HE THOUGHT HIS BRIDE-TO-BE SOLD HIM OUT UNTIL A LITTLE GIRL WHISPERED SIX WORDS—AND THE MAN HUNTING HIM WAS HIDING SOMETHING WORSE

The heavy oak doors of the West Wing suite unlocked with a harsh, metallic clack.

Inside the dimly lit room, Isabella sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, her head buried in her hands. She hadn’t touched the tray of food the guards had brought her two hours ago. Her shoulders shook with silent, exhausted sobs.

When the door opened, she didn’t even look up. She assumed it was another guard coming to check the locks or bring more icy silence.

Then she felt a pair of warm, heavy hands gently rest on her trembling shoulders.

Isabella flinched, pulling back out of instinct, her eyes swollen and red as she looked up. But instead of the cold, lethal killer who had confronted her in his office yesterday, she saw Aleandro kneeling on the carpet before her.

His jacket was off. His tie was loosened. And his dark grey eyes were no longer filled with vengeance—they were filled with an agonizing, raw pain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Aleandro asked softly, his thick fingers gently tracing the tear tracks on her cheek.

Isabella swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aleandro. I told you… I put the bug there. I betrayed you. Just… just send me away. Do whatever you have to do to me, but please—”

Aleandro didn’t let her finish. He pulled his tablet from his inner pocket, tapped the screen, and set it on her lap.

The image of little Clara in the yellow dress beamed up at her.

Isabella gasped—a sound so sharp and violent it sounded like a physical wound. She snatched the tablet against her chest, her body convulsing into uncontrollable, ragged weeping.

“Clara…” she sobbed, pressing her forehead against the glass screen. “My baby… oh God, my sweet baby…”

“She’s alive, Isabella,” Aleandro said gently, gathering both of her shaking hands into his broad palms. “I saw the timestamp. The picture was taken yesterday afternoon. She is alive.”

“They have her, Aleandro!” Isabella cried out, dropping the tablet to grab his lapels, her nails digging through his shirt. “They took her from her preschool in New Jersey four days ago! They told me if I said a single word to you—if I breathed your name to your security detail—they would kill her! They said you were a monster who would use her as bait!”

Aleandro felt a sharp twist in his heart. “Who told you that?”

“The voice on the phone,” she sobbed, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “He knew everything! He knew your schedule. He knew where your guards were posted. He knew the exact layout of your study! He said… he said the only way Clara would survive your war was if I gave them your private council meetings!”

Aleandro held her tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around her small, shaking frame until her breathing began to slow.

“Listen to me,” Aleandro whispered into her hair, his tone turning into a promise forged of pure iron. “You are not a traitor, Isabella. You are the strongest woman I have ever known. And I am going to bring Clara home to you before this week is over.”

Isabella pulled back slightly, staring into his eyes with a mixture of hope and terror. “How? Aleandro, they’re watching everything! They’re listening through the bug right now!”