bitten my tongue.
"Hannah!" Alexei's voice sounds distant. "Are you hit?"
"No. Just—keep driving."
But we're not driving anymore. We're spinning, the SUV losing traction as the driver tries to regain control. The world tilts sideways and then we’re rolling. I have just enough time to curl around my stomach protectively before we slam into something solid.
The impact is devastating. Metal screaming, glass shattering, the horrible sound of things breaking that shouldn't break. Then stillness, broken only by the hiss of escaping steam and the ringing in my ears.
I’m on the roof of the SUV.
"Alexei?" My voice sounds strange, muffled.
He groans from where he was thrown into the third-row seat. Blood runs down his face from a cut on his forehead, but he's moving.
Alive.
"I'm okay," he manages. "You?"
"I think so."
Our driver is very clearly dead. His body is at a grotesque angle and he’s staring at me. Staring but not seeing. I try not to panic at the sight.
The sound of men talking snaps us both to attention. Footsteps approaching, multiple sets, boots crunching on broken glass.
"Out of the vehicle," someone commands in accented English. "Now. Or we shoot through the doors."
Alexei meets my eyes. His expression is grim. Then he nods slightly—some silent communication I don't fully understand.
"Do what they say," he tells me quietly. "But stay behind me."
I nod.
He says something in Russian as he moves to the front of the SUV. He kicks at the shattered windshield. I see a gloved hand pull the window away and then Alexei is jerked out.
I pulled out of the SUV next. My legs nearly give out when I try to stand, but I force them to hold. The pistol is still clutched in my hand, and I haven't let go even though I know I should.
Six men surround us. These aren't the kind of criminals who hesitate or negotiate. These are killers.
"Drop your weapons," one says.
Alexei complies immediately, his pistol clattering to the pavement. I start to do the same, but one of the men steps forward, his gun trained directly on my center mass.
On the baby.
"The Quinn girl," he says, and there's something almost pleased in his voice. "Bonus for bringing her in alive."
Bringing me in? To who?
But before anyone can answer, before I can process what that means, the man aims his weapon at my head instead of my stomach.
"On second thought," he says, "dead is easier to transport."
His finger tightens on the trigger, and time slows.
I see my future about to end before it ever really got started.
All because I was too stubborn to stay within the safety of Dante’s compound. My eyes slide over to Alexei. I silently apologize for getting him killed.