The name on the photograph was one I hadn't spoken aloud in years.
Elena Volkov.
My Elena. My friend. The woman I'd given asylum to. The woman who'd helped us expose the Webb trafficking ring. The woman who'd founded Haven House. The woman I'd trusted with my life more times than I could count.
"You're lying," I said. My voice came out flat and cold. "Elena had nothing to do with my trafficking. She was trafficked herself. By the Bratva."
"Yes," Gianluca agreed. "She was. And that experience taught her exactly how to use the system. How to work within it. How to place people strategically."
"She was a victim"
"She was. And then she became something else. As people sometimes do when survival requires it." He paused. "Mrs. Moretti, I understand this is difficult"
"She was. And then she became something else. As people sometimes do when survival requires it." He paused. "Mrs. Moretti, I understand this is difficult"
