Chương 2 - WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT
Nikolai moved before I could even scream.
One second his hand was resting over our daughter beneath my emerald dress.
The next, his entire body was between me and the darkness.
“Behind me.”
His voice was low enough that only I heard it.
Around us, chairs scraped against marble. Glass shattered. Hundreds of guests shouted at once, creating a wall of panic inside the ballroom.
Then someone grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
I gasped.
Nikolai spun, but another body slammed into him from the side.
“Viriato!”
“I see him.”
Something heavy crashed near the auction tables.
A man cursed.
I couldn’t see anything except tiny white flashes from phones and emergency exit signs.
The hand around my wrist tightened.
“Move,” a stranger hissed into my ear. “Don’t make me hurt the baby.”
Cold terror went straight through me.
For seven months, I had imagined every possible danger associated with being pregnant.
Falling.
Bleeding.
Early labor.
I had never imagined someone threatening my unborn daughter in a ballroom full of millionaires.
I twisted away.
The stranger dragged me back.
My sketchbook was still clutched in my other hand.
Without thinking, I drove the metal spiral binding backward as hard as I could.
The man shouted.
His grip loosened.
Then Nikolai hit him.
I didn’t see the blow.
I heard it.
A sickening crack, followed by a body crashing into a table.
“Serena.”
Nikolai found me instantly.
Both hands came to my face.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His palms were shaking.
That frightened me more than the blackout.
Nikolai Machado did not shake.
Red emergency lights flickered on.
The ballroom appeared around us in pieces.
Overturned chairs.
Broken champagne flutes.
Guests crouching behind tables.
Two men in catering jackets were running toward a service corridor.
Viriato went after them with three security men.
A third attacker lay near our feet, clutching his bleeding hand.
Nikolai stepped toward him.
I caught his sleeve.
“Nikolai.”
He stopped.
The man stared up at him with absolute terror.
“Who sent you?”
The attacker said nothing.
Nikolai crouched.
His expression changed into something I remembered from the morning I discovered exactly who he was.
Not anger.
Something colder.
“Who knew she would be here?”
Still nothing.
Nikolai reached for him.
“Nikolai.”
This time I said his name sharply.
His head turned.
“I need you here.”
That stopped him.
Not the frightened guests.
Not the security cameras.
Not the possibility of witnesses.
Me.
He stood and came back to my side.
Viriato returned less than a minute later.
“One escaped through the kitchen loading corridor. The other disappeared into the hotel stairwell.”
“Inside help?”
“Almost certainly.”
Nikolai’s jaw tightened.
I followed Viriato’s gaze across the ballroom.
Julian was sitting on the marble floor.
His champagne glass had shattered beside him.
A thin line of blood ran from his temple.
His fiancée was nowhere in sight.
When Julian saw us looking at him, something changed in his face.
Fear.
Real fear.
“I had nothing to do with this.”
Nikolai started toward him.
Julian scrambled backward.
“Mr. Machado, I swear.”
“You announced my child to this entire room five seconds before the lights went out.”
“You announced your child.”
Nikolai stopped.
Julian swallowed.
“I didn’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was being an ass.”
Even under those circumstances, the answer stunned me.
Julian looked at me.
His face had gone gray.
“I was trying to embarrass Serena. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I repeated.
His eyes dropped.
“No. It isn’t all. But I didn’t arrange an abduction.”
A contraction-like tightening crossed my stomach.
Not pain exactly.
Pressure.
I inhaled sharply.
Nikolai was beside me immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Serena.”
“My stomach tightened.”
That was enough.
He ignored my protests completely.
Within minutes, I was in a private medical suite upstairs used by the hotel for VIP emergencies.
A physician from the gala checked the baby while Nikolai paced five feet away like a caged animal.
The monitor finally produced the strongest, most beautiful sound I had ever heard.
Our daughter’s heartbeat.
Fast.
Steady.
Alive.
“Stress reaction,” the physician said. “Her heart rate is good. Your cervix is closed. But you need rest and no more excitement tonight.”
I almost laughed.
No more excitement seemed optimistic.
Nikolai sat beside the bed after the doctor left.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
His knuckles were bruised.
There was a tear in one sleeve of his tuxedo.
Seven months ago, I had believed leaving him was the safest thing I could do.
Now the safest place in the building felt like six inches from his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“For not finding you sooner.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew I left.”
“I knew you were afraid.”
“You could have come after me.”
“I almost did.”
“Almost?”
His gray eyes met mine.
“Then I imagined men following me straight to your door.”
That answer hurt because I understood it.
Before I could respond, Viriato entered.
He had blood on his collar.
Not his own, judging by the way he moved.
“We found something.”
Nikolai stood.
Viriato opened his palm.
A silver medallion lay against the black leather of his glove.
Saint Michael.
Sword raised.
Wings spread.
A deep scratch ran across the back.
Nikolai went completely still.
“What is that?” I asked.
Viriato didn’t answer immediately.
Nikolai did.
“My father gave twelve of those to the men in his personal protection unit.”
I looked toward the unconscious attacker visible through the open doorway.
“You’re saying that man worked for your father?”
“No.”
Nikolai took the medal.
“My father’s guards were disbanded more than a decade ago.”
Viriato’s expression had become unreadable.
I noticed then that he was staring at the scratch carved across the silver.
“You recognize it,” I said.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“Yes.”
“From where?”
Viriato slowly unbuttoned his collar.
He reached beneath his shirt and pulled out another Saint Michael medallion.
Almost identical.
Except the sword on his had been bent slightly to the left.
Nikolai stared at him.
“Viriato.”
“There were twelve medals,” Viriato said quietly. “But only two had that scratch.”
He pointed toward the one taken from the attacker.
“One belonged to me.”
My skin prickled.
“And the other?”
Viriato’s face changed.
For the first time since I had met him, the massive man looked almost afraid.
“My brother Tomas.”
Nikolai’s eyes narrowed.
“I thought Tomas died before my father’s unit was dissolved.”
“He did.”
The room went silent.
Viriato closed his hand around the medal.
Then he looked straight at Nikolai.
“Which means whoever sent those men tonight has been holding onto something taken from my brother’s body for twelve years.”
May you like
He paused.
“And they chose tonight to give it back.”
