Chapter 41
LENI
“That was too easy,” Mikkel mutters under his breath as soon as he ends the call with Romero. He starts pacing the length of the living room, restless energy radiating off him.
My lips curl in disgust as I watch him move back and forth. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to make my face go completely blank.
So he’s smart enough to recognize that Romero isn’t the type to cave to ridiculous demands. I have no idea what my husband is planning, but I know damn well he’s not just going to hand over twenty million dollars and let this psycho and his son waltz away after everything they’ve done.
Because this guy is Mikkel. The same Mikkel who took credit for killing my dad? I’m inclined to think so. He’s also probably the one who tried to kill me yesterday.
“Why are you doing this, Mikkel?”
His head whips towards me, rage filling his brown eyes. “Shut up.”
“Why did you try to have me killed yesterday?” I press on like he didn’t just threaten me. “I’ve done nothing to you. Hell, I’ve never even met you before today, so what is your problem?”
The glare he shoots me could melt steel. “Do you know how many people have you on their radar? How much money you’ve cost me?”
My brows pinch together, but an ominous feeling starts crawling up my spine. “What are you talking about?”
“After your useless father lost his life, his wife and kids became fair game for anyone interested. But your mother interfered. Made a deal with me—she’d give us John’s body and let us take credit for his death, and in exchange, I’d leave you kids alone.
Then she moved you all out of town. It took years to find you.
” He makes an impatient gesture with his hand.
“Partly because you were hiding right under our noses. I never would have imagined she’d become a drug addict, but it was too sweet. ”
“What does any of these have to do with us?” Ethan snaps, a bit of temper slipping into his voice. “Whatever beef you had with Dad should have died with him.”
“That’s not how this world works, boy. Your mother should have sought protection in my organization instead of running like a coward. When we finally found you, someone became very interested in you and Charlene here.”
Interested? In Ethan and me? “What does that even mean?”
“You’re the children of a traitor. The sins of the father always fall on the children—that’s the rule.
I had been paid handsomely. All I had to do was deliver you and Ethan.
I set up the trap—got Ethan and your junkie mother into debt they could never repay.
Had them right in my grasp, and in one more week, I would have had you too.
But you—” He takes a menacing step closer, his tone a blade.
“You ruined everything. You ruined me. My reputation.”
The full horror of it finally sinks in and bile rushes up my throat. He had been paid to sell Ethan and me… to sell our bodies to some criminals, like we were merchandise. The loan to Mom and Ethan was a setup from the start. If I hadn’t gone to Romero, if he hadn’t paid—
“So, Romero paid off our debts, and you no longer had any excuse to grab us.”
Chills erupt all over my body. I didn’t realize the stakes were this high. My God.
“That made a lot of very dangerous people extremely angry. You have no idea.” He shakes his finger at me, sweat dotting his temple. “Suddenly I was the one in debt. Either deliver you and your brother, or pay back their money. Money I’d already spent because you were a sure thing.”
“But why try to kill me then? It wouldn’t have paid your debts back.”
“Except it would have,” he answers easily. “If I couldn’t deliver you because of circumstances beyond my control—like you dying tragically—well, that’s different. Your death would have saved me. But that fucking driver of yours had to play hero.”
My eyes dart to my phone.
Is Romero still listening?
If there was even a microscopic chance he might have honored this psycho’s demands before, it’s gone now. He’ll never let Mikkel walk away after hearing this. Never.
Shit. Which means Ethan and I are in serious danger. Because this guy is too desperate, too cornered to think rationally. “So, you want to use Romero’s twenty million to pay back those debts?”
“Fuck no. I’m going to take the money and get the hell out of this godforsaken city with my son.
Start fresh in a new state, maybe a new country entirely.
” He runs an agitated hand through his hair.
“Now shut your mouth and let me think. I need to figure out what to do with the pair of you in case your husband tries something smart.”
I hesitate briefly, knowing what I have to do next. But my stomach churns when I glance at Ethan beside me, expression churlish, arms crossed over his chest. He’s getting more impatient by the minute, and he might do something stupid soon—if Mikkel doesn’t beat him to it.
So desperate to keep Mikkel talking and distracted, I start, “I didn’t want to say this in front of Ethan, but I think I’ll have to in order to save our hides.”
I swallow hard when he swirls on me with a murderous glare, gun pointed directly at my face.
“I told you to shut up. What the hell are you yapping about now?”
Deep breath. Here goes nothing.
“My marriage with Romero isn’t real.” There. I finally said it out loud. Or at least, it wasn’t real at first. I’m not sure what we are right now.
A heavy silence fills the room. From my peripheral, I see Ethan’s head snap towards me, confusion and horror written all over his face.
But I keep my gaze fixed on Mikkel’s. “I married him for money—to pay off Mom and Ethan's debts. A business transaction, nothing more. But to be honest, I don’t really know why he agreed to it.”
I frown, trying to think through this logically for the first time.
Romero said a bunch of shit back then, but he never really gave a solid reason for agreeing to marriage the way I did.
I was too desperate and grateful to question it at the time, but now I’m wondering.
Why did he marry me? I don’t think he’s gotten any real benefits from our arrangement; not like I have.
“What?” Ethan’s sharp question drags me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I shake my head, reminding myself to focus.
“I’m telling you this so the next thing I say makes sense,” I continue, addressing Mikkel.
“I have money I’ve been stashing away in this house for when Romero and I divorce—which we will by the end of the year.
I call it my safety fund.” I wait, holding my breath to see if he’ll bite the bait I’m dangling in front of him.
Judging by the way he’s staring at me with hungry interest, I have his full attention now. He gestures with the gun for me to continue.
“In our agreement, he promised to send me fifty thousand every month as an allowance—you know, to buy whatever I might need to keep up appearances as the wife of a wealthy man like him. But he’s actually been sending me a hundred thousand each month for the past two months we’ve been together,” I lie.
God, has it really only been two months with Romero? It feels like a lifetime.
“And on our wedding day, he gave me ten million as a wedding gift. His brothers each gave me five million as well. So I have just over twenty-five million in certified cheques hidden in this house.” The lies are getting easier now, flowing like water.
“Twenty-five million that could be yours if you let Ethan and me walk out of here unharmed. I’m only bringing this up because you haven’t actually hurt us since you made us sit on these chairs. ”
“And because you know Romero doesn’t love you, there’s no real reason for him to give in to my demands,” Mikkel adds, disturbingly perceptive.
My throat tightens at the truth in his words, and I nod jerkily.
His lips curl into a cold smirk. “You’re as smart and strong as your mother. A little warrior.” The compliment is delivered like an insult, which is confusing as hell. “Fine, I agree to your terms. Show me where the checks are.”
I lift my chin, gesturing towards Ethan. “Let my brother go first.”
“No!” Ethan yells. “I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
But Mikkel ignores his outburst entirely, his gaze steady on mine. “What? Don’t you want your freedom too?”
“Of course, I do. But there’s no guarantee you’ll let us both go after you get what you want, is there? Let Ethan go first, and once he’s safely outside, I’ll show you where the money is. Then you can either let me go too, or…” I shrug with false bravado. “But at least my brother will be safe.”
And when he discovers there’s no money, I’ll be the only one left to face his wrath. Hopefully, Romero is still listening and will use the distraction to make his move.
My heart gallops as my brain tries to supply for me just how badly this could go if I don’t play my cards right. My stomach churns violently and I clasp my hands together to hide the shaking.
Mikkel studies me for a long moment. “Fine. But no funny games. You won’t like what happens if you try to be clever.” He waits for me to nod, then turns to Ethan. “Go on, get out.”
My brother hesitates, and I direct my most commanding glare at him. “Get the fuck out of here, Ethan. Now.”
Finally, he gets to his feet, face deathly pale, blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. He looks shaken, because he knows as well as I do there’s no money hidden in this house. He stops at the front door to glance back at me one more time. “L–Leni?”
He looks so young in this moment, so vulnerable and scared, my heart squeezes painfully. I don’t know how I manage a smile for him through my own stormy emotions, but somehow, I do. “It’s alright, Ethan. I’ll be fine. I love you.”
His throat works as he swallows. “I love you too.” Then he opens the door and walks out.
Some of the tension in my shoulders releases. Okay. At least he’s safe.
When I turn back to face Mikkel, he’s closer than before, his lips a thin line.
“That was very touching.” He pretends to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Now get up and take me to my money.”
I swallow around the massive lump in my throat and force myself up on shaky legs.
I’m hyper-aware of the nozzle of Mikkel’s gun pressing against the back of my skull as I lead him to the next room where the stairs leading down to the basement are located. My arm throbs fiercely with each step, almost in a brutal reminder of the last time I was shot.
Sweat trickles down my spine, my blood rushing in my ears, coupled with the hard thump-thump of my heart, the only sounds I can hear as I start walking down the stairs.
Mikkel hesitates behind me. “A basement?”
“Mom sells anything she thinks has value to fund her addiction. You know this,” I say tonelessly. “So to keep my money safe, I hid it under a floorboard down here.”
“Smart,” he says mildly, then digs the gun harder into my skull. “But remember—no funny games once we’re down there.”
I nod and continue down the stairs until we’re in front of the thick wooden door that latches from the outside and can only be opened from out here. I swallow as I push it open, peering into the ominous pitch-black basement.
“I need to turn on the lights,” I say quietly.
Mikkel snorts. “You think I’m stupid? I’ll do it myself. Where’s the switch?”
I rub my sweaty palm down my pants. “Right there.” I gesture vaguely into the darkness ahead.
“Get out of the way,” he grumbles and grabs my arm—my injured arm—to pull me back.
Pain explodes through my shoulder, and I scream, instinctively jerking away and stumbling back up a few steps. He gives me an annoyed look like I’m being dramatic as he moves in front of me to find the light switch.
My heart leaps into my throat. This is my chance.
Using the moment from my retreat, I plant my feet and jump down, kicking his back with every ounce of strength and fury I possess.
And because he’s relaxed—no longer seeing me as a threat—the impact catches him completely off guard. His back arches under the force, and he goes stumbling into the dark basement with a furious shout.
Immediately, I slam the door shut and throw the latch home, my hands shaking so violently I can barely work the mechanism.
His curses and death threats pound against the thick wood, but they sound beautifully muffled.
Once I’m sure the door is locked, I spin around and sprint up the stairs, heart tripping over itself with how fast it’s racing.
I did it. Holy shit—I actually did it.
I stumble into the living room just as the front door bursts open and a wrathful Romero surrounded by more than a dozen men charges in, guns raised.
Without thinking, I keep running—running until I crash into his chest and his arms band around me, crushing tight enough to set my wound on fire. But I don’t care.
I’m alive. I’m whole. And exactly where I belong.
In Romero’s arms. Safe.