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“Have they hurt you?” she asks in French, as she continues to work away. Her tone is light, but her question holds meaning.
“I’m fine,” I respond, unsure of where she is going with this line of questioning.
She smiles again giving the impression that we’re simply making small talk. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help. Just stay calm, we are going to get you out of here.”
Weare? Who couldwebe? Daniil wouldn’t come after me, would he? Not after the letter I left him. The other option is the FBI. I’m not sure how they would know my whereabouts, but they are a huge federal agency. If they wanted to find me, they have the means.
Either way, hope soars.
I keep my eyes glued to the mirror in front of me as if I am admiring myself. “Who sent you?” I murmur.
“Friends,” she replies cautiously.
“What should I do?”
“Do nothing. Go along with whatever they have planned. Act as you normally would. We’ll extract you when the time is right.”
I nod and swallow heavily, my nerves getting the best of me.
“Perfect,” she says, switching to English. “Don’t you look wonderful. We need an hour with the dress, and we will make sure it fits you like a glove. Now if you don’t mind, go into the other room and the nice ladies there will do your hair and makeup. You’ll lookmagnifiqueon your wedding day,oui?”
“Of course.” I give her one more meaningful look that I hope communicates my thanks as her team removes my dress, replacing it with a big comfy robe.
I turn towards the door but stop when my fingers are resting on the door handle. A small pair of four-inch detail scissors lay on a small desk by the wall. Before I can think better of it, I’ve slipped the scissors into the big folds of the robe. I may have help, but I believe in helping myself first and foremost. Because the FBI won’t kill my uncle, they’ll only arrest him. And I want to see his blood stain the ground beneath my feet.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
DANIIL
I spendthe entire six-hour flight to Colombia pacing the aisles of our Boeing, wondering if they’ve hurt Bianca, if she’s all right, if she hates me for how I treated her. I don’t typically go around quoting hymns, but the lyrics from “Amazing Grace” play in my head, specifically the line about being blind, but now I see. Well, now I see what a fucking idiot I was.
I’ve never prayed a day in my life, but at one point—somewhere over the Caribbean Sea—I locked myself in the bathroom and prayed to the patron saints of fallen angels and Russian gangsters that I’m not too late. That I’ll get another chance to prove to Bianca that I’m worthy of her.
My brothers and Yulian have worked around the clock since we found out she was in Colombia. They’ve commissioned a private security team to help us with the extraction, because apparently this shit ain’t easy, and it certainly is not in the area of our expertise. We know how to take someone out in broad daylight on the sidewalks of NYC, but the jungle of South America is not our territory—that’s where Mercy Kate comes in.
One of Leo’s underground contacts suggested the private security team that she runs, SPK Security. They know this territory well, employing the best mercenaries in the business. Now we’re huddled in a one-room hut Mercy secured, located fifteen miles outside of the compound that Emilio is based in. Mercy has a team of half a dozen ex-Special Forces men and women, to support Yulian, Leo, Andrei, and I. The first thing Mercy told me when I arrived was that Bianca is still alive, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful to her.
In the bare-bones village hut, Mercy leans over the blueprint she’s acquired on the wooden table. She spreads out the large sheet and glances up at me, as if she knows I’m the most invested. Her long dark braid swings over one of her shoulders, her brown skin already perspiring in the gentle humidity. But she’s used to this. Word is she spent twelve years undercover with US Army Special Forces, working deep in the jungles of South America. So if anyone can handle this world, it’s her.
Gesturing for everyone to look carefully, Mercy says, “Alright, this is the main house.” She moves her finger. “The east wing is the living quarters, the west wing is where they conduct business. I have an agent infiltrating their ranks right now. Last she confirmed, Bianca was being held in some sort of prison.” My sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Mercy frowns at me. “She won’t be there long. Jorge plans to marry her.”
What in the fuck? My head shoots back at this nugget of information. “How does he plan to do that? She’s already a married woman.”
“Are you sure about that?” The look on Mercy’s face tells me everything I need to know.
Andrei swears under his breath. “She’s right,brat, Emilio’s people took care of the wedding, including the paperwork.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why in the hell would he want to marry Bianca? He has to know that’s a death wish. But the one positive twist—it means they have reason to keep Bianca alive. For now.
“My agent infiltrated Emilio’s property as a staff member. She’ll be able to help us gain access inside the compound.”
“If you have an agent in there already, why not have her kill Emilio and save us a lot of trouble?”
She shoots a withering look my way. “Emilio is protected at all times. He’s never alone and armed to the teeth. The moment she took him down, she’d be dead. We need to attack strategically, as a team.”
A volcano threatens to erupt in my chest. “Fine. But the goal of this mission is to extract Bianca, and then eliminate Emilio, Jorge, and any other fucker remotely connected with their cartel. We’re going scorched earth.”
“Well, shit,” she breathed. “I like your style, boy.”
