Chapter 25 #2
He was older than me. He'd seen more betrayal than I ever would. He could hear a lie in a hesitation, see murder in a man's eyes before the gun came up. He wouldn't believe Matteo would keep a deal.
And he would still come.
Last night, he had said he remembered every line I drew. Today, before class ended, he'd told me to text him when I got home. I hadn't. That unanswered message would drag him here.
I shook my head with everything I had, like he could see it across the city.
Don't.
Please.
Don't come for me.
Matteo watched and smiled wider.
"Looks like my math is right."
"You are wrong," Isabella snapped. "Elena worrying about him doesn't mean he gives a damn about Elena."
Matteo tilted his head at her.
"You know him better than I do?"
"I've known him for years," she said. "Kiryan never sacrifices profit for feelings. He is ruthless. He can throw away the people closest to him. Elena was gone from him for so long—he did just fine, didn't he?"
The words spilled fast, like she was trying to convince Matteo and herself at the same time.
"He'd come because he doesn't let other people touch what is his," Isabella went on. "The second he realizes the price is the whole Bratva, he'd let her die."
My chest ached.
The old me would've believed that. The me abandoned at that birthday party would've believed it.
The me walking out with divorce papers would've believed it.
But now I remembered the word he'd used at breakfast—please.
He was still dangerous, still obsessive, but he didn't grind my choices under his heel anymore.
I didn't know what he would choose.
I only knew I wanted him to choose to live.
Matteo gave a low chuckle.
"You are right. He might not hand over everything for a woman."
Isabella's shoulders loosened a fraction.
Then Matteo's gaze dropped to my stomach.
"But he would for his child."
My heart stopped dead.
The overhead light kept swaying.
Isabella whipped her head toward me.
For the first time, her face went blank.
"What child?"
Matteo didn't answer her.
He only stared at me.
Blood rushed to my head. The ringing came back in my ears.
He knew.
They knew I was pregnant.
I had never told Kiryan.
Almost nobody knew except the doctor and Yegor. I had tucked the report away and kept it with me even when I moved. My body hadn't changed enough for a stranger to clock it at a glance. Had they pulled hospital records? Or had my instinctive move to protect my belly just given it away?
Fear poured through my veins like ice water.
I shook my head hard.
No. He was wrong. It was the only fight I had left.
Matteo just smiled.
"Don't waste it. You were obvious."
He didn't explain. Maybe it was a bluff. Maybe he'd had eyes on me everywhere I'd been.
Isabella lunged in front of me.
"You are pregnant?"
She fisted my collar, her gaze raking over my belly like a blade.
I tried to shrink back, but the chair back blocked any escape.
"His?"
I locked eyes with her. I didn't nod.
Isabella's breathing started to shake.
"You had to steal that too?"
The absurdity nearly drowned out the terror. A baby wasn't a prize. Kiryan wasn't a trophy.
But in her world, Father's favor, the best seat at a table, an engagement—hell, even fertility—had to belong to her. If I had something she'd lost, I had to be a thief.
She raised her hand.
I curled inward, shielding my stomach with my shoulder as best I could.
Matteo caught her wrist.
"I told you. After I get what I want."
Isabella turned and glared at him. "Let go of me."
"Calm down."
"She is carrying his kid!"
"Then she is worth more than she was a minute ago."
Matteo flung her hand away.
Isabella stumbled half a step, then steadied herself, but whatever polish she'd had left was gone.
She stared at me for a long time.
Then she smiled, slow.
"Fine."
That one word chilled me worse than the slaps.
She pulled her phone from her purse.
"Since you are so sure he'd come, let's show him."
I knew exactly what she meant.
I fought like crazy.
"Mmm—!"
Isabella opened the camera and backed up a couple steps.
Matteo reached up and swung the hanging lamp toward me. Harsh white light slammed down, showing my swollen cheek, the tears the pain had forced out, the rope digging through my clothes.
"Don't cover her hands," he said. "Let Morozov see it."
A man stepped behind the chair and yanked my raw wrists out to either side.
Isabella lifted her phone.
"Look here, Elena."
I turned my face away.
She came in, grabbed my chin, forced me toward the lens.
"Let him see what you look like because of him."
The woman on the screen barely looked like me—hair stuck in dirty strands to my face, one cheek red and blown up, blood at the corner of my mouth. Hazel eyes full of fear I couldn't swallow down.
But I wasn't scared for myself.
I was scared of Kiryan seeing it.
Scared those dark-gray eyes would sweep over the ropes, the blood, my belly—and burn every last scrap of reason to ash.
The camera clicked.
The photo froze.
Isabella looked down, not satisfied, and took a second.
"This one's better," she said. "You can really see the tears."
Matteo leaned against an iron pillar. "Send the address with the terms."
"I know."
Isabella's fingers moved fast on the screen.
I stared at her, heart hammering so hard my chest hurt.
Don't.
I couldn't make a sound. I could only shake my head again and again.
She turned the phone so I could see the text box clearly.
—Elena and your child are in my hands.
My blood turned to ice.
She kept typing.
—If you want them back, come alone.
Then the warehouse address.
The trap fit into a few clean lines, neat as an invitation.
Isabella held her thumb over send and lifted her eyes to me.
"So," she said, "will he pick you, or will he pick his empire?"
I shook my head hard.
She smiled.
"We'll find out."
She hit send and set the phone right in front of me. The photo and message shot across the city, racing toward the man who still didn't know he was about to become a father.
A second later, the status flipped to delivered.