Chapter 6
The door at the top of the stairs didn't open.
It exploded inward. Hinges ripped from the frame, the wood splintering into pieces that scattered down the concrete steps.
Three men poured through, tactical gear, faces covered, moving with the precision of people who do this for a living.
Behind them—one man without a mask.
Uncle Roman.
My father's right hand. The man who taught me to ride a bike, who scared off my prom date, who cried at my fake funeral when I left the family.
He saw me on the floor. Stopped dead.
"Jesus Christ." His voice cracked. "Elena."
He was on his knees beside me in a second, pressing his jacket to my stomach, shouting over his shoulder. "MEDIC! NOW! She's hemorrhaging!"
"Roman." I grabbed his arm. My grip was pathetically weak. "The baby. Upstairs. Vivian has her."
His jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grind. He keyed his radio.
"Second floor. The woman with the infant. Secure the baby. Do NOT let them leave. I want that woman breathing when I get up there. Barely."
He turned back to me. His eyes were wet. I'd never seen Roman cry. Not once in twenty-six years.
"Your father's three minutes out. He's coming, Elena. He's coming."
"How did you find me?"
"The stream." He pressed harder on my wound. I bit back a scream. "Someone in our tech team flagged it. Facial recognition picked you up in a reflection. Took us twenty minutes to trace the IP."
Twenty minutes. I'd been down here for thirty.
Ten minutes of my blood on this floor that they'd never get back.
A medic appeared, started working fast. IV in my arm. Pressure bandage. Something cold pushed into my veins that made the world sharpen just slightly.
"She needs a hospital," the medic said. "Five minutes ago."
Roman nodded. "Car's out front. Go."
"My baby first."
"Elena—"
"I'm not leaving without her."
Roman stared at me. Saw something in my face that told him arguing was pointless.
He keyed the radio again. "Status on the infant."
Static. Then: "Secured. Mother and child cleared for reunion."
The relief hit me so hard my vision went white.
They carried me up the stairs. Through the service hallway. Past the fake operating room—I caught a glimpse of the surgical table, my blood still dark and wet on the surface.
In the main room, Vivian was on her knees. Two of Roman's men had her arms wrenched behind her back. She was screaming. Mascara running. That perfect blowout ruined.
"You can't do this! Do you know who my boyfriend is? Derek Calloway runs the entire—"
"Derek Calloway runs nothing." Roman's voice was ice. "Derek Calloway is a middle-manager with delusions. And right now, he's face-down in his own lobby with a boot on his neck."
Vivian's face crumbled.
A woman in tactical gear walked toward me, carrying a bundle.
My daughter.
Clean, wrapped in a proper blanket, quiet now. Sleeping.
They placed her in my arms.
I broke. Completely, totally broke. Tears and blood and shaking so hard I could barely hold her.
She was warm. She was safe. She was mine.
"I've got you," I whispered. "Mama's got you. No one's ever taking you again."
Roman's hand settled on my shoulder. Squeezed once.
"Let's get you out of here. Your father's waiting."
It exploded inward. Hinges ripped from the frame, the wood splintering into pieces that scattered down the concrete steps.
Three men poured through, tactical gear, faces covered, moving with the precision of people who do this for a living.
Behind them—one man without a mask.
Uncle Roman.
My father's right hand. The man who taught me to ride a bike, who scared off my prom date, who cried at my fake funeral when I left the family.
He saw me on the floor. Stopped dead.
"Jesus Christ." His voice cracked. "Elena."
He was on his knees beside me in a second, pressing his jacket to my stomach, shouting over his shoulder. "MEDIC! NOW! She's hemorrhaging!"
"Roman." I grabbed his arm. My grip was pathetically weak. "The baby. Upstairs. Vivian has her."
His jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grind. He keyed his radio.
"Second floor. The woman with the infant. Secure the baby. Do NOT let them leave. I want that woman breathing when I get up there. Barely."
He turned back to me. His eyes were wet. I'd never seen Roman cry. Not once in twenty-six years.
"Your father's three minutes out. He's coming, Elena. He's coming."
"How did you find me?"
"The stream." He pressed harder on my wound. I bit back a scream. "Someone in our tech team flagged it. Facial recognition picked you up in a reflection. Took us twenty minutes to trace the IP."
Twenty minutes. I'd been down here for thirty.
Ten minutes of my blood on this floor that they'd never get back.
A medic appeared, started working fast. IV in my arm. Pressure bandage. Something cold pushed into my veins that made the world sharpen just slightly.
"She needs a hospital," the medic said. "Five minutes ago."
Roman nodded. "Car's out front. Go."
"My baby first."
"Elena—"
"I'm not leaving without her."
Roman stared at me. Saw something in my face that told him arguing was pointless.
He keyed the radio again. "Status on the infant."
Static. Then: "Secured. Mother and child cleared for reunion."
The relief hit me so hard my vision went white.
They carried me up the stairs. Through the service hallway. Past the fake operating room—I caught a glimpse of the surgical table, my blood still dark and wet on the surface.
In the main room, Vivian was on her knees. Two of Roman's men had her arms wrenched behind her back. She was screaming. Mascara running. That perfect blowout ruined.
"You can't do this! Do you know who my boyfriend is? Derek Calloway runs the entire—"
"Derek Calloway runs nothing." Roman's voice was ice. "Derek Calloway is a middle-manager with delusions. And right now, he's face-down in his own lobby with a boot on his neck."
Vivian's face crumbled.
A woman in tactical gear walked toward me, carrying a bundle.
My daughter.
Clean, wrapped in a proper blanket, quiet now. Sleeping.
They placed her in my arms.
I broke. Completely, totally broke. Tears and blood and shaking so hard I could barely hold her.
She was warm. She was safe. She was mine.
"I've got you," I whispered. "Mama's got you. No one's ever taking you again."
Roman's hand settled on my shoulder. Squeezed once.
"Let's get you out of here. Your father's waiting."