Todos os capítulos de A Prey For My Enemy: Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

The child in her arms. Her child. Our child.I had not known. I had been so consumed by my own guilt, my own belief that I had driven her away with walls and silence, that I had never considered she might have been protecting something else entirely. Someone else. A son I had never met, who would be six now, who might be anywhere, who might be dead or hidden or raised by the same monster who had killed his mother."Kain." Dmitri's voice cut through the fog. "We're approaching the inlet. The facility is two kilometers inland. Heavily guarded. Private security, not military, but good enough."I closed the journal. I tucked the photograph into my coat, over my heart, and I picked up the rifle. My hands were steady now. The pain was still there, a distant roar beneath my skin, but it had been replaced by something colder, harder, more permanent.I was not just fighting for Tatiana anymore.I was fighting for the woman who had died to keep me human.I was fighting

TatianaI counted the ceiling tiles when I could not sleep, and I counted them again when I woke, and I counted them through the meals I pushed around my plate and the pills I hid beneath my mattress and the hours of white light that bled into white walls until time lost its shape entirely. Six days. Or seven. The facility had no windows in my room, only the barred rectangle in the door through which the guards checked my compliance, and I had learned to track the passage of days by the rhythm of the nurses' shoes on the corridor tile. Soft soles meant morning. Hard heels meant evening. The silence between meant night, and the night was when I did my real work.I had collected twelve pills by then. Small, blue, intended to keep me docile, to smooth the edges of my grief into something manageable and round. I crushed them each morning with the back of my toothbrush and flushed the powder down the drain, keeping the intact ones wrapped in a strip of bedsheet tucked behind

Tatiana They moved me to the estate in the morning, before the fog had lifted from the cliffs, while the sky was still the color of old bruises and the birds had not yet begun to scream. I rode in the back of a black car with Julian beside me, his thigh pressed against mine through the silk of my dress, his fingers drumming a slow, possessive rhythm against my knee. The pearls were around my throat again. He had fastened them himself in the facility room, his hands trembling slightly with an excitement that made my stomach clench, and I had smiled at him in the mirror with an expression so soft, so grateful, that he had leaned in and pressed his mouth to the nape of my neck and whispered that I was his miracle.The estate rose through the mist like a memory of something terrible I had tried to forget. Limestone walls. Wrought-iron gates. The same chestnut tree where Julian had parked what felt like lifetimes ago. But everything was different now because I was looking a

TatianaThe roses beneath my feet were real, and they were dying.I felt each petal crush under the weight of my heels as I walked the white aisle, the satin of my dress dragging across the grass with a sound like a whisper, like a warning, like the last breath of something beautiful before it drowned. The veil turned the world into soft focus, into a watercolor painting where every face was blurred except the ones that mattered: Julian at the end, smiling with a hunger that no amount of white silk could disguise, and the Godfather beside him, his winter-grey eyes watching me with the patient satisfaction of a man who had finally collected a debt long overdue. The guards flanked the aisle in two rigid lines, their weapons concealed beneath suit jackets and ceremonial sashes, but I could see the bulges, the tells, the way their hands hovered near their ribs. Twelve of them. Plus Voss near the chapel door, his scarred face carefully blank, his eyes fixed on a point somewh

TatianaThe boat smelled of diesel and fish and the copper-sweet rot of blood that would not wash out no matter how many waves broke over the gunwale. I sat in the stern with Leo curled against my chest, his small body rigid with a silence that was worse than crying, and I stared at the horizon where the estate had disappeared into a smear of grey and flame until my eyes burned and I could not tell if the redness was from smoke or from tears I was too numb to feel. My hands moved automatically, stroking the boy's hair, adjusting the blanket Dmitri had thrown over us, pressing against the bruises on my arms and ribs to remind myself that I was still alive, still breathing, still existing in a world where the man I loved had walked into fire and not walked out.Dmitri said nothing. He stood at the wheel with his back to us, his shoulders hunched against the wind, his coat snapping around him like a flag of surrender. He had not asked about Kain. He had not needed to. The