Page 97 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

The Chesapeake Bay. That narrows it down somewhat. Maryland or Virginia, most likely.

“How did you know I’d be leaving early today?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He smiles. “We have someone inside the hospital. They’ve been reporting on your schedule for weeks. He texted me when you were leaving and then again to let me know you’d been delayed.”

A mole at the hospital. The thought makes me sick. Someone I work with, someone I trust, has been feeding information to Nikolai. Immediately, I suspect Justin. “Who?” I demand, momentarily forgetting my act of weakness. “Justin Kehlan?”

“That would be telling.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s just say, money…or anger…can buy almost anyone’s allegiance.”

Definitely Justin, who’d have no need for money, but who must still be angry enough with me and Damir to betray us. I return to my feigned semi-consciousness, letting my head roll with the movement of the car. The zip tie on my right wrist is beginning to give, the plastic mechanism weakening as I work it back and forth.

We pass another highway sign for Baltimore, thirty miles away. We’re getting closer to the Chesapeake.

“You should eat something,” says the driver, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a granola bar. “For the baby.”

He unwraps it one-handed and holds it back toward me. I take a small bite, chewing slowly. I need to keep up my strength, but I’m also buying time and working on the restraints. “Thank you,” I say, injecting gratitude into my voice. Building rapport with a captor can be a survival strategy. “What’s your name? Your real name?”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Alexei.”

“Alexei,” I repeat. “How long have you worked for Nikolai?”

“Five years.” He seems pleased by my interest. “In the beginning, I worked for both of them. Many of us did, until Nikolai showed us a better way.”

“Better how?” I ask, genuinely curious about what could make someone betray Damir.

“Nikolai understands ambition. He rewards it.” Alexei shrugs. “Damir wants control. Nikolai wants partners.”

I almost laugh at the absurdity. “Partners who kidnap pregnant women?”

His expression hardens. “This is business. You’re leverage and nothing more.”

The zip tie gives slightly more. I’m making progress. “Does Nikolai know I’m a doctor?” I ask, changing tactics. “That I save lives?”

Alexei shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what you do. It only matters who you are to Damir.”

The reality of my situation hits me anew. To these men, I’m not Elena Clarke, fourth-year medical student with dreams of becoming a surgeon. I’m not even a person. I’m property—Damir’s wife, the mother of his child, and a bargaining chip.

The car exits the highway, turning onto a smaller road. We’re getting closer to wherever they’re taking me. I need to work faster on the restraints. “I need to use the bathroom,” I say, making my voice urgent. “The baby presses on my bladder.”

Alexei frowns. “We’re almost there. You can wait.”

“I can’t,” I insist, shifting in my seat. “Please. Just a quick stop.”

He sighs heavily. “There’s a gas station in two miles. I’ll stop, but don’t try anything stupid. I’m not the only one watching you.”

That gives me pause. “What do you mean?”

“Nikolai has men everywhere. Even if you somehow got away from me, they would find you before you made it a mile.” He taps his earpiece. “And they’re always listening.”

I nod, feigning resignation while continuing to work on the zip tie. It’s looser now, the plastic giving way millimeter by millimeter.

The gas station appears ahead. It’s a small, rundown place with only two pumps. Alexei pulls in and parks away from the building, out of direct sight of the cashier.

“I’ll cut your restraint, but remember…” He pats his holster meaningfully. “One wrong move, and things get unpleasant.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small knife. As he leans over to cut the zip tie on my left wrist, I keep my right hand still, hiding the progress I’ve made on loosening that restraint.

The plastic falls away from my left wrist, leaving an angry red mark. I rub it gingerly, playing up my discomfort while assessing my options.

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