Page 56 of Shadow Waltz

The gentleness in his touch, combined with the absolute certainty in his voice, broke something loose in my chest. Not surrender, exactly, but the acknowledgment that I was fighting a war I wasn't sure I wanted to win.

“You're impossible,” I said, but the fight had gone out of my voice.

“I'm yours,” Luka corrected, and the simple declaration carried more weight than any possession or promise. “And you're mine. Everything else is just details we'll figure out as we go.”

Before I could respond, the intercom crackled with Mason's voice, cutting through the tension with urgent professionalism. “Sir, we have a priority message from Detective Reddick. He's requesting a meeting.”

Luka's demeanor shifted instantly, the Prince reasserting control as he moved toward the monitors that would show him the scope of whatever was developing. But his hand found mine as he passed, fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that was both possessive and reassuring.

“What's his angle?” Luka asked, already analyzing the implications.

“Claims he has information about threats to your recent acquisition,” Mason replied. “Says it's urgent and involves parties we've had previous dealings with.”

The words should have made me nervous, but instead I felt a strange anticipation. After days of luxurious captivity, any change felt like movement toward something—even if I wasn't sure what that something was.

“Schedule it,” Luka said, his voice carrying the kind of absolute authority that had built an empire from blood and shadow. “Neutral location, full security protocols.”

As Mason's voice faded, Luka turned back to me with eyes that burned with something I couldn't quite name.

“Whatever this is about,” he said, fingers touching the collar that marked me as his property, “you stay close to Troy until I know what Reddick wants.”

“What do you think he wants?” I asked.

“Information. Leverage. The usual things cops want when they can't build a case through normal channels,” Luka said. “But Detective Reddick isn't known for making social calls.”

The casual way he discussed potential law enforcement complications made something twist in my chest, but I pushed the feeling down. This was his world, and these were the kinds of problems that came with it.

“There's something else,” I said, because if we were all about to die, I might as well ask for the one thing that had been eating at me for eight years. “Something I need you to help me with.”

“What?” Luka asked, though his attention was already splitting between me and the crisis unfolding on his monitors.

“I need you to find someone,” I said. “Cassidy Rivera. They were with me the night I was first taken. I need to know what happened to them.”

Luka's attention snapped back to me completely, his expression shifting from distracted to laser-focused. “Tell me about them.”

So I did, keeping my voice clinical and factual because I couldn't afford to break down now. I told him about Cass's fierce loyalty, their belief that I was worth saving, the way they'd been torn away from me by men who saw us as commodities rather than people.

“How old were they?” Luka asked, already thinking tactically.

“Sixteen. Same as me.” The words tasted bitter. “We were just kids trying to survive.”

“Physical description?”

“Short, maybe five-four. Dark hair, brown eyes. They had this scar on their chin from falling off their bike when they were little.” I swallowed hard. “They were sick. Had been for months. Coughing up blood, losing weight. I don't know if they would have survived even if...”

“Even if they hadn't been taken,” Luka finished quietly.

“They were my friend,” I said finally, the words feeling inadequate for everything Cass had meant to me. “The only person who ever gave a damn about me without wanting something in return. They used to say I deserved better than what the world gave me.”

Luka listened without interruption, and when I finished, his expression carried the kind of calculation that meant he was already forming plans.

“I'll find them,” he said simply. “Whatever it takes.”

“They might be dead,” I said, voicing the fear that had lived in my chest for eight years. “It's been so long, and they were already sick, and the people who took them...”

“Then I'll find that out too,” Luka replied. “But if they're alive, I'll bring them to you.”

The certainty in his voice made something crack open in my chest, because it was the first time anyone had ever offered to help me reclaim something from my past.