“You,” I said finally. “You can take me. I’ll repay you with myself. Use me. Hurt me if you want. Make me your servant, your slave—anything. Just bring my son back alive.”
I heard him inhale softly, like someone opening a book they’d been waiting years to read.
I expected laughter. Disconnection.
Instead, his voice came back calm, icy.
“Then it’s settled. I will save your son. And afterward, you will belong to me again. Every part of you. Everything you denied me.”
Tears slid down my face, hot and unashamed. I hadn’t known I could still bargain like this—trade myself for the life bound to mine by blood. But the truth was mercilessly clear. I had chosen safety once and lost my heart for it.
This time, I chose differently.
“I agree,” I said. “Please. Bring him home.”
“Good,” Dimitri replied. “Don’t contact me again unless you intend to honor our agreement.”
The call ended.
---
Eight hours later, they finally dragged me out. One of Dominic’s men shoved me toward the car and said flatly, “Boss says go home. Start cooking.”
Cooking.
As if I hadn’t been locked in darkness while my son screamed on a screen.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message—from Dimitri.
A location. A hospital name. A room number.