Chapter 5
Nina
During the drive home, my mind is inundated with flashes of Georgi fighting for his life. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Normally, the men go down hard and fast when I use the stun gun on them, but not him.
Jesus, he’s strong.
Which means it’s going to take much more to break him.
A wave of intense guilt has me closing my eyes.
God. Forgive me. I did it for my daughter.
In the beginning, I used to tell myself they were all bad men, but the lie didn’t last very long. It doesn’t matter who these men are and whether they deserve what happens to them. It only matters that I lured them to their deaths.
Knowing what kind of hell Georgi Torrisi will have to endure before Boris decides to kill him makes the guilt in my chest increase.
It’s not his devastatingly good looks or that he made an impression on me that’s upset me, but the fact he’s so much younger than all the men I’ve crossed paths with. Most were in their late fifties to sixties. Georgi seems to be in his mid-thirties, probably only a few years older than me.
At least, that’s the lie I tell myself, because admitting I feel attracted to a man for the first time in my life is something I’m not ready to do.
It will also be a waste of time, seeing as Georgi is the enemy whom my father is going to torture and kill.
When the convoy of cars stops in the driveway, I push the door open and get out. Guards pull Georgi out of an SUV, and I follow them into the house.
With my bedroom being next to the chamber where the torturing takes place, we walk in the same direction toward the basement.
My gaze drifts over the blood matting Georgi’s hair on the side of his head.
I need to tend to the wound.
We head down the stairs into the hallway in the basement, and nearing my bedroom door, I stop for a moment. Instead of going in so I can change out of the cocktail dress, I find myself walking to the doorway of the torture chamber.
One of the men removes Georgi’s watch and hands it to Boris, who inspects it before placing it on the metal table and smashing it with a hammer.
“Give me his phone,” Boris demands. After digging it out of the pants’ pocket, a guard hands the device to him. Not wasting a second, Boris destroys it, then barks, “Strip him and check for tracking devices. Make it quick. The Cosa Nostra has one of the best hackers in the world.”
I remain standing in the doorway as the men remove Georgi’s clothes.
I hold my breath as tanned skin and muscles are exposed. Georgi is otherworldly attractive, and besides the guilt thickening in my chest, I feel a sense of loss because my father is going to destroy this beautiful man.
When they leave on his boxers, relief fills my chest. Sometimes they strip the prisoners completely naked, and it makes it so much worse for me when I have to tend to their wounds.
“Why are you just standing there?” Boris suddenly snaps at me.
As the men shackle Georgi’s wrists and haul his body into a standing position, he lets out a groan, drawing everyone’s attention to him.
“Move faster!” Boris yells, a note of panic in his voice.
He’s probably scared Georgi will regain full consciousness before they manage to secure the chains.
Steel clanks against concrete, and the instant the chains are locked in place, the men step back from the man who killed one of them and took down several more before they were able to restrain him.
Even I move partially behind the wall. I peek into the room, watching as Georgi lifts his head. He glances around the room, taking in the table that’s covered with various tools that will be used to inflict pain on him.
I’m surprised when he lets out a chuckle, and a grin tips the corners of his mouth up. “You must be tired of living.” His tone sounds playful, like he’s cracking a joke, then he looks right at Boris and sneers, “My family will come for me.”
With a dark glare, my father replies, “They don’t know where you are.” He gestures at the broken phone and watch. “You can’t be tracked, Torrisi.”
Georgi lets out another chuckle, giving the impression he’s not worried.
Suddenly, he looks past Boris, and his eyes collide with mine. I pull back, and as I hurry to my bedroom, I hear Georgi say, “I have to give you credit. Using the woman to lure me out of the hotel was good, but…”
I stop dead in my tracks to hear what he’ll say next.
“…my family will track you through her. Her face is on every camera in the hotel lobby. You fucked up, Boris.”
“Shut him up,” my father snaps angrily.
Boris comes stalking out of the room while the sounds of fists connecting violently with skin fill the air, and the instant he sees me, I scurry into my bedroom.
Before I can shut the door, he stops me and shoves it open. His hand swings through the air, the flat of his large palm burning across my face.
Boris grabs me by my throat, and face-to-face with the man who’s inflicted unspeakable hell on me, his breath wafts over my skin. “You think I don’t see the way you look at Torrisi? Wait until Anton hears about how you acted today.”
No!
It’s one of the sick ways Boris loves to torture me. Whenever I lure a man in to keep Simi from being hurt, Boris taunts Anton by telling him how I threw myself at the man. It always leads to Anton beating and raping me.
My father lets go of me, and I fall onto my back, my head missing the metal corner of my bed by an inch.
“Change out of that fucking dress, whore! You have work to do.”
I remain still until he leaves, then lifting a trembling hand to my throat, I suck in desperate breaths of air.
At the age of twenty-seven, you’d think I’d be used to the threats and abuse, but the fear and disgust never lessen. Instead, it becomes more potent every time I’m hurt and raped.
I picture myself darting up off the floor and running into the torture chamber, grabbing the hammer, and when I catch up to Boris, he’ll give me a look of surprise before I smash in his skull.
If only.
I climb to my feet and shut the door before I reach behind me to pull down the zipper of the dress.
The sounds of Georgi being beaten are muted by the wall between his cell and my bedroom, but I still hear them.
Right after Boris killed Mom, Anton was allowed to rape me. Boris said all my screaming and begging were annoying, so he moved me down here.
Now, only the walls, the guards, and whoever’s being tortured next door hear my screams.
I step out of the high heels and wiggle my toes while I open the closet doors. Grabbing a pair of black jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket, I quickly change into the clothes.
I always try to cover as much skin as possible, so I don’t draw unwanted attention from the guards.
It’s also always cold in the basement, so I wear the jacket every day. Sitting down on the side of my bed, I put on my ballet flats before I pull a brush through my hair and tie it up in a ponytail.
Stepping out into the dimly lit hallway, I don’t look at the four men who stand guard when there’s a prisoner.
I take deep breaths and try to gather enough courage to face Georgi as I walk to the room beside mine.
It’s gone quiet while I was getting dressed, and I hope he’s unconscious.
I stop by the doorway and peek inside, but see that luck is not on my side.
With his arms held up by the shackles and chains, he’s standing with his feet spread wide.
Once again, I can’t stop myself from looking at his incredible body, and even though he’s been beaten, the bruises don’t make him look any less attractive.
If anything, they make him come across as more rugged and dangerous.
Georgi shakes his head and lets out a chuckle that sounds a little insane instead of playful like before. “Where has all your bravery gone, Nina?” He turns his head and locks eyes with me. “From deadly siren to scared mouse. That’s quite the change.”
His tongue darts out to swipe over the bleeding cut on his lip.
I take in the red blemishes on the left side of his chest, his busted lip, the bruising on his face, and the cut running through his eyebrow.
The gash on his head is my biggest worry.
Lowering my eyes to the floor, I walk into the room and go to the opposite corner where the cabinet holding all the medical supplies stands. I open the metal doors and take out a bottle of antiseptic fluid and a clean cloth.
It feels like I’m dragging my feet through sludge as I walk to where Georgi is restrained. I glance at him, and only then am I reminded of how tall he is.
I’m much shorter.
Shit.
I glance around the room and spot an empty bucket. Pulling it from under the table, I turn it over and position it behind Georgi. Careful not to fall, I climb on and pour some of the wound cleanser over the cloth.
When I press it to the gash where the blood is starting to dry, Georgi yanks his head away and growls, “Why are you cleaning me up?”
“It’s my duty,” I whisper.
When I try again, he doesn’t pull away. I manage to wipe most of the blood off, and when I see he doesn’t need stitches, I let out a breath of relief.
I climb off the bucket and move it in front of Georgi. When I get on it again, I barely reach his chin.
His eyes take mine captive, and he tilts his head. After a tense few seconds, he asks, “So what’s your deal?”
I shrug, and breaking eye contact, I get to work on removing all the blood from his face. I don’t know why, but instead of keeping quiet like I should, I whisper, “Boris is my father.”
Georgi raises his eyebrow, and it has me saying, “Don’t move your eyebrow. The cut will start bleeding again.”
“Like you care.” My gaze darts to his, and whatever he sees on my face makes him frown.
“You can stop with the act, sweetheart. You have me all chained up.” He leans his head a little down, his intense hazel gaze once again taking mine captive.
“I’m at your mercy.” I feel the warmth of his breath, and realizing how close our faces are, I jerk backward and lose my balance.