Chapter 49 Chapter 49
Chapter 49
Nina’s POV
The smoke curled thick and choking around us, turning the cracked service door into a hazy portal. Amanda’s hand slipped in mine, slick with sweat and grime, as we pushed forward. My crimson gown hung in tatters, the satin heavy with dust and soot, clinging to my skin like a second layer of fear.
The alarms blared in relentless pulses, red emergency lights bathing everything in a bloody glow that made the shadows dance like living things.
My lungs burned with every breath, and my legs felt like lead, but we had no choice. Run or die.
The figure in the shadows stepped into the red light. A man—tall, broad, dressed in black tactical gear like the others, but his face was hard, eyes cold under a visor.
He raised his gun, the barrel steady and pointed straight at my chest.
“You can’t leave,” he said, voice rough and unyielding over the chaos. “Someone already paid one hundred million for your head. The sheik doesn’t like loose ends.”
My heart stopped. The sheik. The mystery bidder in black, with his white Arabian thobe and that predatory smile. One hundred million. Not just a bid, but a claim.
Amanda froze beside me, her fingers digging into my arm. The gunman took a step closer, his boots crunching on shattered glass. “Move, and I end this quick. For both of you.”
Before I could scream, a shadow moved behind him—fast, silent. Enzo. He appeared from the smoke like a ghost, his face still taut and dangerous, eyes locked on the gunman. Without a word, he raised his own pistol. A single shot cracked through the air, sharp and final.
The gunman jerked, blood blooming across his shoulder, and he dropped to one knee with a grunt. Enzo fired again—lower this time, into the man’s leg. The guard collapsed fully, gun skittering across the floor into the darkness.
“Run!” Enzo barked, his voice low but laced with urgency. He grabbed my free arm, pulling me and Amanda through the door. We stumbled into a narrow service corridor, the walls vibrating with aftershocks from the explosions.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing like angry insects, casting long shadows that stretched ahead of us. Enzo led the way, gun still in hand, checking corners with quick, practiced glances. His tuxedo was torn at the sleeve, blood—someone else’s—spattered across his shirt, but he moved like a machine, no trace of the playful flirt I knew.
We burst out of a side exit into the night. The world outside was a war zone. Cars littered the street—luxury sedans crumpled like tin cans, some flipped on their sides, others burning with orange flames licking the sky.
Law enforcement swarmed everywhere: FBI vans with flashing lights, SWAT teams in heavy armor crouching behind barricades, police cruisers blocking intersections. Helicopters thumped overhead, searchlights sweeping the ground in bright white beams, cutting through the smoke rising from the skyscraper.
Gunfire popped in the distance, mixed with shouts and the wail of more sirens. The air smelled of gunpowder, burning rubber, and fear—thick and metallic. Bodies lay scattered on the pavement, some moving weakly, others still. Paramedics in vests rushed between them, shouting for stretchers.
Enzo pulled us behind a flipped SUV, its windows shattered into webs of cracks. “Stay low,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. Amanda huddled close, her body shaking, silver gown now gray with ash.
We looked terrible—hair matted, faces streaked with soot and tears, clothes ripped and bloodied from falls and debris. My bare back stung from scrapes, and my feet throbbed in the strappy heels, but adrenaline kept me going.
Above us, a helicopter hovered low, its rotors thumping like a giant heartbeat. Something descended from it—long, coiled hoses snaking down the side of the building, spraying thick jets of water that hissed against the flames bursting from windows.
Foam mixed with the water, white and frothy, cascading over the structure like a waterfall. People below scattered, slipping on the wet pavement as the spray doused them too, soaking gowns and tuxedos, turning the elegant crowd into drenched, scrambling masses.
I looked up through the rain of water. Dante piloted the chopper, his face illuminated in the cockpit lights, focused and unyielding as he maneuvered the craft.
Nikolai leaned out the side door, strapped in, holding what looked like a massive gun—but it was a high-pressure hose, blasting water in powerful arcs across the roof and walls. The spray hit the flames with explosive hisses, steam rising in thick clouds that billowed into the night sky.
Nikolai’s golden-hazel eyes scanned the ground below, jaw set, water dripping from his hair as he directed the flow. They were saving the building. Saving lives. But why? And where was Enzo leading us?
We darted from cover to cover, Enzo’s hand firm on my elbow. Water pelted us from above, cold and relentless, soaking through my gown until it clung transparently to my skin.
Amanda gasped beside me, her teeth chattering. We slipped past a line of FBI agents cordoning off the area, their vests glowing under flashlights, radios crackling with urgent updates. “Multiple devices confirmed,” one said into his mic. “Evac in progress.”
Finally, we reached a clearing near the perimeter, away from the immediate crush.
Amanda and I collapsed against a barrier, gasping for air, water streaming down our faces. Enzo stood guard, gun lowered but ready, scanning the shadows.
Before we could catch our breath, a group of FBI agents approached—four of them, vests marked in bold white letters, flashlights sweeping us. The lead one, a woman with sharp features and a tight ponytail, stepped forward. “Amanda Reyes?”
Amanda straightened, eyes wide. “Yes?”
“You’re under arrest,” the agent said, voice calm but firm.
“We need information from you. You blew the whistle first—called in the tip about the bombs.”
Amanda’s face crumpled. She burst into tears, shoulders shaking. “I… I did it for her,” she sobbed, pointing at me.
“Nina’s my best friend. Josh hurt her. Raped her. I got close to him to revenge that. Pretended to date him, got into his plans. I knew about the bombs, the auction setup. I had to stop it.”
The agent nodded, her expression softening slightly. “We know. You’re not in trouble for that. We need everything you have on him. He’s a rapist, used guns illegally, tied to bigger networks.
We’ll take you for a medical check-up first, make sure you’re okay. You’ll be protected as long as you cooperate.”
Amanda cried harder, relief mixing with her sobs. “I’m saved? Really?”
The agent pulled out a phone, dialing quickly. “We’re putting your parents on the line.”
A moment later, voices crackled through the speaker—her mom and dad, frantic but relieved.
“Amanda? Baby, are you okay?” Her mom’s voice broke. “We’re coming right now. We’ll meet you at the safe house.”
Amanda clutched the phone, tears streaming. “I love you. I’m sorry for everything.”
She hung up, then turned to me. We hugged fiercely, her body trembling against mine. “I’m sorry, Nina. For Josh, for everything. I did it for you.”
I held her tight, my own tears falling. “Go. Be safe.”
She followed the agents, glancing back one last time with a weak smile.
Then the FBI team parted, wheeling out a gurney. Josh’s body lay on it—pale, lifeless, bloodied from Enzo’s shots.
His eyes stared blankly at the sky, mask gone, face twisted in eternal surprise.
Isabella appeared from the smoke, rushing toward the gurney. She collapsed beside it, a wail tearing from her throat. “Josh! No, no, my brother!” She clutched his hand, sobs wracking her body, her black gown pooling around her like spilled ink.
Tears poured down her face, makeup ruined, hair falling in wild strands. The agents stood back, giving her space, but she looked up suddenly, eyes finding me through the crowd.
The dirty look she gave could have killed. Pure hatred, sharpened by grief.
“I will make sure my brother’s blood doesn’t spill in vain,” she hissed, voice carrying over the sirens. “This isn’t over, Nina.”
Fear iced my veins. I stepped back, heart slamming. Enzo moved in front of me instantly, his body a solid wall, gun still in hand.
He stared Isabella down, silent but protective, his taut frame radiating danger. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned back to Josh, her sobs echoing.
That was when they appeared. Five men, stepping out from the shadows near a line of black SUVs. All in dark suits, earpieces glinting, faces hard and expressionless.
The leader—a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek—spoke first. “We’re here for the sheik’s package. He’s waiting in his private jet.”
My knees buckled. The world tilted. One hundred million. The sheik. Not over. I gasped for air, collapsing to the wet pavement, hands scraping against rough asphalt.
My vision narrowed, black spots dancing, lungs refusing to fill. Amanda was gone.
Enzo tensed, gun raising slowly.
The men advanced, unperturbed by the chaos. Sirens screamed. Flames roared. And I could not breathe.