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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Valentina

“Mussorgsky’s Songs and Dances of Death ,” I whisper. Everything starts spinning, and I sway gently. Enzo grabs me, scooping me up and draping my body across the couch.

“What is that?” he demands, his voice rising as the somber tune grows louder. “What does it mean?”

“Found it,” Jack announces, jogging in from the kitchen. He’s holding a cell phone in his hand. The song stops, and everyone looks around, confused.

“Whose phone is this?” Enzo yells, but no one claims it. He snatches it from Jack’s hands and opens the message flashing on the screen.

A photo.

I pry it out of his grasp and open it. When I see Matilda’s small frame huddled in a dark room, I gasp, unable to do anything else.

Another message immediately comes in. A string of coordinates.

I look at the picture of Matilda one more time, confirming it’s actually her, and read the message.

Looking for something? Come and find me.

“This is madness,” I say, shaking my head.

Enzo shouts out instructions, and everyone flies into motion. Someone pulls me off the couch, and I stumble to a car, dazed and confused.

By the time I finally start to recover from the shock, we’re halfway to the city. I clutch the unclaimed phone in my trembling hands, staring at the photo of Matilda.

Enzo’s flying down the interstate toward the city, and I pray that we arrive alive. The rest of the crew is behind us, moving at a slightly more acceptable pace, but we’re definitely breaking all the speed limits.

“Enzo,” I caution him as he swings violently onto the off-ramp. I clutch the handle for dear life. “We can’t save her if you kill us.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” he moans, letting the speedometer fall a few ticks. “I can’t help it. I’m used to sports cars.”

“Well, we’re in a fucking pickup truck from 1977.” I snap.

He grits his teeth, switching to the map to track our progress again.

“I’m sorry,” I say lamely. “It’s a lot.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“You weren’t yelling,” he assures, throwing me a small smile. “Sometimes we just talk loud, it’s okay.”

We’re five minutes away from the docks. It looks like the location is on the warehouse side of the river, a place I’m not fully familiar with. Enzo maneuvers it like a professional, though, and pulls up near a large metal warehouse.

“What is this place?” I ask, hopping out.

“It’s my warehouse,” he says, giving me a confused glance. “She’s keeping her here?”

“No, wait.” I check the map. “It’s closer to the water, around the back of the building.”

“Let’s check it out.” He nods, pulling me along.

We press ourselves flush against the cold metal walls as we near the corner and stick to the shadows. Enzo rounds the corner first and stops in his tracks.

“What is it?” I ask, peeking around him. A large white luxury yacht sits docked near the warehouse, blazing with lights. I double-check the map and gasp.

That’s the location?

Enzo shoots me a questioning look, and I nod, confirming this is it. He shakes his head and pulls me back around the corner, away from the yacht’s view.

“I don’t like this,” he says nervously. “This could be a setup.”

“We have nothing else,” I plead. “We need to check it out.”

“We will,” he agrees, gritting his teeth. I see the muscle in his jaw twitch and know he’s trying to assess the likelihood of this ending well for us. “But we wait for the others.”

“Fine,” I agree, even though I’m ready to bolt onto that yacht alone.

We rest against the wall, nervously scouring the parking lot for approaching headlights. I keep my gun pressed flush against my thigh, ready to defend Enzo with all I’ve got if it comes down to that.

“Where are they?” I whisper anxiously. “They were right behind us when we left the house.”

“Lenny,” he whispers, his voice low and gruff. “That was an hour ago, and you know how fast I drive. It might be a few more minutes.”

His hand finds mine in the darkness, and I grab it, holding on for dear life. Silence stretches between us, no sounds around us except late-night traffic and tugboats.

“Enzo,” I beg, itching to go. A minute out here is a minute I’m away from Matilda.

A piercing shriek throws us into action. Enzo’s around the corner in seconds, and I blindly run after him, using the wall as my guide.

Another scream and we pick up our pace.

“It’s coming from the boat,” I gasp, struggling to keep up with his long legs and athletic body. “It’s Matilda.”

We reach the boat in seconds, and he pauses, glancing down at me. I nod, ready to go. I don’t care what happens from now on—I need to find my baby.

“There’s no time to wait,” he says sadly as another scream floats toward us from the yacht. “Fuck.”

He grabs my hand tight, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the parking lot, and pulls me up onto the plank with him.

We jump onto the boat, guns drawn and ready. I fly toward the cabin door, but Enzo grabs me by the jacket and hauls me back to him.

“Lenny,” he scolds. “We stay together, got it?”

I nod, tears already forming in the corners of my eyes. I’m trying to follow his lead, but he’s too slow, too intentional. I’m ready to run in there, guns blazing, and shoot anyone who stands between me and Matilda.

Suddenly, the floor lurches under us, and I stumble, falling into Enzo.

All the lights turn off, and we’re blinded by the darkness around us. I spin around, glancing back at the docks, and realize the one streetlight near the warehouse is growing smaller and smaller.

“We’re moving,” I whisper. I hear Enzo cursing under his breath and attempting to find me in the darkness.

“I know,” he finally whispers back, his fingers tightening around my jacket. “This is bad, Lenny. Really fucking bad.”

A door creaks open, and my heart jumps into my throat. I hold my gun in front of my chest with shaking hands, not knowing what I’m pointing it at.

I hear Enzo suck in a breath as the lights flip back on. I realize I’m still staring at the shore.

The streetlight is so tiny . I see cars pulling up and figures scrambling out. Too late now.

I feel Enzo lower his gun behind me and slowly turn around, knowing full well what he’s looking at. I blink at the blinding light pouring out of the cabin below and finally see her.

Flowing red waves glisten in the weak moonlight. She’s wearing a sheer white gown—like a fucked-up version of a sleazy wedding dress. Red lipstick lines her mouth, and she’s smiling.

A chill crawls up my back. That’s not a welcoming smile.

That’s an “I’m going to kill you” smile.

“Alexandra, put the gun down,” I hear Enzo say. I see figures lurking in the shadows, blinded to what they are because of the bright lights beaming out from below.

The light encircles Alexandra, making her look like some twisted, unholy angel.

“Alexandra,” Enzo warns again, his voice low and thick. “Put. It. Down.”

The figures emerge from the darkness.

I swing my head around, feeling someone grab my arm, and scream.

Then everything goes black.