8. Liana
EIGHT
LIANA
Present
A mara’s surgery was happening today.
The fear I hated feeling crept into my heart and soul, threatening to suffocate me.
It was the reason I insisted José train with me today. I needed to relieve this tension before I went to see her. My daughter had an uncanny way of detecting people’s emotions, and I couldn’t have her pick up on anything being wrong.
My mother had taught me from a young age that fighting was the way to work through one’s emotions. My twin hated it, and me… Well, I got used to it. It wasn’t as if I had a choice.
“Again,” I ordered, breathing heavily. Crouching down, my body poised to fight, I watched José circle me from my position in the middle of the mat.
My skin was wet with sweat and probably a little bit of blood too.
He grunted, shaking his head in disapproval as he crossed the mat of my private gym and sprinted toward me.
I kept still, anticipating his charge, but just as he was about to make contact, I leapt to the side, spinning around and hooking my arm around his throat, throwing my body down.
I quickly released, landing on his side as José hit the mat hard. His head bounced off the hardwood, and for a brief second, he didn’t move.
I stilled as worry swarmed me, but then unexpectedly, a rough laugh vibrated from his chest.
“You’re getting too good at this,” he said. “You’re kicking my butt at every turn.”
“Good.” I breathed in deep, trying to steady the chaotic thump of my heart as I wiped the sweat off my forehead. “The point is to become invincible.”
He shot me a worried look as he leveled himself up onto his elbows, quirking one dark brow my way.
“Nobody is ever invincible, Boss.” I needed to be the strongest. For my own peace of mind and for Amara’s protection. When I didn’t answer, he added, “You’re a bit distracted today.” He was right, of course, not that I’d admit that to him. “You’re not worried about Amara’s surgery, are you? Or is it our guest?”
I was worried sick about the surgery, even more about how Amara’s biological mother would fare from it, but it did no good to dwell on it. My daughter was my priority.
“No, not worried. Just thinking about business,” I said back, grabbing my towel and rubbing it across my brow. I slipped into my slides and swiped my water bottle, taking a couple of healthy gulps.
He remained quiet and dipped his head, watching me stride out of the gym and make my way through the manor toward my bedroom.
I stopped by Amara’s room, surprised to find her awake and staring at a blank TV screen. She’d been sleeping more often than not these days.
“What’s the matter, treasure?” I asked, stepping inside. My bare feet were silent against the polished floor. “Do you need me to put a show on?”
Amara shook her head weakly, her short curls barely moving, and my chest squeezed. That fucking doctor better fix this or I’d end him and his entire family.
I took a seat on the chair next to her hospital bed, taking her small, cold hand in mine. “Why are you staring off into space?”
“I’m waiting for the ocean images to come back on.”
“We live by the ocean,” I reminded her softly.
She shrugged. “I can’t see it from here.”
God, I hated that Amara was confined to this room, this compound, this fucking country. It felt like déjà vu. My mother had made us prisoners in our own home, and the last thing I wanted was to do the same to Amara.
As soon as she was better, I’d take her far away from here. We’d start a new life, maybe this time we’d even succeed in finding some normalcy.
“Want to go for a stroll?” I offered, although I knew it wasn’t wise with her surgery merely hours away. But if that’s what she wanted, I’d scoop her frail body into my arms and I’d walk the entire planet, to the edge of the earth.
“You think we’ll learn how to swim one day?” she asked instead, meeting my gaze. It always gutted me to see maturity beyond her age in those blue eyes of hers. No five-year-old should ever experience as much pain as she had.
“I know it,” I promised her. She’d learn how to drive and do all the normal things that we had missed out on—as soon as she was healthy.
“Promise?”
I pressed my lips to her forehead. “I promise.”
The light in her Mediterranean gaze flickered, and I smiled. It was rare to see her eyes bright, but whenever I did, it stole my breath from my lungs.
“I can’t wait.” I was about to get up when her soft voice stopped me. “Could I see their picture again?”
There was no misunderstanding what she was talking about. There was only one that we ever shared, and it was of her birth parents.
I reached for my phone and scrolled through the images—mostly of Amara through the years— until I found it. Emory DiLustro and Killian Cullen.
“Here,” I murmured softly, placing my phone in her tiny, weak hands, helping her hold it upright. “Your papa’s name is Killian and your mama’s name is?—”
“Emory,” she finished.
“That’s right.”
“I like looking at them,” she murmured, her eyes getting droopy. “It makes me feel warm inside. Like when you hug me.”
I swallowed, determined not to let my fear rule me completely.
Deep down, I wished Amara were truly mine. My biological daughter, without the threat of having her taken from me.
To this day, I never could comprehend what drove me to tell her about Emory and Killian. Maybe it was the hope that if something happened to me, she’d find her way to them and she wouldn’t be alone in this world.
“I know,” I said. “I feel the same way when I look at you. It’s love.” I think . Mothers were supposed to know everything, yet I often found myself at a loss when it came to the emotions that came to others naturally.
“I love you too, Mother Liana.”
I got to my feet and pressed one more kiss to her cheek. “Okay, I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll be right back. Before the doctor gets started.”
Leaving the room, I made my way down the hallway to where I’d put Emory. She was on the same floor but in a different wing of the house. Once I arrived there, I peered through the small glass window on the door to find my captive asleep.
In the past week, the events that’d led me here were put in motion. I reached out to Atticus Popov and promised him information he so desperately wanted, in exchange for Emory DiLustro.
Atticus delivered, and so did I.
The events that would make me or break me were about to unfold, and I couldn’t help but feel slightly anxious about it. I couldn’t fathom life without Amara, but I also knew if Emory died on that table, the Kingpins of the Syndicate—her brother and cousins—would come after me. Not to mention Emory’s husband. We’d have to hide and possibly live on the run.
But then, hiding had been our life. At least this way, Amara would be healthy.
With a steel determination, I unlocked the door with a soft click and opened it for my prisoner to find us. Then I headed to get ready for my daughter’s surgery.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The steady sound of Amara’s heartbeat was the only thing keeping me sane as the doctor started the surgery. My daughter would finally get her transplant.
And now the procedure was underway. My precious treasure would no longer be in pain but on her way to recovery. Finally, for the first time in her short life, she’d be able to run around free and happy.
I felt at peace as I watched Amara and Emory, each on their own surgical table, the old doctor working on the liver transplant that would keep my adoptive daughter—my protégé—alive.
Suddenly, there was a commotion as a man burst into the observation room. Tall. Imposing. Out of place in his three-piece suit.
My eyes locked on him, his muscled body wrapped in an expensive suit. His striking green eyes were hard to ignore, but what captured my attention was the tattoo on his left hand. A weird symbol in the mouth of a skull. I’d seen one like that before. On Kian Cortes and my late husband, among others.
The stranger cut through the silence.
“Liana Volkov.” He didn’t frame it as a question, looking at me like he knew me. But if he did, he’d be running. “We meet again.”
Shock vibrated through me, and I found myself frozen in place. To the world, I was dead. I could count the number of people who knew I was alive on one hand.
My gaze collided with a set of green eyes that reminded me of the Siberian wilderness in the dead of summer. The scar running along his right eye though… Yeah, that was a warning that screamed danger.
I was unable to tear my gaze away from him.
Not because I found him attractive, even though there was no argument there.
But because I had learned to recognize that ruthless expression that promised agonizing pain all too well. The dominance and power exploded from him, engulfing me in a storm cloud. It was the kind of darkness that could only come from men.
When his gaze traveled over me, I shuddered as the black hole in my mind opened, beckoning me to fall into it and let all my memories brush me until there was nothing left.
“What is going on here?” The doctor’s voice reminded me of his presence and spurred me into motion as the invader grabbed my forearm with long fingers. In turn, I twisted and bent them, but before I could break them, he shoved me against the wall, making me loosen my grip.
The sound of metal instruments falling had us looking to the source. The doctor stood, trembling, his wide-eyed gaze pinned on us.
“Keep going,” I barked the order at him, reaching under my dress and retrieving the switchblade I kept strapped to my inner thigh. Flicking it open, I took advantage of my attacker’s distraction and sliced at his forearm.
He barely reacted aside from a grunt and eyes that shot daggers at me.
Grabbing my fingers, he squeezed tight, and I instinctively clawed at him. He hissed, pushing his palm against my hand, and I felt the unmistakable tear of my index nail.
My eyes fell to where he gripped it and sure as fuck, my perfect manicure was not so perfect anymore.
“You broke my nail,” I hissed, glaring at him.
His eyebrow cocked. “Are you kidding?”
I yanked my hand out of his grip. “No, I’m not.” I waved my hand inches from his face. “Look.”
“Shouldn’t you be more worried about me trying to kill you?”
“As if you ever could,” I scoffed. “Besides, I can handle death. Broken and chipped nails, fuck no.”
Lifting my knee, I went for his most vulnerable spot, but it never met his groin. He caught it and tossed it to the side, before his large hand forcibly turned me around. My cheek met the cold wall and a hand covered my mouth. I fought against the stranger’s iron grip, biting and bucking.
“Where are you trying to go, wildflower?” His voice and words sounded menacing pressed against my ear. Who does this guy think he is, calling me wildflower?
My eyes darted to the doctor, who struggled to keep his attention on the surgery with me thrashing about, and then a sharp sting poked the back of my neck.
The heaviness pulled my consciousness down, down, down… Until everything was dark.