Page 67 of His Stolen Bride

I don’t have room for distraction, and I don’t have room for softness, yet she walks out like she’s already decided she’ll live through what comes next, and she expects me to keep up. Enzo stays by the door, silent and tight-faced, then he shifts his weight like he’s waiting for the order he hates.

“Get Luca,” I say. “And the rest of the team. Five minutes.”

Enzo’s eyes flick to the desk, to the message, then back to me. “And her reply?”

“She’ll write it,” I answer. “But we’ll do it on our own terms and time.”

He doesn’t argue, and he moves.

I pick up the paper again, I read it a third time, and I don’t let myself enjoy the clarity. Vladimir wants Alina choosing on record, he wants the illusion of consent, and he wants to make me watch her walk into his orbit. He’s been patient for years, and he’s tired now, which means he’s going to make mistakes.

That’s the good news.

The bad news sits in the second line, and it sits in my house.

The boy is not invisible.

I open my laptop, I pull the internal access logs, and I scroll without blinking. I don’t look for “proof”. I look for patterns. Who checked the east wing cameras, who pulled door data, who accessed the vehicle schedules, who viewed staff placement files. The list is longer than it should be.

I tap the desk once, then I stand and walk out.

The hallway outside Alina’s rooms is quiet, and it stays quiet in a way that tells me my men have learned to move softly around her. Two guards stand at distance, eyes forward, hands visible, posture calm. Good.

I don’t go in. I don’t knock. I angle past the corridor and head for the family sitting room on the same level, the one with the low couch and the shelf Sofia stocked with children’s books yesterday.

Oisin is on the floor with a set of wooden trains, and Sofia is cross-legged beside him, holding up a bridge piece while he slides a locomotive under it with serious focus. He looks up when I enter, his attention snapping to me fast, then he smiles like the room is safe again.

“Look,” he says, pointing. “It goes under.”

“I see,” I tell him, and I crouch down so we’re level. “It doesn’t crash?”

“It doesn’t crash,” he says proudly, then he frowns. “Unless I go fast.”

“Don’t go fast inside,” I reply, and I glance at Sofia. “How’s he doing?”

Sofia answers like she’s reporting, which I respect. “He ate. He brushed. He wanted one more story. I told him it’s two per night max, and he said you’d agree.”

Oisin nods hard. “Two is fair.”

I look at him. “Two is fair.”

He grins like he won something.

Sofia stands, smoothing her sweater. “Do you want me out of the way?”

“No,” I say. “I want you where I can find you.”

Her expression shifts a fraction, then she nods. “Okay.”

I turn back to Oisin and point to the trains. “Show me how you build the bridge.”

He pushes pieces together, tongue peeking out as he concentrates, and I watch his hands, his small patience, the care he takes not to break anything. He’s cautious in a way children aren’t supposed to be, and I don’t pretend I don’t see it.

“You get scared when people shout,” I say, low and steady.

He pauses, then shrugs like he doesn’t want to admit it. “Not shout. Loud.”

“Loud is enough,” I answer. “No one will be loud at you here.”