I showed up at my husband’s office holding our 6-year-old daughter’s hand to surprise him with dinner, only for his secretary to step in my path and smirk that his real wife and son were already upstairs waiting.

I had to think.

Nathan was sitting beside me, the gun pressed into my ribs, his eyes never leaving my face. The pilot was his man. We were heading north—probably to Canada, maybe even further. No one knew where we were going. Not my brothers. Not the FBI. No one.

“Nathan,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as possible. “You don't have to do this. I told you, I'm here because I want to be. I love you. Why would I betray you?”

“Because you're a Carter,” he said bitterly. “And Carters don't lose. You would have said anything to get me to give up Grace's location. And the second I did? Your brothers would have blown my brains out. I know how your family works, Emily. I learned from the best. For eight years, I watched. I learned. I became better at your family's games than you are.”

He paused.

“You think I didn't know Marcus had two men in the cargo hold?” he said. “You think I didn't know the plane was bugged? That the transponder was broadcasting our location every second? I disabled the transponder ten minutes after takeoff. And as for Marcus's men... well. Let's just say they won't be bothering us anymore.”

My blood ran cold.

Marcus's men. Dead.

“Nathan,” I whispered. “How could you—”

“They would have killed me first,” he said. “Don't look at me like that. This is the world your father built. Kill or be killed. I'm just playing by the rules.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a satellite phone.

“I'm going to call Rizzo now,” he said. “Tell him the new plan. He's to keep Grace for another week. Maybe two. Until I'm sure we're safe. Until I'm sure you're really mine.”

He dialed.

But the phone didn't connect.

He frowned, trying again.

“Dammit,” he said. “No signal. We must be too far north. I'll try again in an hour.”

He put the phone away.

I had an hour.

Maybe less.

I had to find a way to stop him. To get the phone. To contact my brothers. To save Grace.

I looked around the cabin. There was nothing I could use as a weapon. No heavy objects. No sharp things. Just plush seats, a small table, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

Wait.

The ice bucket.

It was metal. Heavy. Filled with ice and water.

It was on the table between us. Just out of my reach. But if I could distract him...

“Nathan,” I said, leaning closer to him. I put my hand on his arm. Let my voice soften. “You're right. About everything. I was going to betray you. My brothers made me. They said if I didn't go along with their plan, they'd take Grace away from me forever. That I'd never see her again. I was scared, Nathan. That's all. I didn't want to do it. But I had no choice.”

He looked at me. The anger in his eyes softened, just a little.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew those animals were forcing you. That's why I had to do this. To save you. From them. From the life they forced you into.”

“I know,” I said, leaning even closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, like I used to do when we were first married. “You saved me, Nathan. Just like you always did. Remember when I was sick that first winter in Queens? You stayed up with me for three days. Made me soup. Changed my sheets. You took such good care of me.”

I felt his body relax. The gun pressed less firmly into my side.

“Of course I did,” he said softly. “I love you, Emily. More than anything. More than Victoria. More than Oliver. More than the company. More than my own life. You were the only real thing in my whole messed-up life. The only thing that ever mattered.”

“I love you too,” I whispered. I lifted my head to look at him. Our faces were inches apart. “Kiss me, Nathan. Like you used to. Before all the lies. Before everything went wrong.”

He hesitated. Then he lowered the gun.

He leaned in.

Our lips met.

It was like kissing a stranger. But I didn't pull away. I kissed him back, putting everything I had into it—all the acting skill I'd learned over eight years of lies.

And while he was distracted, while his eyes were closed, while his hand holding the gun dropped to his lap...

I reached for the ice bucket.

My fingers closed around the cold metal handle.

I pulled.

Hard.

The bucket came off the table. Ice and water and champagne flew everywhere.

Nathan's eyes flew open.

“What the—”

I swung the bucket with all my strength.

It hit him square in the side of the head.

He grunted. His eyes rolled back. He slumped sideways in his seat, unconscious.

The gun clattered to the floor.

I grabbed it.

I pointed it at him, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold it.

He was still breathing. Still alive. Just knocked out.

I had minutes. Maybe seconds before he woke up.

I grabbed the satellite phone from his lap.

One bar of signal.

Enough.

I dialed Marcus's number.

He answered on the first ring.

“Em?! Where are you? We lost the transponder. The men in the hold—they're not answering. What happened?”

“Marcus,” I gasped. “Nathan disabled the transponder. Killed the men. He changed the plan. We're heading north. Not Belize. The pilot is working for him. Nathan is knocked out right now but he'll wake up any second. You have to track this phone. Now.”

“On it,” Marcus said. I could hear him barking orders in the background. “The military has jets on standby from the base in Maine. They'll intercept you in ten minutes. Fifteen max. Just keep him down, Em. Whatever you do, don't let him get control of the plane again.”

“Hurry,” I said. “Please.”

I hung up.

I looked at Nathan. He was starting to stir. A groan escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered.

I stood, backing away, the gun still pointed at him.

“Nathan,” I said. “Don't move. I have the gun. I will shoot you if I have to.”

He sat up slowly, holding his head. Blood was running down his face from a cut above his eye. He looked at me. The love was gone. Replaced by pure, unadulterated hatred.

“You,” he whispered. “You little bitch.”

He lunged.

I fired.

The bullet hit him in the shoulder.

He screamed, falling back into his seat, clutching his arm. Blood seeped through his fingers.

“I told you,” I said, my voice steady now. “I told you I'd kill you if you hurt Grace. And I meant it.”

The cockpit door burst open.

The pilot stood there, holding his own gun.

“Drop it!” he shouted at me. “Drop the gun or I shoot!”

I turned the gun on him.

“Back off,” I said. “Or the next bullet goes through your head. Land this plane. Now.”

“Or what?” he said. “You'll shoot me? Then who flies the plane? We'll crash. We'll all die.”

He was right.

I couldn't fly a plane.

And I couldn't hold them both off forever.

Nathan was reaching for the gun on the floor with his good hand.

I had to make a choice.

And then I heard it.

A roar. Outside. Getting louder.

I looked out the window.

Two fighter jets had pulled up alongside us. One on each side.

The pilot saw them too. His face went white.

“Holy shit,” he said.

One of the jets moved in front of us. It dipped its wings. A signal.

Follow me. Land now.

The pilot looked at me. Looked at the jets. Looked at Nathan, bleeding in the seat.

He dropped his gun.

“Okay,” he said, raising his hands. “Okay. I'll land. Just don't shoot.”

He turned and went back into the cockpit.

Ten minutes later, the plane touched down at a small military airfield in northern Maine.

The moment it stopped, the doors were thrown open.

Armed men in tactical gear poured in.

Marcus was right behind them.

He saw me first—standing there, gun in hand, covered in ice and champagne and Nathan's blood.

“Em!” he shouted, running to me. He took the gun from my hands, pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I'm fine,” I said, pulling back. “Nathan is alive. Shot in the shoulder. The pilot surrendered. But Marcus... the Rizzos still have Grace. Nathan was supposed to call them. He was going to keep her for another week. Maybe two.”

Marcus's face hardened. He looked at Nathan, who was being tended to by medics.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said.

He knelt beside Nathan.

“Rizzo's safe house,” he said. “The address. Now. Or I swear to God, I will let you bleed out right here on this plane.”

Nathan laughed—a wet, gurgling sound.

“Go to hell,” he whispered.

Marcus pulled his own gun. He pressed it against Nathan's wounded shoulder.

“Wrong answer,” he said.

He pressed harder.

Nathan screamed.

“Last chance,” Marcus said.

“Okay! Okay!” Nathan gasped. “The old Rizzo mansion. In the Adirondacks. On Lake Placid. The one with the boathouse. They're keeping her in the basement. There are six men. Armed. The security code is 4-8-1-5. Please... just get off me.”

Marcus stood, already on the phone.

“Lake Placid,” he said into it. “Old Rizzo mansion. Basement. Six armed men. Code 4815. I want a tactical team there in thirty minutes. Move!”

He hung up, looking at me.

“They'll get her, Em,” he said. “She's going to be okay.”

I collapsed into his arms.

The adrenaline was gone. All the strength I'd summoned to fight Nathan, to fly the plane, to survive... it all evaporated.