37. Gabby
Gabby
I slip into the bathroom with the burner phone after Nik goes downstairs.
“You went back,” he says.
“I did.”
I hear the fear in the silence.
“Gabby.”
“It’s okay.”
“Does he know?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell him soon.”
“You’re in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“There is no riding off into the sunset.”
“I hear you,” I say, “but I’ve been running for five years. Luke is finally in a place he can sleep through the night. He has a therapist who understands him. This is good for him. Nik is dangerous, but not to us.”
Greg is quiet.
“I’m not naive,” I continue. “I know the risks. I know who Nikolai is. But I also know he would tear apart this city piece by piece before he let anyone touch my son.”
“That’s what worries me,” he says finally. “A man willing to do anything for you is still a man willing to do anything. You understand that, right?”
“I understand.”
“And you’re staying anyway.”
“I am.”
He exhales. “You’re going to give me a heart attack before I make it to retirement.”
I laugh softly. “You love it.”
“Take care, Gabby.”
“Always.”
When I hang up, I don’t necessarily feel calm, but for the first time in years, I can see a future. I’ve been living day to day since my father told me I was going to marry Matteo.
And now, I’m thinking about signing Luke up for kindergarten and buying school supplies. Trips to dinosaur museums with Nik and Luke. Sunday afternoons by the pool.
I’ve got Luke dressed and fed by nine, and we’re waiting in the foyer for Kylie. She comes out of the guest house, smiling when she sees Luke holding his backpack.
I’m not sure if she knows we tried to run. If she does, she says nothing. That’s Kylie. She never makes Luke—or me—feel like we owe her an explanation.
“Ready?” she asks him.
He nods.
One of Nikolai’s guards, the quiet one I now know is Carson, is pulling the car around. He’s young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He opens the back door without being asked.
Luke climbs in first. Kylie slides in after him. I follow.
Twenty minutes later, Carson pulls into the parking lot at Luke’s therapy center.
I turn to Kylie. “Can you take him in? I need to pick up a few things. I won’t be long. I’ll be back at the end of the appointment to check in with his therapist.”
“Of course.” She unbuckles and climbs out.
Carson gets out, too, scanning the lot. I help Luke from the back seat. The other SUV with the second security team is parked a couple spots over.
“I’m going to get some new clothes. Boring stuff. You won’t miss me. Kylie will be right there.”
“Okay.”
He takes Kylie’s hand. Carson falls in a few steps behind them with his hand near his radio as they disappear through the glass doors.
I wait until they’re inside, and one of the guards from the second SUV walks over. I open the front passenger door and climb in.
“I need to make a quick stop,” I tell the guard. “There’s a Target about six blocks from here.”
He pulls up near the entrance, and we go inside.
I’m standing at a rack of pajamas for Luke about twenty minutes later, when my phone rings.
Nikolai.
I smile and answer. “Hey.”
“Where are you.” A location request.
“Target. One of the guards is with me. Kylie and the other team are with Luke at therapy.”
“Stay there.”
I stare at my screen. Sometimes, Nikolai’s habit of saying less leaves a lot to be desired.
I take a pair of pajamas and some new swim trunks to the register. I pay and step out just as Nik’s SUV pulls into the lot with another one right behind it.
Nik is out of the back seat before the SUV stops. “Get in.”
“Nik, what’s wrong?”
“Get in.”
I scramble in and look at the driver and front passenger. Both stare straight ahead.
An icy chill slides down my spine.
“Nikolai.” My voice comes out steady. A miracle. “Tell me what’s happening.”
He’s looking at his phone, and his jaw is locked so tightly that I see the muscle working beneath the skin. The SUV is moving fast, recklessly weaving through traffic, away from Target.
“Nikolai.”
He looks up, and I know before he says a word. I see something I’ve never seen in his eyes.
Fear.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Those two words from Nikolai rip the breath from my lungs.
I go numb.
“Luke.” His name comes out of me like something torn loose. “Where. Is. Luke?”
Nikolai reaches for my hand, but I jerk it away.
“He’s gone.”
I shake my head. I must have heard him wrong.
“Where is he?” Panic pitches my voice.
“Fire alarm. They evacuated through the rear exit. The second team was covering the front. One of them struck Kylie as she came out with Luke. Carson tried to stop them. He was shot, and they were gone before my other team could get around the building.”
I’m hearing everything he isn’t saying. I can’t breathe. My hand rips at my shirt, trying to open my lungs.
“Luke,” I gasp.
“Luke was taken.”
I reach for the door handle. “Stop the car!”
“Gabby.” His hand catches my arm.
“Let me out.” I yank at the handle in a panic. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Stop,” Nik orders.
The SUV swerves toward the curb.
“My people are there.” Nik’s voice is stripped of emotion. “We’ll find him. I will get him back.”
I throw open the door and nearly fall out of the SUV. My knees hit the pavement a second before my palms do. The heat comes off the pavement in waves, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything except devastation.
Nikolai kneels behind me, one hand on my back and the other holding my hair.
I heave over and over until there’s nothing left, then stay there on my hands and knees on the side of a Vegas street, fighting for breath.
“Come on,” he murmurs close to my ear. His hands slide under my arms and lift me gently. “Come on, Gabby.”
“We have to find him.” My voice is wrecked. “Nikolai, we have to find him right now. He doesn’t do well with strangers. He needs his blanket. He needs Steggy. He’s going to be so scared.” I press my fist against my mouth.
“I know.” He steers me back toward the car. “I know.”
“NO!” I spin on him and pound my fists against his chest. He just stands there and takes it.
“Gabby.” He finally catches both my wrists and holds them against his chest. “Look at me.”
I look at him.
“Everyone I have is looking for him.” His blue eyes hold mine. “I will find him. Do you hear me? I will find him.”
“Get in the car.” He opens the door. “We’re going to the estate. We’ll work from there. We have communications, resources, everything we need. We’re no good to Luke standing on a curb.”
When we reach the estate, I’m barely aware of being moved through the house.
Somehow, I end up in the leather chair across from his desk.
Irina brings me coffee, tea, and a can of Coke because she says I need sugar.
My body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.
My hands are in my lap. There’s a smear of blood on my left palm.
“What about Kylie and Carson?” I barely get the words out.
Nikolai stops pacing. “Alive and at the hospital. Kylie has a concussion. Carson was shot in the shoulder. Nothing life-threatening.”
I close my eyes for one second. Relief flickers through me, thin and useless against the panic clawing through my chest.
Nikolai continues pacing. He’s been on the phone on and off since we walked through the door, speaking in Russian. I don’t understand the words, but I hear the fear in his voice, and that terrifies me.
I press my palm against my sternum and tell myself to breathe. He briefly looks at me from across the room, then goes back to pacing, Russian filling the room again.
I think about my baby. How scared is he? Is he hurt? Is he calling for me?
There’s a knock at the study door.
One of the guards steps in with a vase of white roses, and my heart stops.
The sound that comes out of me is not even a scream at first. The animalistic, keening noise boils up through my chest and tears out of my throat. I don’t remember falling, but suddenly, I’m on the floor.
“Gabby.” Nikolai drops to his knees in front of me and cups my face. “Gabby. Look at me.”
“Tell me.”
I’m shaking so hard that my teeth are chattering.
“Tell me,” he says louder.
“They didn’t take Luke because of you.” The words come out in pieces. “This wasn’t about your casino.”
Something shifts in his eyes. “Who?”
I close my eyes. Five years of running and sleeping with one eye open wasn’t enough. Nikolai’s protection isn’t enough.
“My name is Gabriella,” I say. “Gabriella Castellano.”
His hands fall from my face.
“I was eighteen when my father forced me to marry Matteo Castellano.”