CHAPTER 3

Nancy’s POV

The footsteps stopped.

My body jolted as he froze in place.

Then I heard more sounds.

Running.

Many feet. Fast. Heavy.

Voices shouting, but I couldn’t understand the words through the bag and my own crying.

Suddenly, I was lifted again—but this time, gently.

He pulled me off his shoulder and set me on my feet.

The ground felt solid beneath me, but my legs shook so badly I almost collapsed. My knees threatened to give out.

Hands still held me upright.

Then the bag was yanked off my head.

Light hit my eyes all at once.

I gasped and blinked hard, tears streaming down my face, my vision blurry and unfocused. Shapes swam in front of me. Shadows. Movement.

When my sight finally cleared, I looked up.

I don’t know what I expected.

Police.

More men in masks.

Maybe some dark warehouse or empty room where he was finally going to—

But it wasn’t any of that.

It was my father.

My dad stood there like this was just another Tuesday.

Marco Valentino—my father, the head of the most powerful crime family on the East Coast—was in the middle of a parking garage filled with blood and bodies, and he looked completely fine. Calm. Put together. Like nothing unusual was happening.

His silver hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. His suit looked expensive and untouched, no wrinkles, no stains. Around him stood at least six of his men, all in dark suits, all holding guns, forming a tight circle around him like a wall.

“Nancy,” he said, his dark eyes moving over me slowly, checking me from head to toe. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

His voice was calm. Steady. Controlled.

The same voice he used when asking if I’d eaten breakfast. Or if I wanted tea or coffee.

Meanwhile, I was falling apart.

My whole body was shaking so badly my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. My legs felt weak, like they might give out at any second. My head still hurt from being thrown over that man’s shoulder. I could still feel the bag over my face, the panic of not being able to see, not being able to breathe properly.

I felt sick.

And the man who had done all that to me—the man who had grabbed me, kidnapped me, scared me half to death—

Was standing right next to me.

And nobody was reacting.

Nobody was shouting.

Nobody was pointing a gun at him.

I stared at my dad, waiting.

Waiting for him to yell. To order his men to grab the stranger. To shoot him. To do something.

But nothing happened.

His men didn’t move.

Their guns were still raised, but not aimed at the man beside me. They were pointed outward, toward the entrance of the garage. Like they were guarding us.

Like the man who had carried me away wasn’t a danger at all.

Like he belonged there.

The stranger took a small step forward and gave my father a short nod. Respectful. Controlled.

“The threat has been neutralized, sir,” he said.

His voice was deep, calm, with that faint accent. Professional. Cold. Like he was giving a report after finishing a job.

“Three hostiles. All eliminated. The area is clear, but we should move quickly. There may be more nearby.”

Good.

That’s what my father said.

“Good.”

Just one word.

Like the man had told him dinner was ready. Like he had said traffic was light.

Not like he had just killed three people.

Not like one of those people had been holding a knife to my throat minutes ago.

My head started to spin.

I looked from my father to the stranger and back again, my mind struggling to catch up. None of this made sense. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get enough air.

My father wasn’t surprised.

He wasn’t angry.

He wasn’t demanding answers.

He wasn’t asking why this man had put a bag over my head.

Why he’d carried me like I was nothing.

Why he’d scared me so badly I thought I was going to die.

They knew each other.

That truth hit me slowly, heavily.

They were talking like this was normal.

“What—” My voice came out too high. Too shaky. I hated it. I swallowed hard and tried again. “What the hell is going on?”

My father finally looked at me properly. Really looked. For a second—just a second—his face softened. Not much. But enough for me to see a flicker of concern.

“Nancy—”

“Why aren’t they shooting him?” I said, pointing at the stranger. My hand was trembling so badly I could barely keep it up. “He just—he grabbed me. He put a bag over my head! He was kidnapping me and you’re just standing there talking to him like—like—”

“He wasn’t kidnapping you,” my father said, his voice firm.

“Yes he was!” I snapped. “He literally picked me up and—”

“He was protecting you.”

I stared at him.

“Protecting me?” My voice went shrill. I couldn’t stop it. “He terrified me! I thought he was going to kill me! I thought—”

My throat closed.

The words got stuck.

I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit how sure I’d been that I was about to die. How close I felt to the end.

My father’s jaw tightened. He turned his head slightly and looked at the man beside me. Something flashed in his eyes. Disapproval, maybe. Or irritation.

“You could have been more gentle,” my father said.

“I needed to extract her quickly before reinforcements arrived,” the man replied calmly. “Standard protocol for a hot extraction.”

She’s not a soldier,” my father said sharply. “She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, sir. But the threat level was the same.”

They were talking about me.

Not to me.

About me.

Like I was an object. A package. Something that had been moved from one place to another.

“Excuse me!” I shouted. “I’m standing right here! And somebody better start explaining what the hell is going on right now or I swear I will start screaming again!”

My father lifted a hand. “Nancy, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I yelled. “Some psycho just killed three people in front of me, then grabbed me and put a bag over my head, and now you’re telling me he works for you?”

I looked at the man. Then back at my father.

“Who is he? Why was he here? And why didn’t I know about him?”

My father sighed.

It wasn’t a worried sigh.

It was tired. Like I was being difficult on purpose.

“His name is Zade Konstantin,” he said. “He’s been working for me. And for the past three weeks, he’s been assigned to watch over you.”

The words hit me hard.

Like a slap.