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Andrei’s expression is thunderous. “Georgia?” It’s one word but it holds all the meaning in the world.
“Georgia is fine, it’s Bianca.” Yulian’s dark eyes meet my own. “She’s gone.”
Panic shoots through me like a superhit of drugs in my veins.
“What do you mean gone?” Andrei growls. “The penthouse has security, there are guards everywhere.”
“She had help escaping.”
“Escaping?” Frustration claws up my throat—I feel as if I’ve wandered into a funhouse where reality is stretched and distorted, and I’m not sure how I will find my way back to normal.
A muscle ticks in Yulian’s jaw as he pulls a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. He hands it to me. “From Bianca. She left it for you.”
Daniil,
I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I’ve never been in love before you, maybe that’s why it took me so long to notice how madly and deeply I’d fallen. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.
Know that.
The one mercy I can offer you is that I’ve taken my fate into my own hands. The terrible decision to let me live or die is no longer yours. I’m going to get my revenge. I’ll be the one to steal the last breath from my uncle’s body, to watch the life bleed out of him. I probably won’t live long after that, but it will be worth it.
I’ve told Jorge to come and get me, to take me back to my uncle’s compound in Colombia. He thinks I want him back—but I want to see him dead, too. Jorge and my uncle.
My only regret is that I didn’t listen to my heart sooner. If I had, I would have realized that you were my greatest ally, that you would have helped me get revenge more swiftly and brutally than the FBI ever would have. Which is what I want. Hindsight is a bitch.
I love you,
B
I jolt to my feet, turmoil consuming me from the inside out. A sickening crack fills the air as I take a swing at the wall closest to me, but I need to feel the pain. It’s the only thing that can ground me right now.
I’m responsible for this.
I’m the reason Bianca has sacrificed herself. Because of me, because I’m a hardheaded asshole who refused to give her an ounce of softness. Even worse, I never told her the one thing that would probably make a difference. That I am going to give her uncle exactly what that motherfucker deserves—a slow, painful death where I make him recite his every wrongdoing and sin before I spill his guts at my feet.
But my stupid stubborn pride got in the way, and now I’ve lost her forever.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
BIANCA
The smellof tropical plants and musky air invades my nostrils. My body is sticky with the humidity that hangs heavy in this part of the world. It’s familiar to me, having partly grown up here, but it’s not comforting.
I open my eyes and it all comes back to me. The phone call, the Zegas breaking into the penthouse, Jorge’s wandering hands as he escorted me onto my uncle’s private plane back to Colombia. What have I done? Bile rises in my throat, but I force it down, ripping off the mosquito net that covers my bed. An unfamiliar bed.
We’d arrived in the dead of night, but it hadn’t taken me long to realize that we were not at my uncle’s compound in Urabá. We’re somewhere unfamiliar. Another remote palace in the jungle. Caution wormed through me at this development, but Jorge assured me the estate is more like a resort. It’s smaller, more remote, he said, a chance for us to relax after the craziness of the last few months.
I don’t believe him for one hot second, but for what I am here to do, I don’t need to. By the end of the day, the gleaming marble floors will shine with my uncle’s blood.
I’ve rehearsed what I am going to do a million times in my head. I’m ready for this. Tonight at dinner, steak knife in my hand, my uncle Emilio will die. If I live long enough to stab Jorge, all the better. But I may not. The guards will probably kill me the moment I plunge the steel blade into my uncle’s neck. I have one chance to get it right, and I intend to.
I’ve resigned myself to my death.
But there is one casualty I care about in all of this. Daniil.
My heart slams against my ribs as it always does when I think of him. He’s likely found the note I left him by now. He knows what I’ve done. And he knows that my fate is out of his hands. I hope that brings him peace.
I wash and dress, preparing to meet my uncle for breakfast. Wearing a simple white linen dress, I head downstairs to a lavishly appointed table on the terrace. I greet him as I normally would, leaning down and giving him a peck on his cheek as my nails dig into the flesh of my palm. Any kindness towards him costs me.
