35. Chapter 35
T he first thing I register as I try to open my eyes is pain.
A slow, throbbing pulse behind my eyes. Then the ache in my wrists. My spine. My throat.
I gradually open my eyes, and the first thing I notice is that the ceiling above me is gray and cracked. The room is dim—there's no natural light. A single bulb hums overhead, flickering slightly. The walls are blank, bare, and silent.
I lie on a stiff cot, the kind used in military camps or prison cells. My body is heavy and stiff like I’ve been lying in the same position for too long.
Then it hits me—Maksim is not here.
I bolt upright too quickly. The motion sends stars bursting behind my eyes, but I push through it, swinging my legs over the side of the cot.
“Maksim?”
Nothing. No answer.
I stumble to my feet, nearly collapsing as dizziness crashes over me. The room is small. Sparse. Just a chair in the corner. A metal basin on a counter. No windows, and no sign of him.
My hands fly to my stomach as panic starts to rise. My mouth feels too dry to scream. But I try anyway.
“Maksim!” I scream, banging on the door, but it doesn’t budge.
Just as I raise my hand to bang on it again, I hear a click, and a shadow enters the room. I blink hard, unsure if I’m hallucinating.
“Cristóbal?”
He steps inside like he owns the place. Tailored slacks. Rolled-up sleeves. No gun, no mask—just his usual composed, smiling face.
At first, relief floods me that he’s here. Maybe he ignored me and came to the airport after all, and saw me get kidnapped. But the look in his eyes is too calm and calculated.
And I feel it.
Dread. It drips down my spine like cold water. If I’ve been kidnapped…And Cristóbal is here…
Then Cristóbal is behind it.
The realization sends a tremor through me so strong that my knees nearly give out. His smile widens, like he’s watching it hit me in real time.
“You disappeared well, mi rosa,” he says, voice smooth as silk. “But you should’ve known that I would be waiting.”
I step back from him, rage and fear fighting to take over. “Where’s my son?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me.
I clench my fists. “Where is he?!”
He lifts a hand in mock reassurance. “He’s safe… for now.”
My chest tightens. “If you hurt him—”
Cristóbal tilts his head, eyes gleaming with something almost amused. “Hurt him? No. Why would I hurt him?” He takes a step closer.
His smile tightens as he circles me slowly, like a predator sniffing fresh weakness.
“I didn’t know you’d had a son, mi rosa.” He turns, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “But now that I do… that changes everything. For the better of cause.”
I stiffen, blood turning cold. “Where is he?” I rasp.
Cristóbal steps closer, his voice dipped in false warmth.
“He’s unharmed for now. But let’s be very clear—what happens next? Depends entirely on you.”
He leans in, his voice like poison:
“You’re going to do everything I say, Xiomara…because whether your son leaves here alive depends on you.”