78. -77-
Nina
The family life was surprisingly exciting. I’d never imagined how much fun I could have with a six-year-old girl and her endless questions. If I heard “Why, Mommy?” one more time, the twitch in my eye might become permanent. Still, I was having the best time of my life.
The only downside was that Dorian could rarely be there with us.
Between his hospital shifts, patients at the clinic, Zyon’s demands regarding the underground medical facility, and the invisible threat hanging over me, his mind remained in constant combat mode.
I tried to ease some of the weight on his shoulders, but he wouldn’t let me.
Whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, he drifted somewhere far away, and every time I asked what was wrong, he smiled and brushed me off.
That left me with only one reliable way of quieting his overwhelmed mind.
Sex.
Whenever I had the chance, I took control, and he surrendered with an enthusiasm that still surprised me.
The transformation was almost seamless. One moment, he was the controlling doctor determined to command every part of his life; the next, he was in our bedroom, happily placing himself in my hands.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep him tied to our bed twenty-four hours a day. Apparently, he needed to work. And so did I.
The Valentino headquarters occupied the upper floors of a glass building in Midtown, hidden behind the respectable front of a commercial property company.
From the outside, it looked painfully legitimate.
Polished marble covered the lobby, women in tailored dresses hurried between offices, and framed photographs of luxury apartment complexes decorated the walls.
No one passing through the revolving doors would guess that three floors above them, millions of dirty dollars moved through companies that technically sold construction materials, imported wine, and managed private security.
I spent enough time here with Grandpa to know which doors led to conference rooms and which opened into places that never appeared on the official floor plans.
Still, sitting behind his desk felt strange.
The office hadn’t changed much since his death. Dark wood covered the walls, old books filled the shelves, and the faint smell of cigars lingered in the leather furniture. His favorite fountain pen rested inside the top drawer exactly where he always kept it.
I picked it up, rolling it between my fingers.
Grandpa taught me how to read financial reports in this room.
He made me memorize the names of judges, politicians, captains, and businessmen before I was old enough to understand why they mattered.
While other girls learned how to bake with their grandmothers, I learned which companies cleaned our money.
He prepared me for this chair. He just didn’t expect me to claim it so soon.
A knock on the door disturbed the painful memories.
“Come in.”
Ignatio, my grandpa’s assistant of twenty years, entered with two thick folders tucked beneath his arm. He still watched me with the same protective expression he’d worn since I was a teenager, but something in his posture had changed since Dad’s resignation.
“The reports from the clubs,” he said, placing the folders before me. “And the updated security schedule.”
I opened the first one and scanned the numbers.
“The Queens club is losing money,” I mumbled, frowning.
“Temporary problem.”
“No.” I tapped the page with Grandpa’s pen. “It’s been losing money for four months, but the manager increased his personal salary twice.”
Ignatio leaned over my shoulder, reading the figures.
“I’ll look into it.”
“Don’t.” I closed the folder. “Freeze his access to the accounts and bring him here tomorrow morning.”
“You think he’s stealing?” he asked, eyebrows rising.
“I think he believes no one is watching.”
A slow smile spread across Ignatio’s face.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Alive,” I warned as he turned toward the door, and he shot me a glance.
“No promises.”
The door closed behind him, and I looked down at the paperwork.
For the next hour, I reviewed payments, approved changes to the security teams, and rejected three requests from men who apparently believed the new female boss would sign anything placed before her.
They were about to experience an unpleasant awakening.
My phone vibrated beside the folders, pulling my attention from the papers. The number belonged to Aryna’s school. I smiled, expecting another complaint about her talking during class or refusing to eat something green.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Zhumagulov?” a woman asked. The smile disappeared from my lips. Her voice was too cautious.
“Yes.” I stood up on instinct.
“This is Mrs. Pearson from St. Catherine’s Academy. I’m calling about Aryna.”
“What happened?” I inquired; a short pause made my stomach twist with uneasiness.
“We wanted to confirm whether someone from your family collected her early.”
“What?” Confusion filled my body as I stopped before the window, squeezing the phone.
“A man arrived approximately twenty minutes ago with written authorization. He said there—”
“I didn’t authorize anyone,” I cut her off sharply.
“Mrs. Zhumagulov, the authorization came from your husband’s registered email address.” My pulse roared in my ears. “The security code was correct, and Aryna’s bodyguard confirmed the collection.”
“Put her bodyguard on the phone,” I commanded, fisting my palm.
“I’m afraid we can’t reach him.”
“What do you mean you can’t reach him?” I hollered, ignoring Ignatio’s surprised glance from the hall.
“He left with them.”
My fingers went numb around the phone.
“Lock down the school,” I ordered. “Don’t let anyone leave and save every recording from every camera. I’m on my way.”
“I—yes, of course.”
I ended the call before she could say anything else and immediately dialed Aryna’s bodyguard. Straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
My thumb hovered over Dorian’s name. He mentioned an operation that morning, something complicated that made no sense in my head. I had no idea whether he was already inside the OR, and calling the hospital could waste precious minutes.
My mind worked at its full capacity to make a quick plan of action when the phone vibrated in my hand again.
Unknown number.
Without thinking, I slid to the right, and a video appeared on the screen, making my heart stop.
Aryna sat in the back of a vehicle, her small wrists bound together with a plastic tie.
Tears covered her pale cheeks, and someone stuffed a cloth between her lips.
Her frightened coral-blue eyes stared directly into the camera.
Jesus fuck!
However, one word instantly shot through my mind. Alive. She was alive.
The video lasted only five seconds, followed by a message.
Unknown number: Come alone, Nina. If anyone follows you, the child dies.
Another message arrived a second later with an address in an industrial district outside the city. I stared at it, forcing air into my lungs. Panic wouldn’t help Aryna. I had to act.
My first choice was still Dorian. My husband would tear New York apart the second he learned our girl was missing, but if he was operating, he might not see anything until it was too late. I had to gather the army without him.
I opened the locked drawer beneath Grandpa’s desk and removed the small tracking device Lucas had given me.
The tracker was no bigger than a coin. I slipped off my shoe, lifted the thin inner sole, and pressed it into the hidden space beneath my heel.
Then I created a secure group chat with Lucas and Malin. Thankfully, both were online.
Nina: Aryna was taken from school. I think Sonny did it. I’m going to her. Track my location. Do not approach until I confirm she is there.
I attached the tracker identification number and the address. Three dots appeared beneath Lucas’s name immediately.
Lucas: Don’t move. We need backup.
Nina: No. Find me first.
Malin’s reply came a second later.
Malin: Tracker active.
Nina: Keep Dorian away until you know that Aryna is inside.
Malin: He’ll kill me.
Nina: Better you than her.
Lucas: Matteo will help.
Malin: Zyon and Karen were informed, too.
Nina: Just tell them to keep their distance. If they see them, she dies.
I switched off the phone before either of them could argue and placed it inside Grandpa’s desk. The tracker in my shoe was all they needed.
I grabbed my gun, hesitated, then secured it beneath the waistband at the back of my pants. They would search me, but arriving completely unarmed would be stupidity, not bravery.
Ignatio stood outside the office when I stepped into the hall.
“Where are you going?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Meeting.” I walked past him.
“I’ll drive you.” He followed me to the elevator, almost running on his short legs behind me.
“No,” I refused curtly, shaking my head.
“Nina,” he grumbled.
“This is something I need to handle alone.” I held his stare, forcing my expression to remain calm.
“You’re a terrible liar.” He pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Courtesy of my father.” I forced a smile, stepped into the elevator, and he followed.
“Does your husband know?” he asked, scowling at my reflection in the mirror.
“He will,” I sighed.
That answer confirmed every suspicion on his face. He opened his mouth, but the door in the underground garage opened, and I stepped outside, raising my palm to stop him.
“Don’t follow me, Ignatio,” I said in my best commanding voice.
“Your grandfather will rise from the grave and strangle me if I let you leave alone,” he objected, a deep line forming between his thick black brows.
“Say hi to him for me.”
The doors slid shut between us. My hands began shaking the moment he disappeared. My wobbly legs barely brought me to the car.
“Fuck,” I hissed, sliding onto the driver’s seat. Aryna needed me composed. I had to pull myself together.
The drive took thirty-seven minutes. I followed the directions toward an abandoned freight depot surrounded by rusted fencing and neglected warehouses.
Glancing around, I saw no visible guards or cars parked outside. It was too quiet.
I stopped near the entrance and got out. A cold wind whipped through the empty lot, carrying the smell of rain and gasoline. The metal door ahead stood slightly open. Like an invitation.
I reached for my gun and stepped inside. Weak strips of fluorescent light flickered along the ceiling, illuminating broken machinery and piles of discarded pallets. My footsteps echoed through the enormous space.
I moved deeper, keeping the gun raised. My eyes scanned every inch, catching a shadow to my left. But before I could fire, someone slammed into my side.
A man caught my wrist. I drove my knee into his stomach and twisted away, bringing the grip of the gun across his face. Bone crunched beneath it. He staggered, and I kicked his knee hard enough to send him down.
Another man rushed from behind a stack of crates. I fired. He dropped with a scream, clutching his thigh.
“You stupid bitch!” someone yelled.
I spun toward the voice, finger tightening around the trigger. Then I saw her.
Aryna stood several feet away, restrained against a man’s chest, but wasn’t gagged anymore. His arm wrapped around her tiny body, and the barrel of his gun pressed against her temple. Her face was swollen from crying, but she was conscious. Alive.
“Mommy Nina,” she whimpered.
The two words cut through every violent instinct inside me.
“Drop the gun.” The man holding her smiled menacingly. I kept it aimed at his face.
“Let her go,” I snarled.
“You’re not in a position to negotiate,” he snarled.
Aryna’s lower lip trembled. Her terrified eyes remained fixed on mine.
I could shoot him. Maybe. Fuck! Maybe wasn’t enough now! Not with her life hanging in the balance.
Reluctantly, I lowered my weapon.
“That’s it,” the brute encouraged. “Be smart.”
The gun slipped from my fingers and struck the concrete floor. Another man approached from my blind side and kicked it away.
I didn’t fight when he grabbed my arms. I didn’t resist when he searched me.
I looked only at Aryna.
“I’m here, angel,” I told her, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Everything will be okay.”
A slow clap echoed through the warehouse, and my every suspicion was confirmed in a millisecond. Sonny stepped from the shadows in an expensive black suit, his disgusting face twisted by a satisfied smile.
“Well,” he drawled, looking me over. “You finally came.”