If Not Mine, Then No One’s

Chapter 10

Atalanta forced a calm she did not feel. “I apologize on her behalf — please, settle down and explain again,” she said, voice steadying itself like a thin rope over a void.

Dante’s reply was curt. “We aren’t playing with you. A small problem came up and the meeting must be postponed. I’m sorry.”

Sara’s fury flared at once. “What problem? If there are issues, why call us here just to waste our time?”

Dante’s tone hardened. “This was unavoidable. Our secretary will escort you to the exit. Good day.” He turned and left.

Sara stood abruptly, all the rage she’d been holding now boiling over. I followed her out of the room as she paced and muttered, spat phrases I barely caught. “What do they think they are—” she hissed.

“Shh,” I said, cutting her off. “Calm down. If we make a scene we’ll lose our chance to be this close to them. Walk calmly, smile. Don’t draw attention.”

Reluctantly, she smoothed her face and forced a smile. We were led out, guided by the secretary to the exit, and then we stepped into a taxi back toward the hotel.

⸻

Two days later, somewhere behind closed doors, Narias sat hunched and silent. The room had been a prison for forty-eight hours; his hands trembled with a fury he could not set loose.

Dante knocked and entered when called. He came with news.

“I gathered information about that girl,” he said.

“Speak,” Narias demanded.

Dante’s voice dropped low. “She was married before — and more importantly, she works as a chief prosecutor at the Special Court for Criminals in the Netherlands.”

Narias’s face hardened. “What?” His world tilted. “So her mission here… it’s exactly what we feared.”

Dante’s eyes went cold. “As we vowed, this time we will finish it. We’ll kill her.”

The words hung in the room like a verdict. Narias’s hand slapped the desk. “Find her. Bring her to my office.”

“Understood,” Dante answered and left.

When the door closed I forced myself up. I washed my face until the water ran pink with something that wasn’t just fatigue. I dressed carefully, checked my reflection, and tightened the strap of my shoe as if fastening armor. Then I set out for the company — to wait, to deliver a message, to see him.

My pulse thudded with a new, dangerous purpose. I would go. I would stand there and hand him the words I’d rehearsed. I would watch his face. Whatever came after — whatever that face had once done to me and whatever those men planned now — I would not run. I would not break without choosing how.