Epilogue - Sayid
It has been three days since my wife was taken. More than 70 hours have gone by since I found her gold bangle in the smoking ruins of that spa, and her hair clip on that hidden dock; confirming what I already knew deep down—she did not leave on her own. She was taken.
And in those hours that have blurred into days, I have become a man I no longer recognize. I sit at my desk in my private study, back home in Arabia, surrounded by the remnants of the man I once was.
Documents, maps, surveillance reports, and handwritten notes are strewn across every surface. The windows are shut, the curtains drawn. I do not need light. I do not need rest. I only need her. My wife.
I have exhausted every resource at my disposal. I have reached out to every ally and enemy alike—offering money, deals, and threats. I have cashed in every favor, from government contacts to underground traffickers, from mercenaries to intelligence operatives. I have had informants beaten and bribed, and I have sat through useless meetings. I have called upon my most powerful friends—but no one has given me the lead I need.
Because there is no trace of her. The island had no security footage of the dock where she disappeared. No witnesses. No ransom demands. Nothing. It is as if she has been erased. And I am losing control.
The men closest to me have seen the shift. My most trusted soldiers no longer remind me to rest. Because they all know the truth. If I do not find my wife soon, I will burn the world to the ground, and let the ashes tell me where to go next.
Even Zahir has tried to reason with me. But nothing will change until I find her. My grip tightens around the glass of whiskey in my hand, the only thing keeping me from punching through my desk.
I think about the men responsible for this. Whoever they are, wherever they are—I will find them. And when I do, I will not be a calculated businessman. I will not be a polished Prince, or a future King keeping control. I will be a soldier once more.
I will cut through every lie, break every bone, and spill every drop of blood necessary to bring her back. And once I have her? May Allah have mercy on anyone that has touched her—because I won’t. There will be no mercy, especially now that I have the information that was on the resort room receipt my team found.
An itemized list of everything charged to our suite at the resort. At first, I barely glanced at it, my mind elsewhere—until my eyes locked onto the last two items ordered from the spa, before the fire. Mint chocolate chip ice cream, and a pregnancy test. When I first read it, I stopped breathing, my entire body went rigid.
I read it again. And again. More questions raced through my head each time. Nora hates crunchy bits like chocolate chips, and nuts in her ice cream. Was this the first thing that sounded good to her after not eating all morning? Where was the pregnancy test sent? To the spa, or to our room? Had she taken it? Does she know the result? Had she been about to tell me—before she was stolen from me?
A low, guttural sound escapes my throat. Something inside me twists, and snaps even further. If she is carrying our child—a piece of me, my heir—there is no force on this earth that could stop me from getting to her. Not governments, not borders, not empires. Pregnant or not, I have to keep all my attention on her.
My jaw clenches as I stare at the dozens of dead ends on the desk before me. Where is she? Where is my Qamari? I rest my head in my hands, I can’t help feeling the weight of this being all my fault, again. Was she targeted because of me?
A sharp bang rattles my office doors. I don’t move. I don’t flinch. The doors burst open, and Youssef rushes in. His dark eyes are burning with urgency, his breath slightly ragged.
I set the glass down, slowly, deliberately. Inhaling deeply before asking. “What?” My voice is sharp, edged with barely controlled fury, and sanity.
Youssef does not waste words, he knows better. “We know who’s behind everything.” The room stills. My eyes snap to him. I rise from my chair, the slow movement hiding the storm brewing inside me.
“Who?” I demand. His fists clench. “Albanians. A syndicate trafficking women out of the Mediterranean.” A low hum starts in my chest. Rage. Hunger. Vengeance.
He continues. “They’ve been operating under false shipping manifests, transporting women through private docks and corrupt border officials. We tracked them through a secondary broker who deals in forged passports—”
“Where?” My voice is a blade cutting against him. Youssef’s eyes lock onto mine.
“A cargo port outside of Athens. But, we have reason to believe—” He hesitates.
I step around the desk, moving closer, my voice turning lethal. “Believe what?”
His throat swallows sharply. “We have reason to believe she may already be in transit to...to Istanbul. If they dock there—” I grab the edge of the side table nearest to me, and flip it with one violent motion. Papers and glass shatter against the marble floor.
No! I have lost her once before. But not like this. There is only one thing she would be brought to Istanbul for. And depending who buys her, there may be nothing of her left to rescue. I cannot, will not, lose her again.
Youssef regains his composure and speaks quickly. "It took a long time to scour surveillance footage from the resort. We finally got a hit on facial recognition. A man spotted on the hotel security feed a couple days before you arrived. Nothing suspicious but he was also recorded near the spa a few times.”
I inhale sharply, my blood turning ice-cold. “Who is he?”
"Low-level operator, someone likely hired for the job but not part of a larger network." His jaw tightens.Youssef continues. “We ran his face through Interpol, European agencies, the CIA, and private databases. After multiple levels of analysis, he was finally matched to a photo with known Albanian traffickers operating out of Greece."
His expression turns grim. I take another deep breath. “You weren’t being targeted, Sayid, it was random, but this isn’t just an abduction. They’re moving women, and if—”
I cut him off with a sharp look. I knew their intentions. “They won’t get the chance.” Because I will find them first. I turn to Youssef, my vision tunneling to a single point of focus. “Ready the plane,” I ordered. He nods, and moves out the door.
I step over the wreckage, and I grab the gun out from my desk. I would prefer to grasp vengeance in my own hands, but I will take out however many men I need to in order to get to my Wife . I have a gnawing feeling that my team won't be enough this time.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I reach the name I’ve been avoiding. Xavier Stevens, Nora’s older brother. A polished Navy SEAL. A man trained for extraction, for stealth, for the kind of off-the-record work that this mission will require.
He presented his softer side at the reception, but I knew his record. And I knew I could use him in my corner. I pressed the call. He picks up on the second ring.
"Sayid." His voice is clipped, sharp. He already knows why I’m calling. He was the only one in Nora’s family that I informed of what happened. I knew he would keep a level head, but also get a team in place just in case.
“I need you.” My voice is steel. “I need your team. Off the record. No limitations.”
There’s a pause. Then a sharp inhale. "Where is she?"
My jaw tightens, this is the part I didn’t want to tell him. “Originally Greece. But we don’t have long. The Albanians are most likely already en route to Istanbul.” I knew he would know enough from that little bit of information.
Xavier exhales slowly. “Send me what you have. We’ll be ready to move within the hour.” And before the call disconnects, I hear the same mix of fear and rage leave him, “Fuuuuu—”
I have the final piece of my plan. This is no longer just a plan to rescue her from being sexually exploited. This is a race to save her life. And if we don’t get to her in time. I am going to start a war.
To be continued…