The second man steps in front of me, his face partially obscured by the dim glow of the hallway light. What I can see of him makes my stomach lurch. Crooked nose, a scar slashing across his left cheek, the unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"She’s a fighter," he muses, his voice low and gravelly.
The first man grunts. "Doesn’t matter. She’s coming with us."
I scream again, my voice raw behind the gag, but it comes out strangled, weak. Panic flares in my chest like a wildfire, scorching through every nerve. I try to kick, to plant my heels into the floor, todo anything, but they don’t even flinch.
A sharp hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Move."
I shake my head wildly, twisting away, but the man behind me tightens his grip and shoves me forward. My bare feet stumble against the wooden floor, the world tilting as I fight against the pull of their hands.
Think, Sofia. Think.
But my thoughts are a storm, frenzied and directionless. My breath is ragged, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Marco.
For the briefest second, his name flares in my mind like a lifeline. But he’s not here. He’s not coming. I told him I could do this alone.
And now Iamalone.
The hallway stretches ahead, impossibly long, impossibly dark. The only sound is the dull scuff of my struggling feetagainst the floor and the steady, steady breaths of the men dragging me toward the stairs.
The realization crashes into me with brutal force.
I am being kidnapped by the Lombardis.
And no one knows.
9
SOFIA
Deep, profound darkness swallows me whole.
Rough hands grip my arms, shoving me forward as I stumble down the hallway. My breath is quick, frantic, muffled behind the gag cutting into my lips. The rope binding my wrists bites into my skin with each desperate tug, my pulse a wild, erratic drumbeat in my ears.
The air in my apartment was thick with warning. Out here, it’s worse—cold and open, the city stretching wide and indifferent around me. A distant siren wails, but it’s useless, swallowed by the weight of what’s happening. No one is coming.
One of the men yanks the door open, and before I can brace myself, I’m shoved outside. The chill of the night bites through my clothes, goosebumps rising across my arms as my bare feet hit the rough pavement. The SUV is waiting, its blacked-out windows glinting under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp.
I try to plant my feet, to twist free, but their grips tighten. My body jerks forward, legs kicking uselessly as I’m lifted off the ground. The door swings open.
I barely have time to scream before I’m thrown inside.
I land hard against the leather seat, the impact jolting through my bones. A second later, the door slams shut behind me, sealing me into the dark, airless space. The sharp scent of cigarette smoke clings to the upholstery, mixing with gun oil, sweat, the acrid tang of adrenaline.
The engine growls to life.
I lurch forward as the car peels away from the curb, tires screeching against the asphalt. The city lights blur past in a streak of gold and red, but it’s no use.
A strip of fabric slides over my face.
My world goes black.
I thrash, twisting hard, but a hand grips the back of my neck, shoving me down. The seatbelt locks against my ribs as I struggle, my breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts against the suffocating fabric of the gag.
"Quit it," a voice grunts beside me, low and irritated. "You’re making this harder than it has to be."
