Chapter 73 Natasha’s Strike
CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE
Natasha's POV~
I stood at a folding table — my makeshift command center, littered with burner phones, encrypted drives and a laptop whose cold blue luminous sliced my face with harsh shadows. I whispered so low it was more of a venomous hiss, “Valenticia is done.” My fingers jittered across the keys as I typed, closing off a serum seepage—Lazareth’s mind-control concoction, ready to sell on the black market, a gamble to put me beyond Gregor Galden’s chokehold. My leather jacket creaked as I moved, auburn hair falling into one eye, and flickers of fear like a bad spark—he’s a betrayer, isn’t he? Gregor’s leash, his arrest a smug taunt on Seryne’s news feeds, was a chain I’d shatter, my ambition a blaze to show my worth. Valenticia Clawford’s ceaseless poking—her auction hack revealing Lena Voss, her Marrow lab infiltration—was a knife across my plans, her doggedness unbalancing, her reflection my hunger, a teeth-chewing erosion of sanity.
The time I had spent in Dr. Voss’s lab, tampering, marking my N.A. on the vials of antidote, had been a quiet coup, a—let’s call it an overture to outshine Gregor’s lackeys and try to preserve my prospects. I chuckled at the memory of the mess of Voss’s auction flight, Valenticia’s leak-drowning bidders’ tablets in Galden’s secrets, but my unease bundled tighter—she’s too smart for that. Her reversal protocol, stolen from Marrow’s lab, was a threat I hadn’t foreseen and fear murmured to me: What if she undoes Lazareth’s serum? I loaded a file, the shipping schedules of the leak, my lips drawing back in a snarl—she would crack before I did. Gregor ordered the strike, his voice so cold Ended her interference from the safe house, and it was a lash I’d wield but his lack of trust, and his sharp stare in our last video call, planted doubts. I’m no pawn, I thought, my fingers skimming the knife hilt tucked neatly in my jacket, the cool steel an anchor to my resolve. Fear stuck on, a residual shadow I couldn't shake, but ambition blazed hotter, a pledge to rise higher than Gregor's empire.
A memory burrowed through, unsullied and unbidden, like a blade twisting in my chest: Dmitri, my lover, dark eyes soft beneath Moscow’s twilight, murmuring promises of power before the betrayal. “You are too wild, Natasha,” he had sneered, his knife at my throat, selling me to competitors for a share. I had fought free, his blood on my hands, his love a scar that had fed my ruthlessness. My jaw locked, terror burning—could Gregor turn the way that Dmitri had? I slopped the blinding pain back down and followed Dieter, my boots brushing at the warehouse’s greasy concrete, hearing Seryne’s waves only dim through a splintered window. To me, Dmitri’s lesson was in my bones: trust no one, strike first. Valenticia’s leaks — Dr. Patel’s email linking me to Lazareth, Voss’s reveal — were traps I’d set, schemes that would undermine her with fabricated clues, spend her chasing specters while I secured the serum.
My phone vibrated, a hacked-port notice: Valenticia sniffing at Lazareth shipments, Seryne piers. Fury surged, and I tensed my fist, gripping the edge of the table. She’s everywhere, like a fucking specter. Her protocol, her antidote dreams, would be a fire I’d douse, and I tapped a command, sending a decoy shipment hurtling to a forgotten pier, a net to waste her time. "She'll crack," I promised, voice rumbling deep in my chest, a shield for the anxiety scratching at my stomach. I swept over the warehouse, its soaring crates and serum vials, Lazareth’s heart beating in the darkness. The allies of Valenticia — Rosanna’s detective Marcus, Patel’s culpable helper, her grandmother’s faith — were flies I would swat, but what haunted me was her fire, the echo of Eleanor, Gregor’s aunt, of her mother, a ghost I couldn’t dispel. She’s not Eleanor, I reminded myself, but fear insinuated itself: What if she’s strong enough?
The café meeting with Stefan haunted me like a thorn—his hand slipping over mine, his watchful eyes pricking my flesh. Was he using me? I’d seen him pull him from Valenticia’s orbit, to determine his loyalty, but his I’m looking into Galden made me distrust him, his tension a mystery I’d left unsolved. Fear passed— is he hers, or a pawn of Gregor? “Dmitri’s betrayal had only deepened my suspicion, I gripped my knife tighter, Resolving a knife edge—I’ll trust no one. The fact of Stefan’s break with Valenticia, her raw hurt at his deceit, was a lever I would use, but his motivations were a shadow I would follow carefully. I examined the commission, bidding of buyers ascending, a smiler began to hover over my lips, —power is with me. The chill of the warehouse penetrated my bones, but I would not notice my pain, not with my focus whetted to a razor’s edge against Valenticia’s fall.
The radio of one of the guards popped and his voice cut clear through the noise. “Movement at the west gate—Clawford’s in.” How I loathed the fear, yet I swore to attack, Valenticia a match I’d snuff out before the flame consumed me.