Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
"Mrs. Bronzetti," a voice murmurs, cultured and pleasant. "Please don't make a scene. We have snipers positioned throughout the venue, targeting your husband's security team. One signal from me, and they start firing into the crowd."
I turn slightly, finding myself face to face with the false server, his expression now stripped of pretense. Beside him stands a woman I've never seen before but instantly recognize from descriptions—elegant, silver-haired, with eyes cold as arctic ice.
Valentina Biancardi.
"A pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," she says, voice honey over steel. "I've heard so much about Viktor's little half-sister."
The direct confirmation of her identity, of her knowledge of my relationship to Viktor, sends ice through my veins. But I keep my expression composed, chin lifted slightly in the posture Gabriele coached me to adopt when confronted directly.
"Ms. Biancardi," I acknowledge, neither submissive nor challenging. "I presume you arranged this theatrical entrance."
A hint of surprise flickers across her perfect features, quickly masked. "Resourceful and composed," she observes. "I can see why my nephew found you worth protecting. And why someone like Gabriele would be willing to tie himself down with marriage."
The implied intimacy in her tone, the suggestion that she understands Gabriele's feelings, sets my teeth on edge. But I know better than to rise to such obvious bait.
"What do you want?" I ask directly, maintaining eye contact despite the fear coiling in my stomach. "Surely this public venue isn't ideal for the conversation you're seeking."
"Perceptive, too," she notes with what appears to be genuine approval. "You're quite right. We have a more private setting prepared. You'll accompany us there now, quietly and without resistance."
"And if I refuse?"
Her smile is terrible in its gentleness. "Then, as my associate mentioned, we begin eliminating Gabriele's security team. Followed by random guests. Children first, I think. There are several in attendance tonight."
The calm certainty in her voice leaves no doubt she would follow through on this threat without hesitation, without remorse. Lives mean nothing to her compared to getting what she wants.
I consider my options, limited as they are. Screaming would create confusion but not effective help, not quickly enough to prevent snipers from firing. Physical resistance against trained professionals would be futile. Waiting for Gabriele or his team to locate me in this chaos is a gamble with innocent lives as collateral.
"Very well," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. "But you should know that Gabriele will find me. And when he does..."
I leave the sentence unfinished, the implication clear enough without specific threats.
Valentina's smile widens slightly, something almost like respect in her cold eyes. "Perhaps he will," she allows. "But by then, our business will be concluded."
The false server's grip tightens slightly on my arm, guiding me toward the kitchen with subtle but irresistible pressure. Valentina follows, her elegant evening gown exchanged somehow for a server's uniform that allows her to blend seamlessly with the venue staff now working to restore order in the power disruption.
We move through the kitchen—staff too busy with the emergency situation to notice anything amiss about two servers escorting a guest—and into the service corridors beyond. The route is clearly planned, clearly rehearsed, with just enough natural variation to avoid obvious patterns that might trigger security algorithms.
My mind races, cataloging details, mapping our path, looking for opportunities or weaknesses I might exploit. Gabriele's training echoes in my thoughts—observe, remember, maintain awareness, conserve energy for when action will be most effective.
We exit through a loading dock, a black SUV waiting with engine running. The transition from venue to vehicle takes less than ten seconds—efficient, professional, expertly timed to minimize exposure.
"Inside," the false server directs, opening the rear door.
I comply, seeing no viable alternative at this moment. Valentina slides in beside me, the false server taking the front passenger seat as the driver pulls away immediately, no words needed to confirm the extraction was successful.
"You're very calm," Valentina observes as we merge into evening traffic, nothing about the vehicle's movements drawing attention. "Most people would be hysterical by now."
"Would hysterics improve my situation?" I ask, genuine curiosity beneath the rhetorical question.
A laugh escapes her—brief, surprised, almost genuine. "No," she acknowledges. "They would not."
"Then what would be the point?"
She studies me with those cold eyes, assessment shifting into something more thoughtful. "You're not what I expected, Kleah Martell. Or should I say, Kleah Bronzetti now?"
"Either is accurate," I respond, maintaining the outward calm Gabriele emphasized was crucial in hostile situations. "Though I'm curious which aspects of me have surprised you."
"Your composure, primarily. Your apparent acceptance of circumstances beyond your control." She gestures elegantly. "Most civilians faced with abduction become emotional, irrational. You've maintained remarkable presence of mind."
"I've had excellent training."
"Gabriele," she says, understanding immediately. "He prepared you for this possibility."
"As much as anyone can be prepared for abduction by their husband's business rival," I acknowledge, deliberately using the most benign description of their relationship, knowing it will irritate her to have the blood vendetta reduced to mere competition.