Chapter Three

Paris. Safe house. A luxury apartment on the Left Bank of the Seine. I lived in a cramped maid’s room. Isabella had the master bedroom and the full sweep of river view. My job was to serve her—everything from the temperature of her morning coffee to the brand of her bath salts at night. Not a single mistake was permitted.

“The coffee’s too bitter.”

“The perfume’s too strong.”

“Elena, even your silence is annoying.”

I kept my head down and answered, “Yes, Miss Marino.” Every time she picked at me, I whispered Sophie’s name in my mind and ground my dignity into the carpet.

On Wednesday night, she took me to a reception after a private auction. Under crystal chandeliers, an Italian man with signet rings stacked on every finger fixed his eyes on me like something sticky.

“Your ‘little assistant’ is very quiet,” he said, lifting his glass to Isabella, his Italian accent thick.

Isabella gave a soft laugh and took a sip of champagne. “Mr. Rossi’s people know their manners.”

“Manners can be negotiated.” The man leaned in, lowering his voice. “My uncle has some… interesting businesses in Milan. Maybe we can talk about a ‘transfer’? You know, I’ve always had a special collector’s appetite for Oriental vases.”

Isabella swirled her glass, her gaze sliding over my face as if appraising an auction lot. “Alessandro would be unhappy.”

“Everything has a price, my dear.” The man smiled meaningfully. “For example, the ‘convenience’ of that new southern route…”

I stood rigid, my fingertips digging into my palm. Isabella just shrugged and changed the subject.

At three in the morning, my phone vibrated. Encrypted channel—Dr. Klein.

“Ms. Carter!” His voice split the silence. “Sophie has acute respiratory failure! The tumor is compressing the main airway. She needs surgery immediately! The success rate… isn’t high, but it’s the only chance. The fees and authorization—you must confirm at once!”

My blood turned to ice. “I’m coming back right now! The money and authorization—”

“Mr. Rossi’s emergency contact line is completely cut off! We can’t initiate the procedure! You have to be here in person to sign and guarantee!”

I hung up and, trembling, dialed Alessandro’s private line.

Busy tone.

Again.

Busy tone.

I called Leo.

“Ms. Carter,” his voice was full of apology, “the boss is in an ultra-classified negotiation. All external channels have been physically severed. The order is that no one, nothing, is to interrupt. I… I really can’t do anything.”

“Leo, please—Sophie is dying—”

“I’m sorry.”

I tore into my suitcase. Passport. Documents. I grabbed my coat.

Isabella, woken by the noise, leaned against the doorframe, her robe loose. “Elena? In the middle of the night—what are you performing now?”

“Sophie is critical. I’m going back to New York. Now.”

“Now?” She straightened, all laziness wiped off her face. “Tomorrow’s meeting with the Portuguese is crucial. If you leave, who translates? Who takes notes?”

“She’ll die!” My voice went sharp.

“Everyone dies,” she said coldly. “But business won’t wait for you. If you leave without permission, you know the consequences. Alessandro hates betrayal most of all.”

“Then let him hate it!” I yanked the zipper shut, shoved past her, and ran for the door.

Behind me, her shrill voice rose as she called someone, crying into the phone: “Alessandro! She’s lost her mind—she doesn’t care about the big picture at all…”

I didn’t look back.

Using a fake passport and cash, I boarded a cargo flight that left before dawn. For thirteen hours I stared at the cabin wall. Every jolt felt like it was tearing my nerves apart. During the layover, my phone vibrated again—an interim hospital line.

“Ms. Carter,” the nurse said softly, “Miss Sophie is very strong. She’s still waiting for you.”

I covered my mouth and retched soundlessly inside a filthy airport bathroom stall.

When I burst into the hospital, the operating-room light glowed a brutal red.

A nurse shoved a stack of papers into my hands. “Sign. Payment confirmation, risk disclosure, waiver… hurry!”

The pen slipped from my shaking fingers twice. The third time I nearly tore through the paper, stabbing my name into place.

Waiting. I counted cracks in the floor tiles, listened to my own heartbeat, stared at that door. Six hours—or sixty years.

The light went out.

The doctor came out, his mask pulled down to his chin. His face held deep fatigue—and something else.

He met my eyes and slowly shook his head.

“We opened the trachea, but the tumor had infiltrated too widely. During the dissection, it triggered uncontrollable massive bleeding. We… did everything we could.”

The world went weightless. Silent. A bed rolled out, a white sheet covering the small outline beneath.

I walked to it. No one stopped me. I lifted a corner of the sheet.

Sophie’s eyes were closed. She looked like she was sleeping—except her skin was wax-white.

“Hey, baby,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded unfamiliar. “Your sister’s here.”

I pushed the nurse’s hands away and gripped the metal rail of the gurney myself. It was cold. We went down the long corridor, into the elevator, down to the basement. Sign here. Swipe there. When the black metal card slid across the terminal, it beeped softly. I remembered Alessandro saying, “The day she returns satisfied, the drug will start.”

Now it didn’t matter.

It was over.

Everything was over.