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"My father," I start, a new surge of anger rising in me. "What does he have to do with this?"
Ahmet's gaze darkens. "Vadem Tarasov is a man who knows the value of alliances. He delivered the message that your husband is not to be trusted."
"I bet he did. Since he was really the one that tried to kill you both.” I spit.
Ahmet looks amused, clearly not believing me.
“You want me to believe your father would come to me after he tried to kill me and offer to help take out your husband? What do you take me for?”
I think of Damien, of the life we were starting to build, of the way he looks at me, and something hardens within me. There is no sense in arguing with Ahmet about my father. "You won't win," I say quietly but with conviction. "Damien will come for me."
Ahmet nods slowly. "I am counting on it."
I go silent, my mind racing. This isn't just a kidnapping; it's yet another declaration of war. And I am the battleground.
The grip the men have on me is like iron, unyielding and cold as they drag me from the room and back outside. My attempts to break free are futile; they handle me with frustrating ease as they shove me into the car. The journey is a blur of sharp turns and jarring stops that leave me disoriented.
When the car finally comes to a stop, my heart sinks. The sound of airplane engines fills the air, and the stench of jet fuel is nauseating.
"Where are we going?" I demand, my voice betraying the panic that's threatening to overwhelm me.
"Turkey," comes the curt reply from Ahmet, who's suddenly at my side. His presence is like an ominous cloud, dark and cold.
Dread settles heavily in my stomach. Turkey—far from Damien and any hope of a quick rescue. I'm struck by the terrifying thought that this might be where my story ends, in a foreign land, a pawn in a deadly game of vengeance.
Chapter 24
Damien
The Tarasov mansion stands as a gaudy monument to wealth and excess. It sprawls across the landscape, an eyesore of white marble and gold trim, each balcony and window more ornate than the last. Under the moon's gaze, it glares back at us, a beacon of opulence and bad taste.
We're hunkered down in the shadows, observing. Three guards patrol the perimeter, their steps methodical but unaware of the hell they're about to face. "System's down," Leo's voice crackles through our earpieces.
"Nice work, Leo. Let's move," I whisper back, signaling my brothers. We advance like phantoms, each of us assigned to neutralize a guard.
I spot my target, a silhouette etched against the mansion's extravagant outline. I inch closer, my movements as silent as the night breeze. Within arm's reach, I act swiftly. My arm snakes around his neck in a calculated chokehold, applying just enough pressure to render him unconscious but not kill him. His body, bulky and cumbersome, slumps against me, and I carefully lower him to the ground.
"Guard down," I murmur into the headset.
"Same here," Andrei confirms, his voice barely a whisper.
"Third guard's out. We're clear," Roman's voice follows suit.
Inside the mansion, the luxury is overwhelming. The halls are adorned with expensive art, and furniture that screams wealth rather than comfort fills the rooms. We tread silently on the plush carpets, our mission clear in our minds.
The chatter over the headsets is minimal, each of us focused on the task at hand. "Check the study, Damien. That's where he conducts most of his dirty business," Sandra's voice cuts in.
"I got it. I'm heading there now," I respond, veering toward the study. The door is slightly ajar, and a sliver of light escapes into the dark hallway.
"Be careful, Damien. Tarasov's desperate," Leo cautions, his voice tinged with concern.
"I always am," I reply, pushing the study door open.
The room is as lavishly decorated as the rest of the house, but it's empty. I scan for any signs of recent activity—documents, a laptop, anything that might give us a lead on the mole.
"Damien, any luck?" Samuil's voice breaks the silence.
"Nothing yet. The study's clear. Moving to his personal quarters next," I answer quietly, exiting the study.
