Tatiana's Pov;

I was done with packing at 10:30 AM sharp.I hadn’t taken much—at least it was a way of giving myself hope that I’d be back. It wouldn’t take long.

Father had denied me seeing my mother. He believed seeing her would only incite my rebellion.

It hurt, but at least it couldn’t be worse than going to the monastery and cutting off my communication.

“I’m leaving the damn country!” I murmured, my voice cracking at the seams as I told it to the girl in the mirror.

Her eyes were sad… like mine.

Why wouldn’t they be? When she had to leave everything behind without knowing how long she’d be away.

My brows wavered as I stretched my lips. She smiled back at me.

“We’re fine,” I said to the girl in the mirror.

We weren’t.

But we were always fine.

My head bobbed up and down slowly, my lips pressed tight so as not to cry.

She did the same.

And it shattered the pieces of my already broken heart.

A knock echoed on the door. Twice.

I ignored whoever it was on the other side.

One last look. Her eyes were sadder. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered, then grabbed my backpack and luggage and headed for the door.

The handle twisted open in my hands, and outside stood Olga.

“Zayka,” she called me by her endearment for me. Raw soberness in her voice.

I threw myself into her arms. All the pent-up emotions I had done well to mask came rushing forth like a broken dam.

And I wept in her arms so damn hard.

“Olga,” I muttered her name between broken sobs. “Dad is sending me far away.” My arms tightened around her waist as I poured out all my anguish.

“H-he said I’m going to Italy.” Agony tore at my throat.

“To Don Ruggiero?” Olga gasped.

“He hates me that much.”

The Italian Don was a spiteful one. Not any less ruthless than Father, or the Albanian Kryetar.

His two perverted sons, Romano and Caruso Ruggiero.

They scared the hell out of me.

“Please take care of my mother,” I pleaded, lifting my head to meet her gaze.

Her eyes softened as she adjusted her hold on me. “Who will take care of you, dear?”

I sniffed, releasing my left hand to wipe wet cheeks.

I flashed my signature smile, which always interpreted to “I’m fine.”

Olga blinked. “Are you sure?” Skepticism written all over her wrinkled face. But once I nodded, she believed anyway.

Echoes of footsteps against the floorboards were like a knife tearing through the melancholic atmosphere.

We both shifted our eyes from each other, letting go.

Olga bent at the waist in a bow. “Sir.”

A nod was Vladimir’s only acknowledgement to her.

I grit my teeth together to prevent my tongue from plunging me deeper into a situation worse than the one I was currently in.

“The car’s ready, miss.” He announced like he was just stating the weather.

I found Olga one more time. Her brows furrowed deeply.

One smile. And she nodded.

I walked out with my backpack, leaving the luggage behind.

The old man got the message. I heard him sigh before dragging it along.

Once we approached the double flight of stairs, I couldn’t help but throw a longing glance at the opposite one—my parents’ quarters.

My chest hurt as I turned away. Reluctantly.

Father had always gotten away with whatever he decided for my life. But I was fed up with sitting still and just taking it.

My spine straightened, my lips pressed together.

This would be the last.

I promised myself as I made it out of the Kuznetsovas’ mansion. The Sovietnik falling in step behind me.

The black Bentley Bentayga was already parked right outside.

I didn’t wait for Vladimir’s fake chivalry. Opening the door to the back seat, I slid in, making sure it was closed by me.

He went to put the medium-sized luggage in the car boot.

When I heard the sound of it closing, I ordered, “Drive.” And the chauffeur stepped on the gear. I didn’t look back, not once.

Because I wasn’t fucking leaving.

The car drove at 160 km/h, so we made it to the airport in less than sixty minutes.

I was directed to my father’s private plane section, where I found five bulky, able-bodied men in suits—my father’s men—waiting for me.

I swallowed nervously, sizing them up.

One rushed forward to take my luggage from the chauffeur, who readily handed it over.

I was led through the ramps. My chest hammered my failure into my bloodstream—I hadn’t even begun, but I had failed already.

It suddenly became hard to breathe.

“Going somewhere, princess?”

My feet planted themselves onto the last ramp of the plane.

I felt chills creep through my body.

Spinning toward the direction of the powerful voice, my lips fell agape.

Right in front of the plane, a man—tall and full of lean muscle—stood astride. Clothed in black apparel. A tight-fitted shirt clung to his broad chest—it looked like it’d rip at the slightest movement.

A tapered waist led to matching pants that hugged his thighs.

He was a sight to behold.

My father’s men pulled out guns from their holsters, leveling the barrels at him.

But he was unmoving. Fearless.

Instead, I watched as he—like a cobra—inclined his head to the side. A grin that wasn’t normal at all slit his thin lips.

He looked feral. My heart picked up pace.

They fired.

A scream slipped through my throat, piercing the air. But he wasn’t there anymore.

I darted confused glances around the walls of the private terminal. No hot man in sight.

The veins beneath my skin began to pulse. My mind raced with thoughts.

Did they get him?

Was he dead?

But I didn’t see a speck of blood on the spotless concrete floor that reflected the overhead lamps.

“Aghhhh!”

Not until I heard one of my father’s men scream, and then gurgle.

I spun instantly. I caught him choking on his blood, a tiny silver blade just leaving his throat. Long slender fingers gripping the weapon’s handle.

He moved like lightning.

Another scream lodged in my throat, but I muffled my wide mouth with my own fingers.

It hit me. “This is my chance.” I whispered beneath my breath. My backpack still hung behind me. I raced for the exit of the hangar.

Only sparing a glance to see the remaining four men engage in a fight with him. And damn, he was winning.

The rhythm of my beating heart drowned out the sound of grunts and flesh hitting flesh.

I dashed out, the cool air hitting my face.

The taxiway felt like a distance to attain, so I picked up pace, running as far as my legs could carry me.

My breathing became hard, my chest tightening. But I didn’t cave in.

Not until I heard, “Stop right there.” The deepness of his voice carried through the distance. But still, I didn’t.

He’d fought off the men so soon?

I felt fear’s tight embrace. I didn't succumb.

“Stop right now!” he barked another order.

This one sent chills to my bones.

I flung my head over my shoulder. He had leveled a gun at me.

I stumbled, but I didn’t stop running.

A gust of wind flew by, tossing back some of the mass of hair that fell over his forehead. Glaring golden eyes shot daggers at me.

I felt like they burned my soul.

My eyes widened till they hurt.

‘Bang!’ The bullet was set free.

But that’s not what haunted me…

I knew him!

Florian Vrioni.

Then everything went black.