Chapter 15 - The Kidnapping
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Two months dragged by in a numb, agonizing blur.
Aliyah threw herself entirely into her nursing rotations, working double shifts at the hospital to avoid thinking about pale gray eyes and the smell of expensive vodka. The news reported a violent gang war tearing through the Boston underworld, but Victor Malenkov’s name was never officially mentioned.
She convinced herself she was safe. She convinced herself she was better off without the darkness.
She was wrong.
It was a late Tuesday evening. Aliyah was walking to the subway station after a grueling fourteen-hour shift at the trauma center. The streets were slick with freezing rain, the glowing streetlights casting long, distorted shadows on the pavement.
A black, unmarked van pulled up abruptly to the curb.
Aliyah’s instincts flared, but she was exhausted, her reaction time slowed. The side door slid open violently. Two men in ski masks leaped out, grabbing her arms.
"Help!" she screamed, thrashing wildly, dropping her medical bag.
A heavy, chemically soaked cloth was clamped instantly over her nose and mouth. She held her breath, fighting with every ounce of strength she possessed, but a brutal punch to her stomach forced her to gasp. The sharp, acrid smell of chloroform flooded her lungs.
The wet pavement blurred, the streetlights smeared into darkness, and the world faded to black.
She woke up with a splitting headache, her hands bound tightly behind her back with zip-ties. She was tied to a metal chair in a damp, freezing warehouse that smelled of rust and seawater.
"Ah. Sleeping beauty awakens."
Aliyah blinked against the harsh glare of a single spotlight. Standing in front of her, smoking a thin cigarette, was Igor Romanov.
"Did you really think Malenkov could hide you?" Romanov sneered, blowing smoke into her face. "He pushed you away to protect you. How romantic. But it only made you an easier target."
"He doesn't care about me," Aliyah lied, keeping her voice steady, refusing to show the sheer terror threatening to consume her. "He fired me months ago."
Romanov laughed, a dark, ugly sound. "We shall see. I just sent him a photograph of you in this chair. I demanded the entire southern port territory in exchange for your life."
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"He won't negotiate," she said firmly.
"I know," Romanov smiled, pulling a heavy combat knife from his belt. "I am counting on it. I want him to come here. I want to kill the great Malenkov while he watches you bleed."
