Matteo speeds off, away from the accident. Away from Saul.

I glance into the side mirror at Saul’s car shrinking smaller and smaller as we speed away, until it all but gets lost among the other cars driving by. Regret instantly fills my soul. How could I have been so heartless to have let Matteo shoot Saul? I needed to save myself. I needed to save Nina. But will I ever be able to live with myself if Saul dies? If he dies, it’s my fault.

Matteo turns the corner, and I'm no longer able to see the car or Saul.

"He's going to die, isn’t he?" I stare out the window as buildings whiz by, narrowly registering what's happening to me. All I can think about is Saul.

"He'll survive if he’s strong enough."

I turn toward Matteo, who is whistling to himself as he loosely grasps the steering wheel. He’s acting as if nothing happened. Like he didn't just shoot a man in the leg and leave him bleeding out on the sidewalk, most likely to die. Like he's not currently kidnapping me. In fact, the entire car appears that way. His convertible hardly has a scratch on it. And when I take a deep breath, I smell the fresh new car scent, when it should reek of death and gloom.

“How do you know that?”

"Stop worrying about your date. You didn't seem concerned with him before, by the way you ran off instead of trying to save him.”

"That's because I didn't think you would shoot him. And I wasn't thinking about him, I was thinking about Nina."

He rapidly steps on the gas, accelerating as we go around another corner. I grab onto my seat to attempt from slamming my head into the side of the door.

“Relax, he’ll survive. I missed all his major arteries, and if the emergency system is halfway decent around here, the paramedics are already at his side providing medical services. And as long as it doesn’t take them hours to drive him to a hospital, he won’t bleed out before they save him.”

"How do you know you didn't hit any major arteries? You’re not a doctor.”

He rolls his eyes. "Because he would've been dead by the time we got back to him and blood would have been pouring out of his leg.”

I'm not sure if I believe him. It sure as hell looked like a lot of blood to me. I'm not sure he knows anything about gunshot wounds, although he's probably been shot dozens of times before, so maybe he does.

But I also know that he is willing to tell me whatever he thinks I want to hear to get me to cooperate. He's right about one thing; I won't be cooperating. I plan on running again the next chance I get.

I rest my hand on the door handle in case he decides to stop, and I can make my escape.

"Don't even think about it."

"I'm not thinking about anything.”

He shakes his head and punches the gas. My body slams against the door as he swerves around cars and goes the wrong way down a one-way street. I close my eyes and pray we don't hit anything, and simultaneously hope we do crash and die so this will be all over.

“I’ll never slow down enough for you to be able to jump out of the car and run, so remove your fucking hand from the door."

My hand slips off the door, bracing myself again as he continues to speed and curse. I have to be more careful at revealing any part of my plan to him in the future. He's done this before; he's going to be able to spot what I'm planning before I carry it out. I have to make sure I don't give him any signs or clues that I'm going to bolt again. Not even a tiny hint with my body.

“Where are you driving me?" I stare at him, demanding an answer to my question but doubting he'll give me one. I'm sure the less I know, the better, in his mind.

"Italy."

My mouth drops a little when he answers me. He's taking me back to his home. I'm not sure why I didn't realize what his plan was before. I thought he would hold me captive in a hotel room, or an empty warehouse somewhere where he could torture me to find out where Nina and Arlo are. It would end with either me escaping or with a bullet through my head. Apparently, though, that's not the plan.

Italy. He's taking me back to Italy. So many memories and emotions pour through my head as I think of going back to a country I both love and hate. I love because it was the last time I got to be free.

I always thought I would do something creative, bringing more joy to the world with art and imagination. I enjoy painting and studying history. Architecture. Everything beautiful.

A life of art and creativity was the path I was headed down in Italy, and it was the last time I did things solely for the love of it.

But Italy is also where I lost my best friend. Her life changed forever, and so did mine. I realized I couldn't do things for the love of it anymore. I needed a more significant purpose. So I went to law school and then started prosecuting bad guys. I’ve been fulfilling my new reason to exist every day since.

We arrive at the airport far too quickly. He takes me to a private airfield, not LAX. He drives through the security gate, past the armed guards who merely open the gate without asking for ID, because apparently they already know who Matteo is. He continues right up to a plane I assume he owns and parks a few feet away.

I can't leave with him. If he takes me to Italy, I could end up trapped for weeks. Or dead. I need to escape. Now.

He undoes his seatbelt and pushes the door ajar. I undo my seatbelt and throw my door open wide and sprint as fast as I can in the opposite direction of the plane.

I don't have a plan. I move as quickly as my body will run, away from Matteo. I will hopefully find someone who can help me. A police officer, someone in the military, or any person with a car who will stop and drive me far, far away from here.

I sense him behind me. I'm a runner and in shape. I’m fast; he's faster. I hoped catching him off guard for a second would allow me enough of a head start to escape. But I was wrong.

His arms wrap around my body as he tackles me to the rough tarmac below. My face hits the ground with a thud and scrapes harshly across the tarmac while the rest of my body is stricken with the force of his body.

"You don't know when to give up, do you? You’re mine. I'm kidnapping you, and there's nothing you can do to deter me. Fighting won’t help, it will only earn you more punishment later."

I struggle against his arms, trying frantically to smash free, but his arms tighten more around my arms, making it impossible for me to make any of the moves I learned in self-defense classes over the years. I can't physically break free, but I can convince him of all the reasons he shouldn’t do this.

"You can't take me. I never take a vacation or miss a day of work. Tomorrow morning when I don't show up for work, my boss will call and try to find me. My friend, Jules, will call the police when she can’t reach me. I already called Heath and told him you are here and to contact the police if anything happened to me. You won't be able to get away with it. People will start searching for me; the police will become involved, maybe even the FBI. They will hunt you down and put you in prison for the rest of your life."

He laughs as he stands up, pulling me to my feet and twisting my arm behind my back. I try to move, but I can’t wiggle free without snapping my arm in two. Maybe the pain of breaking my arm would be worth it to be free.

"I'm not too worried about the police or FBI. They can't touch me. And we all know how well Heath was able to save Nina. You do have a point though; I don't want people searching for you until I'm ready for them to find out you're missing."

His eyes rake over my body. "Where is your phone?"

"In my purse, back in Saul’s car."

His hands travel over my body. Into the pockets of my pants as he searches for a phone that doesn’t exist. Then his eyes burn into my chest.

“No,” I say.

His hand reaches down the top of my shirt and over my breast, softly grazing my nipple as he forages for my phone. I squirm beneath his fingers, partially because I want his hand to stop invading my personal space and partly because I want to know how it would feel for him to touch me for real.

“I guess you weren’t lying.” He removes his hands from my shirt, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out his phone, handing it to me.

“Call work and tell them you're taking an extended leave of absence. That you found out your mother has cancer and you will be taking care of her. And you won't be back anytime soon."

I smirk. "No."

He reaches into the back of his pants and aims the gun at my head. "Leave the message, or I'll kill you."

I stare at the gun. I should be terrified, but I'm not. "You won't shoot me. You hardly shot Saul, and you had no use for him. Me, you have use for. You won't kill me, or even harm me."

He glares at me as his nostrils flare and his face turns red with rage. He places the gun back into the back of his pants. "Do it, and I won't look for Nina for one week. She gets seven more days of safety."

Damn it. How was Matteo able to figure out my weakness so quickly? One week is a long time. In a week, I could find a way to escape. In a week, I could find a way to warn Nina and make sure she stays safe forever. In one week, I could kill Matteo.

"How do I know that you'll keep your word?"

"Because I'm an honorable person. I keep my promises."

He holds out the phone. I take it, not needing to consider his offer any further. I dial the number for my work. I realize as soon as it goes to voicemail I could change course. I could tell them Matteo took me and to look for me in Italy. I could save myself. But Matteo would still take me, and Nina would still be at risk.

“Hi, this is Eden. I'm calling to let you know I will be taking an extended leave of absence. I was in a car accident tonight. I'm fine, but it shook me up a little bit, and it made me realize I'm not living my life. I need a vacation. I’ve been working too hard for too long and not enjoying life. I don't know how long my absence will be, but I'll contact you when I'm ready to return. In the meantime, I'll be using all my vacation days I saved over the years. Jules can inform you of anything you need on my past clients. The other prosecutors should be able to handle new cases, since I closed all my current cases.” I press end.

He holds out his hand, and I toss the phone back.

"You didn't do what I said."

"My mom died years ago; your plan wouldn’t have worked.”

He twists my arm again and walks me toward the plane, then up the stairs onto the lavish private jet. I've never been on a plane this nice before. There are leather chairs and couches everywhere. A small kitchen and bar area toward the back and doors I assume lead to bathrooms or possibly even bedrooms all the way in the rear.

I don't understand why it takes me this long for it to hit me again that I'm being stolen and I have to do everything I can to fight back. I turn, planning on elbowing Matteo in the nose as sharply as I can with my elbow, but he blocks me and grabs my other arm.

"I'm not going to deal with you fighting me all the way to Italy. I have work to do."

"Too bad, because that's exactly what I plan on doing."

The jab pierces my skin without warning before the needle burns into my neck. I don’t have a chance to react.

"No, I think you’re going to take a very long nap."

My body grows weak and tired in his arms. The bastard drugged me. But it will do nothing to prevent me from fighting again the second I wake up. So unless he plans on keeping me sedated the entire time he has me, he better be prepared for a fight.

* * *

My head pounds as my eyelids flutter wide. I’m groggy, my entire body aches, and my mind can’t make sense of why I feel like I’ve been run over by a train.

I attempt to raise my head up, but the cloudiness is enough to knock me back down against the bed, my head hitting the soft pillow. My headache is so intense that even the pillow makes the thumping in my head worse.

Instead of raising my head up, I look around the fancy room with just my eyes. I'm lying in an oversized king-size bed made of shiny black wood, covered in a light gray comforter. The bed matches the dark dressers scattered throughout the room. I glance over to the expansive windows that are covered with opaque shades, giving me no clue to what time of day it is or where I am.

I glance over at the two picture frames sitting on the nightstand next to me. One of Matteo, Arlo, and what I assume is their sister, Gia. Nina has told me about her, but I’ve never met her. The other is a picture of Nina. I reach over and pick up the frame. My hand shakes as I struggle to hold onto the frame. She appears so happy in the photograph. I don’t know when it was taken or whose picture it is. Am I in Arlo's room or Matteo’s?

It would make sense if this were Arlo's room before he left. He loves her. But if this were to be Matteo's room, I don’t understand why he would have a photograph of Nina. Is it love or hatred he feels toward her?

I set the frame back on the nightstand with uneasy hands. Still lying on my back, I work my way to the edge of the bed, let my feet dangle off the end, and finally, I gradually push my body up into a sitting position.

My eyes flicker shut as the pain and dizziness overwhelm me. I rest on the edge of the bed for much longer than I want. I want to run. I want to find out what's going on and why my memories are so foggy.

I try to remember how I got here, but I can't. I try to recall why I feel so shitty, but I have no idea. Is Nina waiting for me in the next room? Or is something more sinister happening? The only way to find out the answers to my questions is to stand up and walk out of this room. A room that is more like a gloomy cave than an actual bedroom.

I lean forward, over the end of the bed, until my feet touch the floor. Then, I slowly get to my feet using my arms to help push me up. I grab a bedpost to maintain my balance as I take a few steps forward, ensuring my legs are strong enough to carry me before I let go. I walk cautiously and deliberately, focusing on the walnut wood door. When I make it to the door, my body collapses against the doorknob and smooth finish.

I don't ever recall ever enduring such exhaustion in all my life. Not even after all the nights staying up studying to pass my board exams for law school. I've never felt this tired. I take a deep breath, trying to fill my body with oxygen and energy.

I force my body off the door enough to reach the doorknob. I expect to have to walk several more feet before I find another person on the other side of this door. But when I pull it ajar, Matteo is standing in the doorway looking at me.

"Surprised you were able to walk this far out of bed."

I narrow my eyes, scolding him. But then I get a whiff of what he is holding. Some type of soup. A delicious tomato-based broth I instantly want in my stomach. My stomach growls at the thought of food and my mouth waters, already able to taste it in my mouth from the smell alone.

"Sit down on the couch," he says, clearly noticing my hunger lust.

I glance behind me and see a living room on the other side of the bed, connected to a small kitchenette area by a door. I clumsily walk to the soft cushions, because I don't have any other options and because I seriously want that soup. My legs give out several feet before I make it to the couch, so I prepare myself for impact on the floor. Matteo grabs my arm at the last moment before my body hits the ground.

"Jesus, you’re one determined woman," he mutters under his breath as he pulls me upright again.

Determined, yes. Determined to get that soup into my stomach as fast as possible. He guides me to the couch where I plop down, my body giving out the moment it feels the cushions on the back of my legs.

"Here," he says, placing the bowl of soup into my hands. “Eat, and you’ll feel better."

I lift the spoon slowly to my lips and pour the creamy liquid down my throat. The soup is silky, creamy, with a hint of sweetness, and some flavor I can’t identify. It’s mainly a thick broth with a few soft noodles and tomatoes, but primarily liquid, as to make it easy to swallow. It’s simple, but the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.

My growling stomach eases a teeny, tiny bit, but it's going to take me a long time to eat this entire bowl of soup and give my stomach the satisfying, full feeling it’s seeking.

I lower my hand again to scoop another spoonful and lift it to my lips. This time, as the liquid goes down, my stomach burns. As mouthwatering as the soup tastes, my stomach no longer agrees.

"I'm going to be sick.”

Matteo jumps off the couch and races across the room for a trashcan, but I can't wait.

"I'm going to be – "

I grab the towering decorative vase sitting in the center of the coffee table and scoot it towards me seconds before the contents of my stomach come back up. There's not much left in my stomach, but whatever was inside dispenses into the shiny gold vase.

"Jesus, Eden,” Matteo says, holding the trashcan he went to retrieve in his hand.

"What happened to me?" I dry heave, grasping the vessel like it is my most valuable possession.

Matteo unhinges my hands from the vase filled with my puke and carries it out of the room ignoring my question and leaving me with the empty trashcan. He returns less than a minute later with a glass of water, a warm washcloth, and two pills in his hand.

“Clean yourself up and take these anti-nausea pills, they will help you keep the food down.”

I take the washcloth from him and wipe my face before I set it down on the coffee table. Then I pop the pills into my mouth, swallow, and down the entire glass of water.

My eyes suspiciously cut to the soup sitting on the coffee table. I should try eating it again, but I don’t want to vomit.

My hunger wins out over my fear. I try picking up the bowl with my hands. I manage to lift it an inch before it slips out of my trembling hands and hits the table with a thump, spilling a couple of drops onto the table’s flawless surface.

Redness flushes my cheeks. I can’t even lift a fucking bowl I’m so weak. I grab the spoon with my still unsteady hand, while I lean over the bowl. I scoop some of the broth onto the spoon and lift it to my lips more slowly than before. The liquid finally touches my lips, and I quickly swallow. I wait for my stomach to growl or burn again, giving me any sign that food is settling well in my stomach. It doesn’t.

I smile. Success.

Now on to another spoonful.

"Fuck this. We’ll be here all day," Matteo says, snatching the bowl of soup away from me.

My eyes protrude from their sockets as I glare at him. I may not have the strength to do much damage to Matteo, but I will use every ounce of strength I have left to attack him for taking away the only thing giving me any comfort.

"Sit back," he commands.

I do, but only so I can see his pupils when I tell him off.

He puts the spoon down on the table and holds the entire bowl of soup up to my lips.

"Drink.”

He tilts the bowl, and the liquid gradually pours into my mouth and down my throat. He continues to feed me until all the soup is gone. My cheeks begin to warm, my head becomes lucid, and my stomach no longer aches for food. Even just moving my arms is manageable compared to before.

He sets the bowl back down. "You should climb back in bed and sleep."

I nod and stand, my legs still wobbly and weak.

Matteo doesn’t have the patience for me. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me back to what I now assume is his bed. He places me down and pulls the covers back over me, but that’s as far as his chivalry goes.

"Sleep."

My eyes drift closed, following his command. None of this makes any sense. The photograph of Nina. Matteo taking care of me. My body so incredibly weak. I can’t process what’s happening in my still foggy head. My body, nor my mind can deal with solving the problem. What I need is sleep. It’s the only thing I can think about.

* * *

I open my eyes, and everything becomes clear.

Matteo stole me.

He knocked me out. He pretended to care about me when I was at my weakest.

I don’t know how long I've been asleep, but I won't stay his prisoner. My feet hit the floor, I sprint to the door, and throw it wide to see Matteo standing there again like deja-vu.

He smirks. "Video cameras," he says, answering my unspoken question and explaining how he knows I was out of bed.

This time, when I confront him, I'm not decrepit. This time, I remember what he did. I punch him in the nose, making sure to cause the most impact to a sensitive area, as my self-defense classes taught me all these years. I don't wait to see the blood spurting out. It isn't the first time I’ve broken a man's nose before.

I bolt down the hallway, barefoot. He must've changed my clothes because I’m dressed in one of his T-shirts that scarcely covers my butt and underwear. I should've put regular clothes on first before I tried to make my escape, but it's too late now. I'll run barefoot as long as it takes to reach my freedom.

I round the corner and see several men standing in the hallway. They end their conversations and gape at me. I keep running, managing to slip past them and down another long corridor. This hallway has a door at the end with light shining around its edges. Could it lead outside?

I beg my legs to move faster. They do, but it’s not fast enough. A man steps out of one of the rooms lining the hallway and blocks my exit.

I turn around, preparing to race the other direction, but the men I passed earlier are now storming after me.

I'm trapped, but I won't go down without a fight.

My legs are moving swiftly, preparing to slip through the men’s grasps again.

I run fast past the first, but the second grabs my arm. I knee him in the balls and keep running.

I punch the next man I see and hear his nose crunch, the bones breaking.

Almost free.

My arm jolts me back as one of the men grabs hold of it. He ducks as I try to punch him, the same way I did his friend. He puts me in a headlock before I have a chance to attack. I bite down hard, tearing through the flesh on his arm until I taste blood.

He lets me go, but only for a second before four hands are on me, grabbing my flailing arms roughly.

"Where do you think you're going, bitch?" One of them asks.

"The cunt bit me. I can't wait to see what Matteo does to her,” another says, staring at the wound on his arm.

I may not have escaped, but I caused damage. That’s a start.

They drag me back down the corridor and out to the living room where Matteo is sitting, waiting. He has an ice pack pressed to this nose and a whiskey in his hand. His entire body tenses when he sees me.

I smirk. At least I made him bleed. He may have won now, but I'll make him suffer over and over and over again.

"Do you want us to lock her in the dungeon?" the man whom I bit asks.

"No, I need her to talk. She won't talk in the dungeon."

"The cunt bit my arm, she deserves severe punishment."

"I agree."

He stares at me intensely.

"Maximo, bring me some shackles."

The man whom I bit lets go of my arm and galavants away. "With pleasure."

Matteo stands up, dropping the ice pack to the ground, and walks toward me. My arms are still spread wide, away from my body held by the three men left.

"You have two choices, Eden. One, I drug you again and lock you in the dungeons until you learn to behave. Or two, I chain you to me so you can't run and you start talking."

Neither seems like a good option.

“Which do you choose?"

“Chained.”

He nods. Maximo returns with the shackles and hands them to Matteo. He bends down and shackles my legs so close together I know I won't be able to do much more than shuffle my feet. I, indeed, won’t be able to run. He then connects my right wrist and to his left wrist with another shackle.

"You can't win Eden, so stop trying. The only way you can earn your freedom is by giving me, Nina and Arlo. If you attempt to escape again, or hurt my men or me in any way, you'll remain medicated and unconscious the rest of your time here. Understand?"

I nod.

He gives his men a look, and they let me go. My instinct is to bolt over and hurt Matteo. Punch him in the face, rip out his heart, snap his neck. However, I don't want to spend the rest of my time here drugged, even though he’s bluffing. He won’t allow me to endure my entire time here in a coma because I would be of no use to him. I don't doubt he would at least drug me for another night though, and that could result in several days in bed recovering.

”How long have I been here?"

"Too long," he answers before he walks away. The handcuff on my wrist pulls, and I struggle to remain even with his long strides as we walk down the hallway, my feet shuffling as rapidly as I can move them in the chains.

"Slow down."

"No."

He jerks me into, what I assume, is his office before he takes a seat behind the desk, not offering me a place to sit. I'm left either standing, leaning against the wall, or sitting on the floor. I decide to conserve my energy and take a seat.

I study him as he makes phone call after phone call, hoping to gain some useful information I can use against him. All of the calls are boring, none of them giving me any insight into a way for me to escape. He mostly talks numbers, men, and how many weapons are to be sent to various clients.

I sit on the floor for at least an hour with nothing to do but to listen to him talk on the phone. I try to figure a way to get out of this, but I come up empty.

I close my eyes, deciding I’ll rest while he works.

My body is jerked awake as he strides out of the office giving me no warning. My eyes fly open, and I scramble to my feet.

"You could at least give me some warning when we are going somewhere."

"No, I can't. You need to learn to behave and maybe then I'll treat you with some respect."

He walks into a small bathroom, and I have no choice but to step inside with him.

"Really?"

"Don't act like you don't want to drool over my cock."

"Gross.” I turn up my nose.

He undoes his pants and pulls out his penis to take a piss. And I admit I can't help but take a quick peek. His cock is long and thick, more substantial than I expected it to be. I try to keep my thoughts pure, but I can't help it. Any woman’s mind would immediately think of what a cock like his is capable of doing.

He zips his pants and washes his hands smirking at me in the mirror while I frown again.

"Where are we going next?"

“Going for a run."

My eyes widen. "You can't be serious?"

"I always go for a run every day."

"I can't run with the shackles on my feet and no shoes on."

He walks down the hallway dragging me behind him without another word. I realize we’re heading back to his bedroom and I smile a little.

We step inside, and he locks the door, trapping us inside together. He unlocks the shackles on my arm and legs.

"I think you’ll find the clothing and shoes you require to go running in that closet." He motions toward a closet opposite of the one he heads to.

I walk over to the closet and step inside, finding a whole wardrobe of women's clothes. They all look like they could fit me. I don't ask how or why, but I see a pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a T-shirt. I change into them quickly, along with some tennis shoes I find in my size. I change as fast as I can because I know the second he's ready, he’ll put the shackles back on, regardless if I’m ready or not.

I step back out into the main bedroom in time to see him slipping a shirt over his rippled body. I notice a few tattoos covering his chest, but otherwise, his body is flawless.

He puts one of the shackles on his wrist and then looks at me with an impatient glance. I hold out my hand, offering to behave, because it would be nice to stretch my legs outside and breathe some fresh air. If this is the only way I get to do it, fine.

He snaps the shackle on to my wrist and leads me outside.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, letting the air and warmth take over me.

But I’m jerked forward as Matteo starts running, giving me no time to warm up. He's faster than me, so I have to push myself to prevent myself falling to the ground and getting dragged.

The path he jogs is beautiful. Through the forest behind his house, a trail he has clearly carved out for himself and no one else.

We jog for a long time until my legs and lungs burn, but I don't complain. For one, I have a great view of his ass as he runs. And as much as I hate to admit it, he has a great ass. And two, I get to push myself and work on gaining speed and strength so someday I can outrun him. And three, I can bask in the warm sun.

As we return to the back of the house, a buzzing sound makes Matteo stop and pull out his phone.

"Yes?” He pauses. "You still haven't found my brother and Nina then?"

"Fine." He hangs up the phone.

I strike him on the back, frustrated.

"What was that for? And just when I thought you were learning to behave."

"What about our deal? You promised if I left those messages at work, you wouldn’t go after Nina and Arlo for at least a week."

He pulls out his phone again and hands it to me showing me the date.

"You have been here two weeks."

My mouth drops open. Two weeks.

"How did you keep me alive for that long unconscious?”

"IVs. The medications I gave you seem to have had a particularly strong effect on you."

I look up, needing to know an answer to my question desperately. “Why? Why do you want Arlo and Nina? Why do you have a picture of Nina in your bedroom?"

"Because Arlo owes me for leaving. He's my brother. He is supposed to stay and work for me, but he left, abandoning me without a word or a goodbye."

“And Nina?”

"I love Nina. I want her back."

“You’re lying. You’re saying that so I’ll eventually tell you where they are. You don’t love Nina or care about your brother. How can you love someone that hurt you?”

His eyes shoot straight into mine as his lips pull back.

“I guess you’ll find out if it’s possible. Could you ever learn to love me despite how I’ve hurt you?”

“No. Could you if I hurt you as badly as you have hurt me?”

He shrugs. “I guess I’m a more forgiving person than you are.”

He stares past me as he leads me back inside. I don’t believe he loves her. He’s not capable of love. He doesn’t even know what love is. Matteo is evil, and I won’t ever tell him where Nina is. Even if it costs me my life.