Chapter Fifty-One
Isabella
The panic room’s security screens flickered as monitors began coming online. The EMP Colton had triggered at the bank had temporarily disrupted some of our communications, but the reinforced systems Stryker had installed were already recovering. Status updates began flowing in from operations across Europe.
I sat in the cushioned chair of the penthouse’s panic room, my hands resting protectively over my belly. Knowing the twins were there made every decision more weighted, every risk more significant. I watched our plan unfold across three countries—Rotterdam, Hamburg, and Marseilles—while simultaneously tracking Colton’s risky mission at the bank.
Cooper’s and Steele’s teams, along with Interpol, had executed their raids with flawless timing, breaching trafficking facilities simultaneously across Europe. Now, as the secured communications returned, reports began appearing on my screens:
Rotterdam extraction complete. Fifteen girls secured. Medical teams on site.
My breath caught. Fifteen lives saved. Fifteen girls who would never know the horror that had awaited them.
Hamburg facility cleared. Fourteen rescued. Two suspects in custody.
This was really happening. After months of preparation, after all the danger and deception, we were finally taking them down.
But the most crucial operation was still unfolding at the bank, where Colton had confronted Rodger. When the EMP had activated, I’d lost visual contact with that location, and I hadn’t heard anything from Colton. It had been twenty minutes, and communications from the bank remained spotty.
Something was wrong. The operation should have concluded by now, with Sari’s Interpol team securing the building.
A new alert flashed on my screen—a security breach in the building. Not in our penthouse, but in the lobby. I switched to the backup cameras Stryker had installed throughout the building. What I saw made my heart race.
Rodger himself was entering, moving with practiced stealth despite a clearly injured arm. Six armed men accompanied him, all with tactical gear. His face was contorted with rage, his movements purposeful. I recognized that look—pure vendetta. He wasn’t here to destroy evidence or recover assets.
He was here for me.
I sent one emergency alert to Cooper, then watched as he engaged Rodger’s men on the lower floors. Three of Rodger’s team were already neutralized, but Rodger himself continued methodically upward, driven by something deeper than necessity.
The security monitors showed him speaking into a communications device, directing his remaining men to establish a perimeter around our floor. It was a containment strategy—he wanted to ensure I couldn’t escape while he conducted his personal hunt.
I remained in the panic room, sealed behind its reinforced door, continuing to monitor his movements through the security system. I noticed him pause outside the corridor leading to the room outside the penthouse where Cooper was monitoring remotely. Through the cameras, I watched in horror as a sudden hiss of gas filled the room. We hadn’t watched the ventilation, I realized with a panic. While we were focused on the fight, they were already one step ahead. Cooper and his team scrambled for masks, but within seconds they were slumping to the floor. Two of Rodger’s men in gas masks entered, dragging Cooper’s unconscious form while leaving the others.
Through the feeds, I heard Rodger’s voice: “I can’t get to Moreau himself, but his wife and his right-hand man should be enough to draw him out.”
It only took seconds for them to enter the penthouse.
I watched as Cooper regained consciousness in the living area, on his knees with Rodger’s gun pressed against his temple. I could see blood trickling from a gash on Cooper’s forehead where they must have struck him while moving him.
“Isabella!” Rodger called out, his voice echoing through the penthouse. “I know you can see me. I know you can hear me.” He pressed the gun harder against Cooper’s head. “Come out now, or I’ll kill him. Then I’ll find you anyway.”
Cooper’s eyes found the nearest camera. “Don’t,” he mouthed.
Rodger caught the movement. He smiled coldly at the camera. “You have thirty seconds, Isabella.” His smile widened. “But Cooper here doesn’t have to die for your crusade.”
I felt ice in my veins. More of Rodger’s men appeared in the corridor—three of them, heavily armed. Cooper’s team must still be unconscious from the gas.
“Twenty seconds,” Rodger called.
My hands went instinctively to my belly. Cooper was Colton's twin—his other half in a way I was only beginning to understand now that I carried twins myself. The ultrasound images had shown them reaching for each other, already connected in ways science couldn't fully explain. That same inexplicable bond had driven Cooper to leave his life in Tuscany the moment Colton needed him, had kept them synchronized through every phase of this dangerous operation despite working separately. I couldn't let Rodger destroy that connection. The thought of what losing Cooper would do to Colton was unbearable.
“Ten seconds.”
“I’m here.” I activated the intercom. “Let him go, and I’ll come out.”
“Isabella, no! Don’t you fucking dare!” Cooper struggled, only to have Rodger strike him with the butt of the gun.
“That’s better,” Rodger said. “Hands visible. Come to the main living area. Slowly.”
I took a deep breath and unlocked the panic room door. The hallway outside was empty. Moving carefully through the penthouse, I made my way to the living area. My heart pounded so hard I was certain Rodger would hear it.
When I entered the living room, Rodger stood waiting, Cooper still on his knees before him. Cooper’s eyes widened at the sight of me, his face a mask of regret and anger.
“Isabella Delacroix,” Rodger said. His eyes swept over me, pausing briefly at my midsection, where my loose blouse hid the small changes of my pregnancy. Something shifted in his expression—surprise, then a cruel smile. “Well, well. This is unexpected. Pregnant? How...interesting.”
“Let him go,” I said, keeping my distance. “This is between us.”
Rodger laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate.” He nodded to one of his men, who moved to secure the exits. His eyes returned to my stomach with a calculating look.
“I wonder,” he said, his voice silky with menace, “who the father is? Your old owner, perhaps? I’ve heard that he would sometimes grow...attached to his merchandise.” Rodger’s smile widened at my involuntary flinch.
I said nothing, keeping my face impassive despite the wave of nausea that had nothing to do with my pregnancy.
“No answer?” he taunted. “Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Your child will never know what happened to you, just as you never really knew what happened to your father. I have big plans for you, new owners that would be happy to add you to their collection.” He stepped closer.
Cooper suddenly lunged at one of Rodger’s men, creating a momentary distraction. I backed away, feeling utterly vulnerable, one hand instinctively moving to my belly.
The main door to the living area burst open with such force it slammed against the wall. Rodger reacted instantly, grabbing me and yanking me in front of him as a shield, the gun now pressed to my temple.
Colton stood in the doorway, his face displaying nothing but cold fury, his stance that of a predator. The lawyer was gone—in his place stood something far more dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was low, lethal.
“Get the fuck away from my wife!”
Rodger’s eyes widened, genuine shock registering on his face as he glanced between us, comprehension dawning.
“Moreau?” The gun wavered slightly. “Your wife? This is—”
Colton crossed the room in three long strides. Before Rodger could recover, Colton had seized his gun arm, twisting it with such force that Rodger howled in pain. The weapon clattered to the floor as Colton drove him to his knees with a single brutal movement.
“Her name is Isabella Moreau,” Colton growled, his hand at Rodger’s throat, his voice deadly calm. “My wife. The mother of my children. You’ll never touch her again.” His eyes met mine across the room, fierce and protective. “Are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” I assured him, relief washing through me. “Perfect timing.”
As Rodger’s men recovered from the shock of Colton’s sudden attack, the backup team that Cooper had stationed outside the building burst through the service entrance. These were the reinforcements who’d been safely outside the gas attack perimeter. Within seconds, the penthouse was secure.
Cooper struggled to his feet, blood streaming from his temple, but his eyes clear as the effects of the gas were finally wearing off. “You waited long enough,” he muttered, eyeing Colton.
Rodger glared up from where Colton held him pinned, hatred burning in his eyes. “This isn’t over,” he growled.
“Actually,” Colton said, his voice cold as he maintained his grip, “it is. Interpol has seized your accounts. Your board members are being arrested. The evidence is secure.” He looked down at Rodger with undisguised contempt. “You lost.”
Cooper’s team took custody of Rodger, handling him with professional detachment despite his continued threats. As they escorted him out, he fixed one last venomous stare on me.
“You’re just like your father,” he spat.
I met his gaze steadily. “Thank you. That’s the greatest compliment you could give me.”
As Interpol agents began to flood into the penthouse, I leaned against Colton’s solid warmth. Despite the chaos around us, despite the danger we’d faced, we had succeeded.
Justice, at last. For me. For my father. For all the women who had suffered.
“We should get you somewhere quieter,” Colton murmured, his hand protectively at my back.
“I know just the place,” I said, thinking of sunshine and vineyards and family waiting in Tuscany. “Home.”