Chapter 8 - THE REUNION IN THE SNOW
Alina wept against my shoulder,
her fragile frame shaking with six years of accumulated terror and despair.
I held her tight,
wrapping my cashmere coat around her shoulders to keep out the bitter Montana cold.
Where is Sophia,
she asked suddenly,
pulling back and grabbing my wrists with desperate urgency.
Did Vance take her too.
No,
Alina,
I said softly,
cupping her cold face in my hands.
Sophia is safe.
She’s back home in Chicago.
Alina’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
You found her.
She found me,
I corrected,
a faint,
proud smile touching my lips for the first time in years.
She walked right up to me at St.
Margaret’s orphanage and called me Daddy.
Alina buried her face in her hands,
letting out a sob of pure,
unadulterated relief.
Thank God,
she whispered over and over again.
Thank God.
Can you walk,
I asked,
helping her to her feet.
Yes,
she said,
leaning heavily against my side.
I have to see her,
Marco.
I have to hold my baby girl.
You will,
I promised.
Nico,
secure the perimeter and make sure Thorne gives up every remaining Bratva cell in the Midwest before we leave this godforsaken mountain.
Boss,
Nico said into his tactical radio,
his voice suddenly turning tense.
We’ve got incoming.
Headlights on the access road.
Three armored SUVs just breached the outer gate.
Viktor Vance knew we were coming.
It was a trap all along.
Get Alina to the chopper,
I ordered,
drawing my Glock and chambering a round.
Nico,
May you like
you’re with me.
Let’s show these bastards what happens when they touch a Vitelli.
