This had been a setup from the start.
The old man thought he was using Derek to keep Nikolaiin check.
But Derek was working with Marchetti behind the scenes, trying to destroy Nikolai completely.
And me? Just a pawn in their hands.
"You played everyone."
"More like everyone underestimated me." Derek smiled. "Including you, Vivienne. You thought I was just some pretty boy riding women's coattails, right?"
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
I'd always written Derek off as a shallow playboy. Never imagined he had this kind of cunning.
"All right, enough catching up." Derek pulled out his phone. "Time to send my dear brother a photo. Let him know his woman's in my hands."
"Wait—"
Too late.
Derek gave a signal. A thug walked over and punched me hard in the face.
Sharp pain exploded. I felt my lip split, warm liquid running down my chin.
Click.
Flash.
Derek studied the photo on his screen with satisfaction—my face half-swollen, blood at my mouth, eyes full of shock and rage.
"Perfect." He smiled, fingers tapping the screen. "This should drive Nikolai crazy."
I bit down, forcing back the pain. Said nothing.
Seconds later, Derek's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, smile widening.
"See? Told you. He's already losing it."
He turned the phone toward me.
A message from Nikolai. Just a few words.
"What do you want?"
But I could picture his expression—those slate-gray eyes burning with barely controlled violence and murder.
"Want her alive? Come to the abandoned steel mill on the south side. Alone. Otherwise, the next photo's her corpse."
Send.
He pocketed the phone and looked back at me.
"Now we just wait—"
