Page 60 of Tattooed Heart

The helicopter races through the night sky, but I’ve never felt more trapped or helpless. The minutes drag on, each second a torment as I imagine what is happening at the mansion.

19

SANDY

The clock ticks too loudly. It has become a cruel metronome, pacing my anxiety as I stand by the window of the bedroom. Wind whispers against the glass, and somewhere in the mansion, a door slams, followed by the faint echo of shouted orders. I don’t need to look to know Aleksandr's men are on alert. Dimitri is out there with his team, taking down the bastard doctor who dared to work for Morozov and threaten my baby. And I’m here, pacing.

My hand drifts to my belly, a protective gesture I make a hundred times a day now. The baby moves, a tiny flutter, and I close my eyes, breathing through the ache of worry. I want Dimitri back. I want him beside me, safe and breathing.

The minutes crawl by like hours. Each second stretches into eternity as my thoughts race between prayers and panic. Dimitri promised me he would return safely. It’s already past eleven. The grandfather clock in the hallway continues its merciless rhythm, each tick reverberating through my bones.

I move away from the window, trailing my fingers along the silk wallpaper as I circle the room for what feels like the hundredthtime. With its ornate furniture and plush carpets, this bedroom has become a sanctuary and prison in the weeks since Dimitri brought me here. The Avilov estate is impenetrable, he assured me. No one can touch me here. But safety comes with isolation, and tonight, the walls seem to close around me.

“Come back to me,” I whisper into the empty room. “Please come back.”

My reflection in the vanity mirror grabs my attention. I hardly recognize myself anymore. The woman staring back at me has changed in subtle but unmistakable ways. My cheeks are fuller, my eyes hold a wariness that wasn’t there a few months ago, and my hands now constantly seek the firm curve of my stomach. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be carrying Dimitri Popov's baby, I would have laughed in their face. But that was before I understood what it meant to belong to someone so completely.

A sudden crack of gunfire in the distance shatters my thoughts. I freeze. Then come more. Short bursts. They aren’t close, but my pulse surges. The estate is under attack.

I turn and grab my phone, but before I can unlock the screen, the bedroom door slams open.

“Miss Sandy! You must come with me now!” Elena, one of the household maids, stands breathless in the doorway. Her hair is loose from its braid, her apron stained, and her eyes wild with urgency. “We have to go. This way.”

I cross the room. “To the panic room? Is Talia there with the children?” I ask, remembering the last time Elena rushed me through hidden corridors to safety when Morozov's men tested the estate's security.

Elena's expression twitches almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Quickly. Follow me.”

Something about the way she says it scrapes against my instincts. The slight hesitation in her voice and the way her eyes don’t quite meet mine set me on edge. But gunfire crackles outside, growing closer, and I have no choice. I follow her into the hallway, one hand protective over my belly.

The corridor is eerily empty. Usually, Aleksandr’s security detail hovers nearby, their presence comforting but suffocating. Tonight, they are nowhere to be seen. The absence of guards sends a shiver down my spine.

“Where is everyone?” I ask, hurrying to keep pace with Elena.

“They are fighting,” Elena replies tersely. “All hands needed. Mr. Avilov gave orders for household staff to move you.”

We move fast, but not in the direction I remember. The last time, the panic room was through the east wing. We used a basement stairwell entrance beneath the library. This time, Elena leads me through a corridor I’ve never seen, past the service kitchen, through the laundry hall, and out a narrow side door.

“Elena,” I say, slowing. “Where are we going? This isn't the way?—”

She stops and turns. And that's when I see the gun in her hand.

My heart stutters. “You're not taking me to the panic room, are you?”

She doesn’t answer. Just gestures with the weapon. “Keep walking.”

The betrayal cuts deep, even though I barely know Elena. Since my arrival, she’s been kind to me, bringing extra pillows without being asked for and sneaking chocolate when Dimitri’s doctor put me on a strict diet. I thought perhaps we were becoming friends. How naive.

“Why?” I ask, my voice faint over the distant gunfire. “Why would you do this? Dimitri and Aleksandr trusted you.”

“I have no choice,” she replies, her accent thickening with stress. “Now move.”

The air outside smells of smoke and gunpowder. Somewhere south of the property, I hear shouting, orders barked in Russian, and the answering crack of return fire. A distraction, I realize with sinking clarity. The attack on the south perimeter is meant to draw security away from the north side, where Elena is now marching toward freedom. Or toward my death.

The grounds are dark, and the security lights are mysteriously disabled. I stumble over uneven terrain, mud sucking at my sneakers with every step.

“Elena,” I try again, my voice trembling. “You don't have to do this. Whatever they promised you?—”

“Quiet,” she hisses, jabbing the gun toward the waiting black van near the tree line. “I don’t have a choice. They will kill my daughter if I don’t do this.”

---