47. Tatiana
Chapter forty-seven
Tatiana
Iawake to men shouting.
Shit!
Adrenaline floods my veins, making my chest ache and my heart race, knowing that this is it.
My door is always locked, but I stumble to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it as well.
I slink into the bathtub, hoping that if bullets start to fly, it’ll offer me an added layer of protection.
I instantly regret not grabbing my phone first. Or my laptop. What if they get broken?
Fuck! It doesn’t matter, idiot! You can replace electronics if you stay alive.
I flinch as the first gunshot rings out and bury my head in my hands. The cold porcelain doesn’t help matters, and I find myself shivering from fear, adrenaline, and the cold.
Footsteps thump the ground outside of my room as men run, shouting at each other in what I assume is Italian. The cacophony of gunshots, shouting, and things breaking sounds like something from a movie. It feels too loud to be real.
I yelp when I hear a bullet splinter the wood of my bedroom door.
So I do what I think anyone would do in my position.
I pray.
I pray to see my guys again. I pray that I get more time with them.
I want to show them the Tatiana who isn’t afraid and selfish anymore.
I want time to get to know them better. I want the chance to spoil them and take care of them the way they take care of me.
I want to see Juliet and Sparkles again.
I want to move to Paris. I want the chance to open my gallery.
Although I’m not sure I would paint about love anymore.
All of my paintings before were about longing, unrequited love, painful love.
Now that I’ve felt what it truly means to love and be loved, I want to paint couples wrapped up in each other.
I want to paint the way Mik wraps his hand around my neck so he can hear my pleasure.
I want to paint Lev’s eyes when they soften on me and he gives me the side of himself that no one else gets.
I want to paint Rowan’s forearms and strong jaw, and the way he makes me feel so safe.
I just have to survive whatever hell is happening outside of my room.
After what seems like a lifetime, but is probably closer to ten minutes, the shouts quiet down, and the gunfire stops.
My heartbeat is deafening in my ears, but I strain to listen to see if I can hear anything. I stand and slowly creep out of my bathroom and into my bedroom.
I startle when a loud banging rattles my bedroom door.
“FBI! Open up!” a man shouts.
I’m wary, unsure if I can trust this man or the FBI as a whole, but it does seem like they’ve taken control of the mansion. I unlock my bedroom door and a tall, handsome man is on me in two strides. He wraps a hand around my wrist and presses my chest against the wall, securing my hands behind me.
“I’m Johnson. I’ve been working on your case. For your safety, we’re going to make it look like you were arrested, too.”
Oh, that makes sense. If the Vitales know I was the mole, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. This way, it seems like a random raid. There isn’t anything tying me to it.
I’m jerked around by my wrist and led to the living room, where half a dozen men are on their stomachs on the floor of the living room, handcuffed.
The living room is a disaster. Broken glass and vase ware are everywhere.
The cushion’s missing from one of the couches; the other smaller couch is on its back.
There are four bodies of men from a quick glance - soldiers who lost their lives defending this piece of shit.
My husband looks up from the ground with a glare that sends a chill through my bones.
Johnson shakes my wrists roughly, dragging me around like a rag doll, likely putting on a show for Giovanni.
He kicks my knees out from behind and lays me face-first on the ground, too. He does it gently but makes a show out of it, so I grunt and crush and scrunch my face up in fake pain.
“You keep your mouth shut, bitch!” Giovanni whispers to me from three bodies away.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes to the back of my head.
“I don’t know anything!” I hiss back. It’s obviously a lie, but it’s one I need to maintain if I have any chance at a life.
The FBI agents talk amongst themselves, as if they’re waiting for something, so I wait.
My heart pounds against the cold tile of the living room.
I’m equally thrilled that I might be getting out and getting back to my life any minute now, and also terrified that they’re going to book me as an accomplice.
Are the FBI allowed to lie to you like the police are? If it serves their agenda?
The cold from the tile begins to seep through my clothes the longer we lie here, and I can’t help the shiver that the cold and adrenaline give me.
I’m so close to freedom I can taste it.
Finally, agents mobilize and haul the men up off the floor by their arms, marching them out the front door and into an unmarked van.
Johnson lifts me and marches me towards a second unmarked van parked behind the first.
My heart leaps when I look down the long driveway and see my men watching from a distance. I can’t contain my smile.
“Are those your men?” Johnson whispers, his voice low and close to my ear.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
“I’ll talk to them after this.”
He helps me into the back of the van and secures a seat belt around me before leaving, slamming the door shut and leaving me alone in a cold, dark van. Nerves start to eat away at my stomach. Something feels off. Why wouldn’t he just wait for the other van to leave? Why am I here? Alone?
The door opens again, and I wince at the early morning sunlight. Johnson climbs back in and immediately undoes my handcuffs.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but this affects your family, too.” His handsome face is full of regret and apology.
My spine straightens. “What do you mean?”
“We found ties between the Vitales and Chernovs. More than just a marriage certificate.”
Stunned is an understatement. I knew my family was involved in illegal shit, but if they...
“Not the trafficking.” My voice is so quiet I’m afraid he can’t hear me as the engine turns over and the van begins to move.
His dark brown eyes simply stare back at me.
My stomach sinks. No. I refuse to believe it.
My brother? Did my mother know? I’m not sure why I’m so surprised, considering they essentially sold me to a man for a business deal.
But disgust grips me tightly, thinking I’d been living under their roof and completely oblivious.
I’d been so concerned with vain, superficial shit like skincare and dating.
Disney and painting. Sparkles and Juliet.
My family was complicit in the most evil thing humans could do, and I was, what?
Worried about my history of fine arts grade?
I swallow several times to try to keep the bile down. I have nowhere to throw up right now.
Then I put the pieces together.
“You’re detaining me, so I can’t warn them.”
Guilt flashes across his face for a second, and that’s all the answer I need.
“You don’t need to. If they’re really involved in the trafficking of women and children, they need to be stopped. Blood or not.”
He nods his head in approval.
Finally, the weight of the day, the stress from the shootout, the freedom so close I can taste it but being not free yet, it all comes to a head.
I’m exhausted.
I close my aching eyes and rest my head back against the van wall, letting the rocking of the vehicle lull me into a light sleep.