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“Ah, yes,” he mutters devilishly. “Philippe Accardo. The man of the hour. We go after him next.”
“No,” I gasp, holding my head in my hands. To imagine Philippe dying because of me. I look back through the past weeks, all these attacks, the gunshots. Philippe has been blaming himself for all this, all the while I’m the one who brought chaos into his world. Tears come to the surface.
"Please," I mutter, trying to buy time. "Can I ask you something?"
He frowns. "What's the point?"
"Something I wanted to know my whole life."
"What is it?"
"That man said he was my uncle. Was he?"
He begins to laugh. "I knew you had an uncle. Your mother could never have hidden you all those years. The thing is, she never let me meet him. She was a smart woman and kept her cards close to her chest. I just used what information I could to lure you tome. That man, Martin? He was so in love with you. Bloody fool. Pulled you into a trap."
"What's his name? My uncle?"
He shrugs. "Never bothered finding out. No trace of the man. He could be dead for all I care. But, as for you..."
His gun remains steadily pointed at my head. I’m out of time, and out of questions. I know the whole truth, and my final moments are staring right at me. “I love you,” I whisper to my unborn child and cradle my belly.
My breaths come fast and shallow, panic overwhelming me. This can't be happening. I was meant to have a happy ending with Philippe, not die at the hands of my own father.
Vladimir's finger tightens on the trigger, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Chapter 47
Philippe
We jump out of the ehicles, jaws set. My men fan out, scanning the overgrown field for any signs of disturbance. The motion detectors start buzzing in silence, emitting vibrations.
My pulse kicks up. They've gone underground. There's motion beneath the grass.
I glance at Enzo. His dark eyes meet mine, grim understanding passing between us. He feels it, too.
I flex my fingers, longing for the comforting weight of my gun.
Enzo kneels, examining the ground. "There's a trapdoor here leading into tunnels. Recently opened."
I crouch beside him, running a hand over the weathered wood. My tattoos prickle as if the Moirai themselves stir beneath my skin. Whispers of the past slither through my mind, remnants of a childhood spent exploring the underground ruins of my city.
"Boss, look at this," someone motions at me. I walk over.
I freeze, bile rising in my throat. Martin lies sprawled on his back, eyes glassy and staring at the sky. A jagged wound mars his forehead, crimson blood soaking into the grass around his head.
No. Not Martin. Who has taken Tatiana? Where is she?
Rage and grief war within me, tangled as the threads of fate etched into my skin. I kneel beside Martin, closing his eyes with a gentle touch. He will be avenged. Tatiana will be found.
A gush of wind bursts through. Tatters of ivory silk flutter on the ground snagged on rocks and shrubs. I snatch one up with a gloved hand, the familiar sparkles making my heart clench.
Tatiana's dress. They were ripped and stained as if torn from her body. What have they done to her?
Bile rises in my throat again, scalding and bitter.
I crush the silk in my fist, snarling. The men glance at each other, eyes grim. They know what this means.
Tatiana is in the hands of monsters.
