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Andrei’s fiery eyes take me in, I’m asking him to risk his life and the lives of our friends and family. He asks a silent question, communicating in a way only brothers can.Do you love her?
Yes. The answer is obvious. Yes, I fucking love her. If by some goddamn miracle we survive this hell on earth, I am going to try so much harder. I am going to be a proper husband.
Whatever he sees in my eyes is enough for him. His nod is nearly imperceptible.
Andrei stands. “We need a day to prepare. Yulian, you collect our team and resources. Leo, gather any relevant intel and make sure your hackers are on standby from the moment we land in Colombia. We’ll need live communication with them for every moment of this mission.” My brother’s eagle eyes land on me. “And Daniil. I suggest you shave, shower, and try to appear human.” His lips quirk up at the corner. “You’re going to need to have your shit locked down for this.”
I nod at him from across the room. My way of saying thank you, because we’re about to engage in the fight of our lives to save the woman I love.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
BIANCA
The fancy bedroomfrom my first night here is long forgotten. I’ve been on the floor of this dank basement cell for what must be two full days, but I have no way to keep track of time. There have been no visitors other than whoever passes a tray of food under the door twice a day. It’s not enough. I’m hungry and thirsty, and perhaps the worst, my sanity is starting to go.
I see things. I hear things. Rats in the walls, cockroaches skittering across the floor, or worse.
People survive months in solitary confinement—but surviving, staying alive, is different from staying sane. I spend too much time thinking about Daniil. What he’s doing, what he thinks, if he hates me. And I suppose I did betray him in a way. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, but this was about showing him one last time how much I love him and taking care of myself. Seeing through the promise I made to myself when I was a scared teenage girl who lost her family much too early.
I adjust myself on the thin mattress splayed out on the floor and pull the thin blanket tighter around me. There were so many years where I could have just murdered the man in his sleep, but I was a good girl then. Playing by the rules of society. And I didn’t want to sink as low as him. But now it’s too late. My uncle knows I detest him, that I’ve hated him for a long time for killing my parents. He also knows my involvement with the feds, which doesn’t bode well for me.
I’m down but not out. I refuse to be. Whatever it takes to kill my uncle, I’ll do, or die trying.
The lock jangles in the door, and for the first time in too many days, the door opens, and Jorge stands at the thresholds. “Ah, it’s my soon-to-be bride.”
I blanch at his words. I assumed he’d said that to scare me, because both he and my uncle must know nothing is more frightening than the thought of marrying this monster. But I don’t give him the dignity of responding. Instead, I turn away from him, flopping on the mattress towards the wall.
“I don’t think so.” His mirthless laugh rings out, and he steps into the room. A hard kick to my legs causes me to grunt and curl into a ball to protect myself. “Get up,” he demands.
As bile rises in my throat, I turn to face him, his handsome face always seemed like a mask obscuring the demon inside. It’s then that I notice a white dress clutched in one of his hands.
“What is that?” I intone, panic invading my voice.
“Your wedding dress. Although I don’t think white is the appropriate color now that we know you’ve fucked Daniil Kozlov ten ways to next Sunday,” he sneers. “But don’t worry, beauty, I’m going to fuck you so long and hard you’ll forget that man ever existed.”
He grabs me by the hair and pulls me up from the mattress. Already, tears are falling down my face, my revulsion clear. I tried and failed to make him believe I could want him. I don’t know if I have it in me to try anymore. He wouldn’t believe it anyhow.
He pulls me viciously towards him, taking a deep breath of my neck. Like a vampire seeking his prey. “We are going to get married today, and then I am going to fuck a baby into you. A proper Morales heir, even if your whore of a mother was a traitor. And after you give me what I want, I am going to gut you from end to end because you are a lying, cheating bitch.”
My body is shaking uncontrollably all over. The contents of my stomach come up, and I’m retching all over his shoes before I can stop myself.
“You idiot, look what you did!” He drags me from the room, his hands still clasped tightly in my hair. After traveling through a dank hallway, he drags me up a flight of stairs and then another flight of stairs until we’re somewhere on the second floor of the grand estate. Opening a tall oak-paneled door, he pulls me into a neatly appointed bedroom where a small army of women stand at attention. They nod at Jorge but don’t make eye contact with me.
“She needs to be cleaned up, then have this dress fitted properly.” He throws the silk gown at them. “You have two hours.”
He shoves me at a tall woman with stern lines on her face who looks at me suspiciously. She sniffs haughtily and directs me to a shower with shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap. No razor in sight. My new jailer stands outside of the shower, clearly watching me for any wrong move.
Once I am clean and dry, I’m led out of the bedroom to a tall woman with glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She introduces herself as Lyla and takes me by the hand. At least she seems kind.
“My dear, we need to get you fitted for a new dress right away. We don’t have long,” she says, her English gently accented.
She leads me to a riser in the corner of the room with a full-length mirror resting against the wall. The dress that Jorge had in his hands is lowered over my head as I slip on a pair of silk high-heeled shoes. A team of Lyla’s workers gather around and get to work, letting out the hem and taking in the bust area.
I don’t even know why Jorge cares how I look. This marriage is a pure sham, he said so himself. He only wants to breed me before killing me. Had that always been his end goal?
“I’m from France,” Lyla says, pinning the hem of my dress. “Do you speak French, my dear?”
I nod at her. I attended an international French school for most of my education. “That’s so nice, I rarely get the chance to speak French anymore,” she adds. Lyla’s eyes sweep the room, taking in the other women working close by. No one looks up in recognition. My guess is these local women only speak Spanish and a limited amount of English.
