Page 71 of Dalla's Royal Guards
Her eyes drifted back to the phone—waiting either for movement on the camera or a ping from Kyle.
A soft, pleased chuckle escaped her as the screen lit up.
Room 1420. The door opened.
Three figures stepped into the hallway—tall, focused, bags in hand. The woman’s braid swayed as she walked. The two men flanked her like wolves on high alert.
“Yes, my pretties,” she whispered, her smile widening. “Come to me.”
Stella sat back in the leather seat, one red shoe impatiently tapping against the floorboard.
This was the part she hated the most. The waiting for the thrill of adrenaline that she knew would surge through her when she made her kill. That was what she lived for—the rush.
The elevator doors slid shut with a smooth chime, enclosing them in silence.
“Our escort will be waiting outside any time now,” Musad said, adjusting the duffel over his shoulder. “Raja arranged for one of his elite teams to guide us to a private airfield. A helicopter will be waiting to take us to Narva.”
Dalla glanced at him, her features pale but composed. She gave him a smile of relief at the news. He reached down and squeezed her fingers in response.
“Donovan told me Cianna and Nanna made it back safely.” Nasser said. “Cianna’s with Lissa and Mario. Lissa’s recovering faster now that she has Cianna back.”
Relief flowed through Musad. He hadn’t realized how tightly his chest had been clenched until that moment.
“How is Dad celebrating?” he asked, his lips quirking upward with amusement.
Nasser chuckled. “He and Cianna have made cookies.”
Musad shook his head. “Which means we’ll probably walk into a feast worthy of a French bakery.”
Beside him, Dalla let out a breathless laugh. “I can think of worse things. While the French had their moments in history where it wasn’t fun to live there, they also have the best food in the world. Don’t tell anyone else I said that. I knew a few Italians once upon a time who would be offended.”
Her casual confession reminded Musad of Dalla’s unique circumstance. It was easy, seeing her dressed like this, in modern clothing, to forget that she had lived through some of history’s most profound moments—over and over again.
She is so strong. So brave. So beautiful.
He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. She leaned into him without hesitation, and he was thankful—for that simple trust, for the opportunity to hold her, because soon, she would be safe.
Their reflections in the mirrored wall were distorted, their silhouettes blurry. But the sense of unity among the three of them was sharp and clear.
“I don’t want to put you in danger,” Dalla suddenly said in a quiet voice.
“We’re always in danger, Dalla. We can handle it,” Nasser reassured. “We’ll find them, or they’ll find us, but whatever happens, we will not leave you or let you go. You belong with us now, Dalla.”
The elevator slowed, nearing the ground floor.
“We’ll get off here,” Musad said. “I’ll go down to the garage and bring the SUV around front. You two wait inside the doors until I pull up with Raja’s team.”
Dalla turned toward him, eyes darkening with worry. “You should stay with us.”
“It’s safer if we’re not all in one place, and I need to retrieve the vehicle,” Musad replied, squeezing her waist gently. “We don’t know how many eyes are watching. If something goes wrong, you and Nasser will be better positioned to move.”
She clearly wanted to argue, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave a sharp nod, her jaw tight. He didn’t miss the way her hand moved under the short, black jacket she was wearing to the seax at her waist.
The elevator chimed.
They stepped out onto the gleaming marble of the hotel lobby. Light spilled across the polished floors from the glass doors beyond, and a warm breeze teased at the air through the rotating entrance. Guests milled around the lobby, chatting, entering, and exiting.
Without a word, Musad veered right toward the stairwell.
