Seventy Eight

Florence POV.

The moment Anthony stepped into the doorway of the private lounge, my entire body went rigid with shock. I had already accepted, in some dark corner of my mind, that I was completely alone. That I would have to find a way out of this nightmare by myself. But then he appeared, not rushing in with guns drawn, but just standing there, calm and solid, like he had walked straight out of my desperate hope and my deepest fear at the same time.

Vladimir’s hand, which was still holding mine, tightened. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm and unyielding. It felt less like a hold and more like a warning. His cold, gray eyes stayed fixed on Anthony for several long seconds. The room fell into a heavy silence. The guards behind Vladimir shifted their weight, their hands resting on their weapons, but they didn’t speak or move.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. I didn’t understand what Anthony was doing. Why wasn’t he acting? Why wasn’t he running or fighting? He just stood there, e