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“Please, just think about it.” She places her hand on her belly, beginning to show a small bump. “For our baby’s sake.”
The mention of our unborn child catches me off guard, and I can feel my resolve crumbling. It’s true; I would do anything for our child, even if it means swallowing my pride and accepting help from an enemy I’d rather see dead.
“Put your hand on my belly,” she whispers, gently guiding my hand to rest where hers is. “Promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to protect us.”
As I lay my hand on her belly, feeling the warmth beneath my fingertips, a powerful surge of emotion latches onto me. My love for Eden and our child is overwhelming, and I must do everything in my power to keep them safe.
“I promise,” I say quietly, taking my hand away. “I’ll talk to Vito.” As the weight of her words sinks in, a chill covers my bare skin. I’ve surrendered to Eden’s emotional blackmail. She used our unborn child to sway me. How far will she go to get what she wants?
“Thank you,” she murmurs, pulling the covers over her. “We’ll get through this. I know we will. We’re stronger together, Nikolai.”
34
EDEN
A light drizzle stops,leaving the concrete drive a dark gray. Birds begin to chirp, and the racket puts me on edge. Nikolai sits across from me, clenching his empty holster in his hand. A guard stands near the front door, and his gaze never leaves the small window as he watches for the SUV to arrive.
“Uncle Vito will be here soon,” I say to no one.
“They just pulled up,” replies the guard.
Nikolai nods solemnly, and the guilt gnaws at me. I used our baby to convince him to contact Uncle Vito. But it didn’t make sense for them to work separately for the same purpose. I was desperate to do something. Something that makes sense, but as much as I wanted to believe we could save Mercy, it might already be too late.
Uncle Vito arrives in an armored SUV with blackout windows, which conceals the route to the safe house. As agreed, his phone and gun are confiscated, and he is allowed two bodyguards. Exiting the vehicle, my uncle stops long enough to admire the inn—a quaint stone structure against a backdrop of changingleaves, like an oil painting or a jigsaw puzzle. Deceptive in its appearance and purpose. He walks toward the front door, and I nod to him, dreading what Nikolai must show him.
“Uncle Vito,” I greet him warily.
“Eden.” He walks past me into the house as if we barely know one another. He shakes off his long coat and stomps his polished but damp shoes on the welcome mat. He looks older since our last meeting—lines etched on his face like cracks in old leather. My uncle is in his forties, but it looks like he’s aged ten years overnight. His gaze is hard and narrow as he looks at me.
“Dad is on his way back.” I follow him into the living room, where Nikolai is waiting. “He’s checking the perimeter with the guards.”
Uncle Vito scoffs. “Switching sides again? Out hunting for Lanzzare? Well, I left the rest safe at home.”
I don’t blame him for being angry and hold my tongue. What would I say anyway?
“This is not what I was expecting.” He looks around the rustic interior with exposed beams and plank wood floors. A picturesque fire burns in a stone fireplace, filling the room with a cozy warmth. Antique prints and maps hang on the walls, and it would be the perfect setting for a family get-together over the holidays.
“It’s a beautiful place, Uncle Vito. A good place to talk,” I reply, but he cuts me off with a dismissive wave.
“Save the small talk, Eden.” He turns his back on me and approaches Nikolai who stands. “What do you have to show me, Starukhin?”
Nikolai glances at me before handing Uncle Vito the phone. “Be prepared, Genovesi,” he responds, his voice betraying an effort to stay calm.
The audio starts, and my uncle’s eyes widen in horror, then a flush of anger turns his face red as he grits his teeth. I don’t have to look at my uncle to feel his rage filling the room. I look down at my shoes while wringing my hands, listening to Mercy cry.
Vito punches a nearby table when the video ends, causing the lamp to jump. He throws the phone and stares wildly at the spot where it lands.
“My daughter,” he murmurs, and then his voice rises. “My Mercy!” he shouts, then turns his anger on Nikolai.
Time no longer exists as we stand in place, and the tension builds until his emotions explode. Vito grabs for Nikolai; his large hands wrap around his throat, and struggling, Nikolai grabs for his wrists. Vito shouts obscenities as tears race down his cheeks. Vito’s guards work to pull him off Nikolai while our guards work to pry them apart.
“I’ll kill you for this!” Uncle Vito shouts. “They hurt my little girl.”
“Stop!” I scream. “Uncle Vito, please stop. Mercy doesn’t have much time. You can’t fall apart while she needs you.”
The mention of her name suddenly calms him, and they’re yanked apart. Stumbling backward, Nikolai knocks over a table, and the lamp falls to the floor. The crash distracts everyone, and we stare at the broken pieces on the floor with distracted interest. Uncle Vito breathes heavily, leaning against the mantel, and his face sweats from the exertion.
“We’ll do what we can to get her back.” Nikolai fixes his collar as he speaks. “My brigadier will be punished.”
