24. Summer
Chapter 24
Summer
Isabella
Seven Years Ago
“G irl, your ass looks fine. I’m so jelly.” A sting pops my thigh below the sequin dress that hugs my body like a glove. I have to waddle in short, stubby steps to move, but hey, beauty is pain.
Rebecca makes a kissy face at me and hands me the joint we’re sharing. I take a hit, the piney flavor tickling the back of my throat. “Where’s Penny?” I ask, letting out a disgraceful cough before bringing the blunt back to my mouth.
“Ugh. Late as ever. Are you ready to meet Tim?”
I snort out a giggle. Tim. What a pathetic name. But honestly, if he’s going to take us to one of the fanciest restaurants in New York, his name could be Rick for all I care.
Rebecca drums her fingers over the black leather steering wheel of her new Porsche. Her parents bought it for her three weeks ago for her seventeenth birthday, and she hasn’t stopped flaunting it. Granted, most kids at our private school drive some sort of BMW or Mercedes, so I don’t know why she’s such a pain about it.
What pisses me off even more is that my parents could buy me ten Porsches, but yet they won’t get me a car. I have to be picked up right after tennis practice in a styleless black SUV by one of my father’s men who smells like too much Tom Ford Oud Wood and, unfortunately, has an affinity for his job—he won’t take me anywhere other than home. No matter how much I beg or flirt with the old guy.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Think she’s going to come tonight?”
“Uh, duh. That girl parties harder than you, Bella. She’ll be here. Probably trying to get away from her parents for the night. I told her to tell them she was staying at my place, but I don’t know. What did you tell your parents?”
I shrug. “I didn’t.” I seem to be less of a concern now that they’ve married my older sister off.
She scoffs. “Lucky. What do you say if they call?”
“I’ll tell them I’m networking.” They know I want to go into modeling. I dart out all the time for auditions, skipping classes. They don’t seem pressed to keep tabs on me, at least not as much as they did with Luna.
Although, lately, my father’s been looking at me strange. He’ll stare at me at the dinner table. Or I’ll catch him eyeing my outfits when he never paid attention before. And I heard him talking the other day on the phone about the “the perfect match” regarding a deal with the Cartel.
I shiver.
No way in hell is he pulling a stunt like he did with my sister on me. I have too much going on here. I’m so close to graduating high school, as Luna pointed out at our lunch the other day, and once I do, I’ll be looking to model full time.
There’s a tap on the driver side window and naturally Rebecca squeals and shoves the contraband in her hand under her seat. With a cackle outside the car window, Penny doubles over, her boobs practically spilling from her hot pink silk dress, or at least it looks pink. I can’t tell through these tinted windows.
I laugh, throwing open the passenger side door. “Took you long enough!” I shout over the congested traffic of Manhattan. We’re about a block and a half away from the high-rise restaurant that towers above the New York skyline. Rebecca says we’re to wait in the lobby for Tim.
“What took you so long?” Rebecca asks, climbing out of the car and hitting the lock button on her key fob. Her outfit is a navy cocktail dress with a lace bodice and tulle like skirt. She’s wearing wedges, which I tried to tell her was a bad idea, but she likes to make herself exceptionally taller. Her red hair is pulled back in a slick bun, while Penny’s blonde hair is tamed into beach blown waves almost as long as mine.
“Okay. Don’t be mad, but …” She digs in her bra and pulls out a flask. “I was waiting for this.”
“What is it?” I grab for it.
She pulls it away from me. “It’s for later, when we go to the clubs after dinner. We can’t be wasted at the restaurant,” Penny says.
“Especially this restaurant,” Rebecca chimes in.
I roll my eyes and smirk. “One sip won’t kill us. Give it to me.”
Penny reluctantly hands me the silver flask with the initials H.B.J. This must be her older brother’s. Harry Johnson. He’s twenty-six, and dreamy. I tried to get Penny to give him my number, but she gave me a diatribe about him being almost ten years older than me, or some bullshit. I kind of like older men.
Bringing the flask to my mouth, I tip it back, the warm liquor burning my chest as I swallow. I cough. “What the hell is that ?”
She smiles at me. “Absinthe. My brother got it for me.”
“That’s disgusting.” I clear my throat, trying to relieve the fire and unique taste from my mouth.
“It’s not meant to taste good. It has a job to do.” Penny giggles when I stick out my tongue at her.
“Come on, you shitheads. Tim’s probably waiting.” Rebecca waggles her eyebrows, and we take off for the restaurant.
* * *
“Umm, Tim is intense,” Penny says, applying a pink lipstick to match her dress in the bathroom mirror. All three of us excused ourselves after dinner to go touch up before we head to the club.
Intense is putting it nicely. The guy is like in his late forties, either that or he’s going prematurely gray, and his steel-gray eyes don’t seem to have an off button. I study the obnoxious floral wallpaper in the bathroom and wrinkle my nose at the overuse of potpourri.
“You’re just jealous he’s more interested in me than you.” Rebecca dabs a tissue between her lips.
Penny rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. If there’s anyone here he can’t stop staring at, it’s Isabella.”
Rebecca’s mouth drops open. “Take that back, Penny Johnson.”
“We just need to get to this private club he was talking about. Then there will be plenty of rich businessmen to go around,” I say trying to deescalate these two. They fight like sisters. Well, maybe like some sisters. Luna and I don’t fight all that often. She tries to play mother or give me sound advice. It’s annoying, but she’s never once ratted me out to our parents so, there’s that.
“Where’s this club anyway?” Penny asks. She wrings her hands together, nervous.
“Downtown somewhere. It’s secret, Pen. You’ll have to see when we get there.” Rebecca winks, and we all move back out the woman’s bathroom door and run smack into Tim.
Well, I do.
Rebecca is first out, walking past him, but he steps into my pathway before I can exit, and I run right into his chest. I scramble back, pushing against his Armani suit to not only stabilize myself, but keep my distance.
He grabs my wrist. “Oops. Didn’t see you there.”
I swallow at the slimy timbre of his voice, and my heart thrashes. He leers down at me, eyes dipping to the low-cut V in my dress. Creep.
He raises his head up to Penny, not sparing her more than a glance. “Elevator is this way. I’ve already paid us out.”
Rebecca smiles flirtatiously, a blush deepening on her freckled cheeks that nearly rivals her hair. “Thank you, Tim. That’s mighty nice of you. I mean I’m sure that filet I ordered was more than any other dish I’ve ordered before. Not that there were any prices on the menu. It’s a known fact that restaurants with prices on the menu?—”
I elbow her when Tim’s fist clenches at his side.
“Shut up,” I whisper. Rebecca gets the biggest case of word diarrhea when she’s around a guy she likes, and I’m pretty sure she likes Tim. Or at least, what he can provide for her.
When we reach the elevator, Tim pushes the button, and it’s then I notice the gold cufflinks with the initials EV. Huh.
The elevator dings, and a fit, muscular blond darts off that looks?—
Oh, no . No.
Tim pushes us on the elevator as a voice I never planned on hearing this evening inquires, “Bella?”
Luna’s surprise mixed with utter confusion would be almost laughable if I wasn’t panicking inside.
“Luna?” I plaster a look of indifference on my face, pretending I’m unsure of her name. The fact Luna Buscetta and Nik Balakin are here is a recipe for disaster. I definitely don’t want Tim to know my last name. He can’t know my last name.
The Buscetta name is powerful and can provoke different responses from different people. Some can be terrified, willing to bend over backward to avoid the threat of having the Cosa Nostra on their backs. Others, well, they can see dollar signs. An opportunity to extort the family worth billions of dollars.
Luna’s eyes flick to Tim, then narrow on his black hair peppered with strands of gray that are a dead giveaway that he’s significantly older than me. She drags her gaze over Penny and Rebecca, both whom she’s never met. They don’t come over.
Tim seems to study Luna, and Nik stalks back into the elevator. He’s so intimidating, my expression startles when he approaches.
“Get out. We need to leave,” Tim barks. Rebecca flinches at this tone, and her shoulders cave.
Luna scowls, pointing at me. “I want to talk to her first.”
No, Luna.
I reach back, smoothing my ponytail that’s tightly pulled to my head. “No, I’ll see you in class on Monday.”
Honestly, it’s the best I got. She’s got to give it up, and I don’t want to jeopardize this new club because Tim gets spooked by my older sister and her husband.
She starts again. “I want to know?—”
“Get off or I will remove you myself.” I jump at Tim’s booming words, and they echo off the elevator.
“Touch her, and I will split you in half.” Nik offers Luna his hand, and he tries to coax her to leave.
Yes, leave please . Tim tucks me under arm, and I roll my eyes.
“I’ll text you,” I tell her, and I offer them both a smile.
The uncomfortable altercation shushes Rebecca and Penny. They both remain quiet as we move from the elevator to the front door.
“I have a car for us,” Tim says. He fondles the hem of my dress then bends down, his mouth grazing Rebecca’s ear. “I’ll be right back.”
He moves to the valet, while the three of us stay glued near the tall topiary bushes towering in sleek black planters that remind me too much of those at our estate.
It’s not long before a black town car pulls up, and where I expect Tim to get into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t. But I thought he went to the valet? An attractive Black man steps out, a tightly shaved goatee hugging his mouth and chin. His suit looks just as expensive as Tim’s.
Opening the back door, he steps aside while Tim gestures to the back seat. “Let’s go. We don’t have all night. This club doesn’t open to just anyone.”
We pile in and the car takes off through the city traffic. We talk and giggle while sipping the flask of absinthe Penny brought us, and by the time the car finally pulls to a stop, I’m successfully buzzed and ready for cocktails that taste more like fruit instead of licorice.
Tim’s eyes drag over each of our exposed thighs, ping-ponging back and forth like he can’t pick which set to stare between.
The door opens again, and giddy, we all pour out of the town car, tempted by the secrecy of this club, and the allure that seems to have Tim overly excited.
I laugh when Penny tugs at my ponytail, joking about how some men might like to have my ponytail wrapped around their fist.
A dark alleyway greets us. I glance around, trying to place where in the city we may be, but I spot nothing familiar and my stomach flips. The flicker of a neon sign grabs my attention and I realize, instead of club signage, it’s for a pawnshop.
We’re ushered into the alleyway. The narrow space between the two dirty buildings is filled with trash, broken glass, and crumpled newspapers. Not paying attention, my heel drags through a puddle of stagnant, murky water. Disgusting.
Penny clings to my arm, cutting off any circulation in my biceps and fusses when I try to shrug her off.
Tim pauses in front of a metal door. Where strips of graffiti decorate the overflowing dumpster, this metal door is shiny and free from any vandalism. He raises a hand upward, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s waving it in front of a camera tucked into the corner.
Taking a deep breath, I glance back toward where the car dropped us off and has not departed. I palm my chest, fiddling with the outline of my phone tucked into my bra.
“EV?” Rebbecca says, her long fingers tracing the initials engraved in the door. She looks at me, and I shrug. I’ve never heard of this place either, but I seek out the cufflinks I noticed on Tim earlier.
A bulky man opens the door in black tactical gear that reminds me of my father’s guards. Looks like these people are pretty serious about not letting anyone in here. He shares a few words with Tim, which I miss trying to get a peek inside.
Red lighting pulses from somewhere deep in the building, and before I know it, we’re ushered through hanging velvet curtains into a club dripping with red leather booths and velvet chairs. Exquisite white marble tables sit interspersed around the floor, facing a sprawling stage where several topless women are parading about.
“Umm …” Penny mutters under her breath. “Where’s the dancing?”
Tim turns, stopping his progress toward the bar, and lifts a thumb to swipe at her lower lip. “Most of that takes place over there.” He points to a long line of red curtains, some pulled back showing tiny empty rooms with couches and walls covered in mirrors. But others are closed, and I’m not sure I need to guess what takes places behind them.
As I continue to look around, several young girls grind overtop men in suits as the handsy men grope and feel with lust-filled eyes.
“Oh my—” Rebecca clutches my arm and physically forces my chin to look at the ceiling. Reinforced cube cages hang overhead, and women, wearing all black as opposed to those on stage in red, are packed inside. Eyes glassy and heads drooping, their arms and legs hang out of the open grate like boxes, and a gasp dies in my throat.
“This is one kinky place,” Rebecca jokes to Tim.
“The girls love it. They are relaxed and floating on clouds right now. Here, want to float, too?” He pulls out an Altoids tin from inside his suit pocket and opens it, offering her a light blue wafer-like disc about the size of a penny. He continues to hold her stare while he calls to the bartender. “Whatever these girls want tonight, Felix. No exceptions.”
Those words worm their way into Rebecca because she bats her eyelashes and picks a disc out of the tin to slip under her tongue.
“Don’t take that!” Penny smacks her hand from her mouth, but it’s too late.
“Aw, loosen up, Penny. I thought we were having a good time tonight.” She shakes her hips and reaches for the drink that’s made its way into Tim’s hand already. She takes a sip while he tracks her movements. A grimy smile about as dirty as the alleyway we came through spreads across his lips.
He offers me the tin, and I pluck a disc out, tucking it in my bra. When he furrows his brow at me, I say, “Saving it for later.” Then I wink at him.
I seriously hope there are some other businessmen here, preferably hot, or else this whole secret club thing will not be worth it for me. Tim has the rich part down, but he plays the creepy old man too well.
Three drinks are placed on the spectacular wooden bar top that would rival my father’s restaurants and personal bar at home any day. I pick up the pink drink with a screwed strawberry and take a sip. Liquor and sweet fruit bursts over my tongue and I shudder.
“Here’s to not remembering tomorrow!” I raise my glass and Penny and Rebecca raise theirs, although Penny is reluctant.
Rebecca smirks and winks at Tim. “Drink up, bitches!”
* * *
The white marble floor beneath my feet sways. I think I’m walking. Maybe it’s more like stumbling. Oh! I’m floating. Tim said he’d make me float.
Wait, where’s Tim?
Something’s warm and hard beneath me, and it moves. Whoa. I giggle.
“You like that?” A breath skirts over my ear, and I turn, remembering I’m on some guy’s lap. Ram? Bram? No … maybe Sam. I don’t know.
I nod, and his hands tickle their way up my thighs. My dress is hiked up almost to my butt. My thoughts are fuzzy, and the women on the stage seem to have multiplied. I blink, and then they become four again.
My chest is warm, and it spreads through my limbs. If only everyone could feel this way. My breath hitches as one of Graham’s fingers rubs over my underwear, and my vision blurs. The edges around are hazy, but I’m able to focus on the next table over.
Penny straddles a guy on a leather chair. Is she naked? No, no. Her pink thong stretches over her lower half, and the guy’s hands play with the fabric, pulling and snapping it against her.
I furrow my brow. Where’s Rebecca?
“Can I take you to a private room?” Bram says, fingers dangerously close to brushing the most sensitive parts of me.
I shake my head. “I-I, uh … is it hot in here?”
He smiles, his teeth the whitest I’ve ever seen. Are they real?
“It’s getting there, darling,” Sam whispers, and the air blowing in my ear makes me giggle. I laugh, unable to stop. What’s so funny?
I hop up, stumbling backward, and my heels buckle out from underneath me. Landing on the floor, several men dart from their tables, offering me a hand, but I swat them away. I need another drink.
I get to my hands and knees, using a nearby chair to pick myself up.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Another man, perhaps in his sixties, with silver hair and icy blue irises, asks me the question. I nod and sniff. He brings a hand up to my chin, lifting it until he’s studying me like I’m the new Lamborghini he may want to take out for a spin. “You look familiar.”
I shake my head, a rush causing me to close my eyes briefly. Maybe I don’t need another drink. I sidestep him, moving to search for Rebecca.
When I don’t see her at any of the tables, I move to the curtains, ripping each one open to hunt for her.
“Hey! Close that,” shrieks a female on her knees before a man on the couch.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
I pinch my eyes shut, trying to stay in control. “Rebecca!” I shout louder than I mean to. Nothing. Where is she?
“I’m afraid your friend went home with someone already.” The same voice from minutes ago sounds behind me, and I turn to find the gray-haired man standing there.
“Oh, well then, I should probably … most definitely go, too. Yep.” I stammer through the sentence, but suck in a deep breath through my nose, steadying myself.
“I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere, Miss Buscetta.”
I freeze, the name he just called me sobering me fast. “I-I don’t know who that is.”
“Ah, I think you do. I’ve informed Mr. Rose that Salvatore’s daughter is in his club, and do you know what’s interesting, Miss Buscetta?”
Stop saying that name, please.
I shake my head.
“He didn’t even know Salvatore had a daughter. I recognize you from business I’ve done with your father several months ago. I think?—”
I take off running. It’s worse than a three-legged blind gazelle, and I falter and lurch my way through tables, searching for the velvet tapestries we walked in here through. What do I do? What do I do? They know my name.
My father’s words echo in my ear. Your last name is power, sì . But it is also a weakness. They will use you to get to the Cosa Nostra, and I will not jeopardize my organization for one person. Family or not.
I glance behind me to find two guards chasing me, and I reach into my bra to pull out my phone. I have seconds to make this phone call. I fiddle with the buttons, slowing as my trembling clammy fingers dial a number. With the first ring, I pick up the pace, darting down a hallway toward the bathrooms. I push into the women’s restroom.
“Hello?” Luna’s voice echoes in the empty bathroom.
“Luna? Luna, it’s Bella.” I inhale a shaky breath and release it.
“Isabella, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
Bass picks up from somewhere in the club and I move to a stall. “Luna. They won’t let me leave. I-I keep trying—” I let out a sob. I’m dead. Shit, someone is going to threaten to chop off my body parts unless my father agrees to something and he never will.
“Bella, where are you? Send me your location.”
The door to the bathroom opens, and when I whimper, I smack a hand over mouth. Snot drips from my nose and I fight the urge to sniff.
“Bella, did you hear me? Send me your location, I’m coming.”
I sniffle.
“She’s in here!” One guards yells into the hall.
No, no, no. “They know. They know my last name. I can’t leave,” I whisper.
“Gotcha!” A man kicks in the stall door and I tumble back onto the toilet.
“Drop a pin! I’m coming.” Luna yells into the phone.
The man reaches for me, so I turn, putting my back to him, and struggle to send off a pin.
He pulls my long hair and I scream, losing the grip on my phone and it clashes to the floor. I kick wildly as the man pulls me from the stall. The smell of bleach overpowers the peachy scent of soap somewhere in here, and I claw the hands fisting my ponytail.
I twist and yell, blubbering incoherent words. Another guard appears in the doorway holding a syringe.
“Rose said to give her this.” He stalks forward, and I shake as he grabs my neck and injects me with something. I let out a scream that fizzles to a croak before the world goes black.
* * *
My eyelids flutter open. What in the absolute hell? The room spins, an array of black velvet curtains hang to cover every wall in the room. Where am I? Where—I struggle to right myself and quickly realize I’m bound. My arms are wrapped behind me, hugging a chair, and my ankles are tied painfully tight to the legs. I pull against the ties, the weight on my body making the chair creak with a cackle. It’s laughing at me, and I jolt into a panic, tugging against the rough bindings digging into my wrists.
No, no. I’m so screwed. I pinch my eyes shut, trying to breathe.
Why am I so cold?
I do my best to blink away the heavy weight over my lashes, forcing them to crack despite the blurry smear of black, white, and red.
My pulse quickens, and my head pounds, each throb shooting a stabbing pain behind my eyes. My stomach turns as my body sluggishly catches up to my reality.
Willing my eyes wide, I take in the room. It’s massive, reminding me of one of those hotel conference center rooms you can rent for meetings or weddings. Except there’s no furniture.
Bastards can’t even decorate. I snort at myself, trying hard to sober my mind. Focus, Bella.
A cherry-red committee table, shaped like a semicircle, sits toward one end of the room with black leather chairs pushed in behind it.
The weak light casts strange shadows along the white marble floors, streaked with swirls of red and I fixate on it, panting.
It’s eerily silent, the slightest thump of music barely audible. I strain again against the bindings, but they don’t budge. My breathing is shallow, and every once in a while, I let out a gasp of pain as I work to free myself.
My last name is going to get me killed. Did my pin even get to Luna? Should I have called my father? One of his guards I ditched for the evening? They’re so tired of my shit, they probably wouldn’t have even answered my phone call anyway.
My skin prickles with goose bumps. Why the hell am I so cold? The sequins on my dress whisper and rustle with every shudder, and I crane my neck looking for someone, anyone.
It’s as if my thoughts summon him, because there’s a rippling sound, as though he morphed through the curtains like some sort of ghost.
A tall man with thinning dark hair slowly approaches, hands tucked into his suit pockets. There’s a gleam in his beady eyes, and his pointed nose flares.
“Miss Buscetta,” he says without question.
I don’t react. In fact, I make a show of using any remaining strength to twist my gaze over my shoulder, pretending to look for someone behind me before meeting his inquisitive, yet smug, stare. “I don’t know who that is.”
The lie slips from my tongue like my life depends on it.
The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing pearly white teeth that clash with his black suit and tie. My attention drifts to a gold pin with the initials EV, the same Tim is wearing. Oh hell. What have I stumbled into?
I gesture toward the pin. “You the leader of this fancy club or something?”
“Or something,” he says.
He tilts his head, studying me before he circles the chair, examining. I snarl when his hand yanks on my slicked-back ponytail.
“You see, I’ve had some EV members verify you’re a Buscetta, and I have to tell you, I’m impressed your father has managed to keep his only child hidden for so long.”
I narrow my eyes to keep them from going wide. Only child? He truly doesn’t know my father has two daughters. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not this Isabella person.”
Suddenly, his hand wraps around my neck, ushering in a squeeze that makes me wheeze for air. Holy shit, I can’t breathe.
“Don’t insult me. I know who you are, and your father is going to pay handsomely if he wants you back.”
I scoff the best I can with his forceful grip around my throat. “He doesn’t care. He won’t care. I’m not worth anything to him,” I croak.
He considers this, his hand releasing me enough I’m able to gulp in a lungful of air. “EV, or Echelon Vanguard, is not your average club, Miss Buscetta. We’re powerful businessmen, politicians, ex-mafia, doing our best to contend with the Bratva and Cosa Nostra in New York. Personally, it’d be a lot more convenient if you were the Bratva because I’ve been trying to get to Luka Morozov for several years, but I guess a Cosa Nostra princess will have to do.”
He moves to stand in front of me, placing a finger under my chin to lift my gaze to him. My nostrils flare as he licks his lips, eyes dipping to my chest. But before he can reach out to grope me, another man rushes in.
“Mr. Rose. There’s someone else here asking for the girl.”
My heart drops at the same time as Mr. Rose’s hand does. “Well, show them in.”
I hear her cries before I see her. Oh my God, no. No.
A burly guard yanks in Luna, arms forced behind her, and he throws her to the ground. She’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt way too large for her, and I realize it’s Nikolai’s. She heaves, staring at the red on the floor.
My chest tightens, looking at her. First an arranged marriage, and now this. What have I done? The crushing weight is impossible to shrug off, and warm tears splash down my cheeks.
“Well, what do we have here? Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Mr. Rose says.
“Luna …” I catch myself whispering her name as more tears slip down my face.
Mr. Rose walks around me, his focus hovering on Luna and he reaches from behind me to drag a finger down my chest.
“Stop! Don’t touch her!” Luna snarls. His hand stills.
“And who is she to you?” The way he says it is coaxing. He’s looking for an answer.
Don’t tell him .
Luna’s face is pale and drawn tight as she stares at where my hands and feet are bound. The pain on her face echoes the look she gave me in my bathroom the other day when I came home high and utterly hung over. She was disappointed, but more than that, she was scared for me.
“Let her go. She’s underage and shouldn’t even be here.”
Mr. Rose lets a slimy laugh slide from him as he moves toward her instead. He approaches Luna, wrapping his fingers around her neck. “You are the one who shouldn’t be here. Our friend here is of some use to us. You may just have to be the scraps. Remove her and give her to one of the men to play with.”
He flicks his hand, and when the guard behind her fists her hair, I scream for her. She fights, but it’s no use, the man is too strong, too motivated.
“Wait, wait! I’m her sister!” Luna yells.
Mr. Rose halts the guard. “Her sister?”
“Yes. I’m her older sister. Luna Buscetta. Take me , use me . I guarantee I’m worth more than her. Please,” Luna begs.
Heat sears my face as guilt twists into me like a knife. I want to speak, to yell, to tell him no, something.
“You think you’re worth more. Why is that?”
Luna negotiates. “Will you let her go? If I can deliver on this—prove to be more useful? You’ll let her go?”
There’s a roaring in my ears and I miss the continued exchange between them. This can’t happen. Why is this happening? Because of you!
“This better not be a game.” Another man speaks up from somewhere in the room, but I’m too busy releasing uncontrollable tears.
“Luna, don’t …” I can barely get the words out through my sobs. I shake, wrestling with my ties and feeling utterly helpless.
“I’m Luna Buscetta. But … I am also Luna Balakin. Nikolai Balakin is my husband. I married into the Bratva.”
There’s more commotion behind me that’s cut through by Mr. Rose’s laugh, oily and disgusting. “This is—beyond what I could’ve hoped for.”
He lifts a knife from his pocket, moving toward me.
This is it. I’m dead. He’s not going to let me go, he’s going to slit my throat and take Luna. Damn him. Damn my father.
Never. Never will I ever involve myself with the mafia again. Hell with what my father wants from me.
Luna lunges for him, despite the guards securing her.
“Relax, my little puppet. Lucky for you, you are in fact worth ten times more to us than your little sister here.”
And suddenly, the pull on my wrists and feet is gone. He’s sliced through the bindings. “Take her outside the city and drop her off. She can find her own way home.”
Someone grabs me, clawing at my dress and nicking my skin. “Stop, please,” I yell. I don’t want to leave her. This is all my fault. I can’t leave her. “I’m so sorry, Luna.”
The worst part is the way her eyes lock with mine—there’s no blame, no anger, only relief. Peace is etched into her face, like she can finally rest knowing I’m free and that makes the ache unbearable.
* * *
The rumbling of the car over the road would’ve normally lulled me to sleep, but not now. Defeated, my head rests in the back window, hands tied in front of me.
I did this.
A whimper escapes me, and the tightness in my chest rivals the sweat rolling down my nose.
She traded herself for me.
I killed her.
My hope is that Nik throws the full force of the Bratva at Mr. Rose. My father won’t. Not unless the benefit outweighs the effort.
I shift my feet out of the vomit I threw up after my screams literally choked me. My skull pulses, and I’m terrified another wave of sobs might just blow my head off.
I screwed up getting involved with Tim and this new “club.” I’m a coward. I called my sister, and somewhere deep down I knew she would come. She’s always been there for me. Nights I’d come home wasted and past my curfew she’d cover for me. I’ve treated her awful at times, and yet she took my place.
Sore, I tilt my head enough to gaze at the starry sky. The fact I can actually see them is concerning and proof I’m no longer inside the city. The rich night passes quickly and a foggy haze distorts the thick treeline.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but the car slows and I want to die. At seventeen, I never gave much thought to my life, other than I wanted out from under my parents’ thumb, to party, and model. What I wouldn’t give—scratch that—I’d give it all up for my sister.
What have I done? I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
When the car comes to a stop, I glance up, finding the driver looking at me through the mirror. I move my head back to look out the window. I don’t care where we are. I don’t care what his plans are for me.
He sighs, opening his front door.
I should be trembling. I should be worried he’ll take advantage of me out here in the middle of nowhere, but I don’t. My only thought is Luna. He stalks around the car to the door I’m propped up against, and he opens it. With a swift yank, he pulls at my right tired arm and flings me down into the ditch, and I’m not sure I deserve any better.