Chapter 7 - THE ABDUCTION
It happened two weeks later, during a rare moment of complacency.
Damon was out of the country negotiating a peace treaty with the cartel to secure a legitimate shipping route. Marcus was tasked with guarding Nora and Milo. They had gone to a private, heavily vetted pediatric clinic in Manhattan for Milo's checkup.
It was a setup.
The doctor’s office was breached. Smoke grenades shattered the windows, filling the room with blinding, choking gas. Marcus took down two heavily armed men but was shot twice in the chest, collapsing in a pool of his own blood.
Nora grabbed Milo, shoving him into a supply closet, shielding him with her body as the door was violently kicked open. Rough hands grabbed her hair, dragging her screaming into the corridor.
"Take the kid," a heavy Russian accent barked. "Cross will surrender his entire port authority for the boy."
"No!" Nora fought like a feral cat, biting, scratching, gouging the eyes of the man holding her. She managed to break free just enough to throw herself over Milo, wrapping him in a death grip. "Take me! Just take me, leave him!"
They hit her with the butt of a rifle. The world exploded into white hot pain, then faded to black.
When Nora regained consciousness, the smell of mildew, rust, and salt water filled her lungs. She was tied to a chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Her head throbbed violently, warm blood trickling down her temple.
Panic seized her. "Milo!"
"Nora..."
The sound was so small, so fragile, she thought she imagined it. She snapped her head to the right. Milo was sitting on a crate, unrestrained, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.
He had spoken.
"Milo," Nora sobbed, straining against the ropes. "You spoke. Oh, honey, I'm right here. I'm right here."
Ivan Petrov stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly. "Touching. Truly. The mute boy speaks for the hired help. Let us see if his father screams for you."
Petrov held up a phone, dialing a number. Damon's voice, cold and sharp as a scalpel, echoed through the speaker.
May you like
"Petrov. You are a dead man walking."
"I have your heart, Cross," Petrov mocked. "The boy, and the beautiful waitress. Sign over the East River docks by midnight, or I send them back to you in pieces."
