CHAPTER 26
SLOANE
"Don't you think it's adorable?" Harper asks, holding up a tiny navy blue onesie with delicate boats embroidered on the collar.
I smile, watching her eyes shine with excitement as she strokes the soft fabric between her fingers.
The children's store located on the Tsarina's retail floor is a world apart from the casino: pastel-colored walls, soft background music, and that characteristic smell of new clothes and stuffed animals.
"It's gorgeous," I reply, picturing the future Morozov heir dressed with such elegance. "Alexei will definitely approve."
Harper lets out a soft laugh as she adds the garment to the basket already overflowing with little treasures for the baby. Her prominent six-month bump gets between her and the counter when she tries to reach for a matching beanie.
"Here, let me get that." I step forward, taking the hat and placing it with the rest of the purchases.
As we walk through the aisles, I watch my friend surreptitiously. I've never seen her so radiant. Her pregnancy has given her a special glow, a shine that no cosmetic could achieve. Her movements are slower, more measured, but there's a serenity about her that's almost magnetic.
It's hard to reconcile this image of domestic bliss with the cells I saw in the basement, with the shadows looming over the Morozov family. How can these two worlds exist simultaneously? And how did I end up trapped between them?
My mind goes back, as it has constantly over the last few days, to the night at Dimitri's apartment. To waking up wrapped in his warmth, with his arm possessively anchored to my waist. To the way he kissed me goodbye—deep and slow, as if he wanted to sear his taste into my memory.
We haven't talked about what we are, about what it means. There have only been intense glances across crowded rooms, messages asking if I need anything.
"Earth to Sloane." Harper's voice pulls me back to the present. "You've been staring at that rattle for a minute like it holds the answers to the universe."
I blink, realizing I am indeed holding a silver rattle without remembering picking it up. I put it back on the shelf, feeling the heat rising up my neck.
"Sorry, I was zoning out. I haven't slept much lately."
Harper studies me with that inquisitive look she's always had when she knows I'm hiding something.
"Insomnia problems? Or maybe a certain Russian keeping you up?"
The blush on my cheeks must confirm her suspicions, because she smiles with satisfaction.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I murmur, feigning interest in a collection of stuffed animals.
"Of course not," she replies wryly. "I assume it has nothing to do with a certain brother of my husband's who's been in a surprisingly good mood for days."
Before I can answer, a man in an employee uniform approaches us.
"Mrs. Morozov," he greets with a smile. "There's a matter that requires your attention. A problem with a special order."
Harper frowns slightly.
"I don't recall making a special order."
The man smiles.
"Your husband organized it as a surprise, but I believe you need to see it before we process it."
"Do you mind if we take a look?" she says, turning to me. "Knowing Alexei, he probably ordered a gold-plated crib."
Before I can answer, another man appears at my side. He's also wearing the store uniform.
"Right this way, ladies," the first one indicates, pointing toward a side door marked "Staff Only".
There's something about his attitude that puts me on alert. I don't know if it's a very good idea to go with them, especially without Harper's bodyguards nearby.
"Harper," I say, keeping my voice steady as I gently grip her arm. "Maybe we should check with Alexei first."
The second man steps closer, subtly blocking the exit to the main area of the store.
"That won't be necessary," he replies with a forced smile. "We've already informed him. In fact, he asked us to escort you personally."
Harper starts showing signs of unease, her hand resting protectively over her belly. Her eyes seek mine, a glint of worry peeking through.
"We'd better come back another time," she suggests, trying to take a step back.
The first man shifts his jacket slightly, momentarily revealing the unmistakable outline of a gun.
"We insist," he says, all pretense of kindness vanishing from his voice.
Terror crystallizes in my chest like ice. This isn't a misunderstanding. It's a kidnapping.
I quickly assess our options. The store is suspiciously empty. The main exit is blocked by the second man. Harper is six months pregnant, vulnerable, and worried about her baby. Any sudden movement could put her in danger.
I feel the weight of my phone in my pocket. If I could just reach it discreetly...
The first man, reading my intentions, gets close enough to whisper:
"Pull out that phone and I shoot her first."
Fear paralyzes me. Not for myself, but for Harper. For her baby.
"We'll do what you say," I reply, keeping my voice firm despite the terror. "Just don't hurt her."
Harper looks at me with eyes wide with fear. I squeeze her hand gently, trying to convey a calm I don't feel.
"Through the back door. Now," orders the second man, pointing to the service exit.
We move slowly, Harper leaning lightly on me. The first man follows close behind, while the second steps ahead to open the door.
We enter a service hallway, cold and stark, lit by faintly buzzing fluorescent lights. The smell of industrial cleaning products mixes with the cold sweat starting to bead on my forehead. Every step takes us further away from safety.
"Sloane," Harper whispers, her voice trembling. "The baby..."
"Everything is going to be fine," I assure her, though uncertainty eats away at me inside. I'd love to take these two men on, but I'm afraid if I fight them, they'll hurt Harper. "Alexei will find us."
The men lead us through a labyrinth of service hallways. Left turns, right turns, descending via industrial elevators. We're venturing deep into the bowels of the casino, into zones even I haven't explored.
Finally, we reach an unmarked metal door. The first man enters a code on the panel, and the door opens with a pneumatic hiss, revealing what looks like a storage area. Stacked boxes, motionless forklifts, the air thick with the smell of cardboard and machine oil.
"Inside," he orders, gesturing for us to go in.
Once inside, the second man closes the door and pulls some plastic zip ties from his pocket.
"Hands," he demands, looking at Harper first.
"She's pregnant," I intervene, stepping between them. "She can't have her hands tied. If she needs to hold her belly, use the restroom..."
The man watches me for a moment, then nods curtly.
"You first, then."
I hold out my hands, allowing him to secure my wrists with the zip ties. The plastic digs into my skin, cold and sharp. Harper stifles a sob behind me.
"Sit there," the first man indicates, pointing to some office chairs in the center of the warehouse.
We sit carefully, Harper moving slowly. I make sure she's as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
The first man pulls out a cell phone and dials a number, walking a few steps away to talk. I only catch fragments: "...we have them... yes, both... the wife and the friend... awaiting instructions..."
The second man watches us, his weapon now completely visible.
"What do you want from us?" Harper asks, her voice surprisingly firm despite the evident fear on her pale face.
The gunman smiles humorlessly.
"This isn't about you. It's about your men."
A shiver runs down my spine. This is revenge. Or a message. Or a trap.
"My husband will find you," Harper states with confidence. "And when he does, you'll wish you were never born."
The man just shrugs, but I detect a flash of unease in his eyes. He knows the Morozov reputation. He knows what they're capable of doing.
And right now, for the first time, I find comfort in that.
DIMITRI
The glass of the tumbler shatters against the wall, glittering shards scattering before hitting the floor. The whiskey forms a dark stain on the imported wallpaper.
"How the fuck could this happen inside the Casino?" I roar, my voice barely recognizable even to myself.
Viktor, usually unflappable, is pale as a sheet. Beside him, Alexei remains deadly still, a silence more terrifying than any explosion of rage.
"Send the footage," Alexei orders, his voice icy.
The security feed appears on the wall screen. Harper and Sloane entering the children's store, relaxed, carefree. Two men in uniforms approaching. The conversation. The rising tension. And finally, the forced exit through the service door.
My blood boils in my veins, a dull roar filling my ears. Sloane. My Sloane. Dragged away by those bastards, fear evident in her posture despite her attempt to stand firm.
"Identify them," I demand, approaching the screen as if I could walk right through it.
Viktor types quickly, zooming in on the kidnappers' faces.
"Running facial recognition."
"It has to be Keller's men," Alexei murmurs, speaking the name like a curse.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, the only external sign of the storm that must be raging inside him.
"We have to finish Harper's goddamn father once and for all," I declare, clenching my teeth hard.
"It's a trap. He wants us to come after them."
"I don't give a shit," I growl, my patience evaporating. "I'm going to get them."
Alexei looks at me for the first time since we got the news, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury.
"We will." He nods. "But smartly, not with rage. I need to be sure my wife is safe."
My fist slams into the table, the pain a welcome focus for my anger.
"Every minute that passes is a minute they're in danger. Sloane..." I stop, emotion threatening to choke my words.
Alexei places a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture between us.
"We'll find her, Dima," he says, using my childhood nickname. "Both of them."
Viktor interrupts the moment, his voice regaining some of his professional composure.