Page 78 of Trapping His Darling

I could feel the weight of Roger’s words crushing down on me, but I refused to break. “And what if he doesn’t give them what they want?”

A dark look passed over Roger’s face. “Then you become the next casualty in this war, Tiffany.”

Determination burned within me. “If you think Viktor will let anything happen to me, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Roger chuckled bitterly. “Oh, I have no doubt that Viktor will move heaven and earth to save you. The question is, will it be enough?”

As Roger’s words hung heavy in the stifling air of the undisclosed location, my mind raced like a caged animal, desperate for freedom. I knew that my life hung in the balance, that I was nothing more than a pawn in the dangerous game between the Bratva and the Italians, but I refused to accept this grim fate.

The ropes binding my wrists and ankles dug into my skin, a constant reminder of my vulnerability. Roger’s betrayal cut deep, but it also ignited a spark of determination within me. I couldn’t allow myself to become a casualty of this ruthless power struggle.

Roger, his attention momentarily elsewhere, checked his phone, likely sending a message to his Italian allies. It was a fleeting moment, but it was all I needed. My years as a serial killer had honed my instincts, my ability to seize opportunity in the darkest of circumstances.

I began to subtly work on the ropes again, shifting my wrists back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Sweat formed on my brow as I fought to maintain my composure, to hide the fact that I was attempting to free myself.

The seconds stretched into eternity as I continued to work at the knots. My heart thundered in my chest, and my every nerve was on edge. I couldn’t afford to fail; failure meant death.

Finally, after what felt like a long time, the ropes around my wrists gave way. I stifled a triumphant gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Now came the delicate part; freeing my ankles, without alerting Roger.

I steadied my breathing, a skill I’d honed over years of remaining calm in the face of danger. Slowly and methodically, I wriggled my ankles, silently thanking whatever stroke of luck had made Roger underestimate me.

And then, with one last, careful tug, the ropes around my ankles slipped free. I had done it. I was no longer bound, no longer helpless.

But the room was still fraught with danger. Roger was just a few feet away, and the door was the only exit. I needed a plan, a way to make my escape without him realizing what had transpired.

I glanced around, searching for anything that could help me. My eyes settled on a small table nearby, adorned with an assortment of items. Among them, a heavy glass vase caught my attention.

With every ounce of strength and determination, I lifted the vase and held it high above my head. In that moment, my heart raced, and my mind was a whirlwind of chaos and adrenaline. I was ready to fight for my life.

And then, with a swift and decisive motion, I brought the vase crashing down onto the floor. The shattering sound filled the room, a cacophony of chaos that drew Roger’s attention in an instant.

I didn’t hesitate. I lunged for the door, my bare feet padding silently against the cold floor. Roger turned toward the noise, confusion and anger flickering across his face as he realized what had happened.

But it was too late. I burst through the door and into the corridor beyond, my heart pounding with the exhilaration of escape. I knew I had to move quickly, to vanish into the shadows and evade capture.

As I raced down the dimly lit corridor, I couldn’t help but think that Roger’s betrayal might just be the catalyst for my survival. My past as a serial killer had taught me to be cunning, resourceful, and unrelenting. And now, I was determined to use those skills to ensure that I would not become a pawn in someone else’s deadly game.

My escape had begun, and I was ready to fight for my freedom, no matter the cost.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Viktor, Italy

The darknessof the night enveloped me, as I approached the undisclosed location where Tiffany had been held captive. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and determination propelling me forward. I knew that time was running out.

My mind was a whirlwind of concern and determination. Tiffany was out there, somewhere in the sprawling labyrinth of Italy, and I needed to find her before the Italians did. Roman, our 12-year-old prodigy, had been invaluable in gathering information, and I waited anxiously for his return.

The door swung open,and Roman entered, his expression a mixture of excitement and solemnity. He may have been a child, but his intellect was unmatched.

“Viktor,” he began, his voice steady beyond his years, “I’ve got news about Tiffany.”

I turned to him, my heart pounding with anticipation. “Tell me, Roman.”

He stepped closer and began to relay the information he had gathered. “Witnesses saw an unconscious woman carried through the streets near the old warehouse district. They described her as being bruised and clearly disheveled.”

I felt a surge of hope. It was a lead, a thread to follow in our quest to find Tiffany. “Did anyone mention a direction? Have any bystanders stated where they took her?”

Roman nodded, his eyes focused. “Yes, some mentioned they were heading toward the eastern part of the city, near the river. There’s an abandoned building there that the men might have sought refuge in.”

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