Chapter 78 Traitor’s Game
CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT
Natasha's POV~
I braced myself against the rusted railing of my Seryne dockside lair, the scent of salt and diesel tearing at my nostrils, a smirk pulling at my lips while I paged through Ravi Patel’s intel on my tablet. “She’s trapped,” I grumbled, Valenticia Clawford’s leaks—the ousting of Galden’s board, the tying of Lazareth to serum—gleaming like pressed metal I’d soon squash. The shadows of the warehouse danced, decoy serum crates slumbering, my effort to bait Valenticia wobbling as purchasers recoiled from her transmission. A small bright flicker of fear—Gregor’s going to turn me in, isn’t he? My leather jacket groaned, red hair spilling over one eye, my knife’s handle cool in my hand, a leash to hold on to. Gregor’s sham arrest, his cold voice echoing in my head from our previous conversation, was a chain I would’ve broken, but now his silence bit at me— what was he up to? And drove the fear down, the ambition searing to overtake him.
The tablet’s blue light carved my face into pointy angles, Ravi’s data mapping Valenticia’s moves — safehouse Delta, Patel’s evidence. “Got you,” I hissed, my voice a blade, contacting Ravi on a burner: “Trap her at the docks shipment’s bait.” Distrust began to sneak in — is Ravi playing me? And his smooth answers, the too-smooth nods, those made me think of Dmitri, my lover, his knife at my throat in the falling Moscow snow, that betrayal , a fire that would ignite my ruthlessness. Trust no one, I thought, tightening my hold on the knife, the fear coursing. My smile fell away, ambition shaking, but I would bury her before Gregor could cast me off.
My hijacked feeds humming, Seryne’s channels full of Valenticia’s dogs—Rosanna, Marcus, Patel—will all over them, some scary blade - they’re too quick. I strode, boots scuffing the grimy floor, Seryne’s waves bellowing through splintered windows, a ceaseless menace. “They’re not going to prevent me,” I spoke through gritted teeth and rigged the docks with a false shipment, with trackers in the boxes, with a net to try to entrap her. My smirk resurfaced—she’ll slip. But Ravi’s intel, so tidy, gnawed— is he lying to me? I hacked his comms & found vague texts to an unknown number, unease escalating— what are they doing? The damp of the lair was hanging about me, but I took no notice of it, my knife shining as I examined the trackers.
Dmitri’s memory struck, bleeding and sharp — soft black eyes telling me he cared, in a Moscow dive, and knife spinning, trading me to enemies. “You are too fierce, Natasha,” he’d sneered, and I’d fought my way free, blood in my hands, steel in my heart. Fear flitted around—might Gregor turn as he had? I buried it, my resolution like a razor. Valenticia was playing on a screen in a loop, Galden Exposed, her voice animal, Eleanor’s voice—Gregor’s aunt, my mother—affecting me. She’s not Eleanor, I said to myself, though fear did its whispering: What if she’s stronger? I shook off the glue-eating, ambition, a flame—I’ll be better than them all.
My phone buzzed, guard report: “Clawford allies near pier.” Fear surged—she’s here? I sent guards to the decoy and typed, Let her come. But Ravi’s silence chilled—is he avoiding me? I broke into his tablet’s logs, I found files encrypted, my fingers flying—what’s he hiding? The lair darkened, the waves of Seryne throb. The café meeting with Stefan was yet hung, his suspicious eyes haunting—was he a tool of Gregor? I’d tested him, and his I’m looking into Galden had seemed falsehood. Doubt flickered—did he play me?
I paced as the files on the tablet loaded, my fingers twirling the knife like some remnant of a nervous tic from the nights I ran from Dmitri's ghosts. The docks were where I belonged, Valenticia my prey, but Ravi’s silence was a warning shot. He is too clever, I believe, fear racing—is he getting the better of me? My feeds carried Patel’s escape, proof reaching Valenticia, and rage kindled— they’re getting through. I realigned the decoy’s trackers, grinning. She’s going to walk right into it. But the discomfort set in, Gregor’s silence a shade—is he dumping me? I scrolled further into Ravi’s files, heart pounding, the lair’s hum a taut soundtrack.
A memory of Dmitri’s warm laugh, before his betrayal, twisted the knife. “‘We’ll rule, Natasha,” he’d promised and I’d believed, until his blade brushed my throat. I had lived, my ruthlessness bred in his blood, and I would live. I’m not a pawn, I thought, stilling my knife, resolve iron. Valenticia’s minions drew in a net, my feeds blinking, Marcus’s contact on the pier, Rosanna’s coded messages. Her fear level took a sudden spike— they’re too close. I demanded guards to retain the decoy, my tone sharp, but Ravi’s continued absence chewed— where the fuck is he? The tablet clanged, and Ravi’s files plopped onto the screen, and I almost stilled, catching the encrypted words from Stefan to Valenticia: I never betrayed you—Gregor made me.
Rage flared, a white-hot fire— Stefan used me. His café defiance, his nebulous lies, had been a screen, his allegiance to Valenticia a slap. I was a tool, he used me, I thought, chewing on my knife's hilt and resolving a fire. A guard’s comm crackled, “Ravi’s negotiating a rival buyer’s offer - betraying you.” The spike of panic, a shadow—is Ravi outthinking me? His deceit endangered my plans, and my power ebbed.