Chapter 18
I check my watch. Three hours. Three hours of Sokolov's screams bouncing off concrete walls.
Noah works with cold precision, carving another line across Sokolov's chest. The Russian's scream tears through the warehouse, raw and desperate. His once-average face is now a swollen mess of purple bruises and split skin. Blood soaks through his shredded shirt, mapping the path of Noah's blade.
"Ready to talk yet?" Noah asks, voice flat.
Sokolov spits blood. It lands on the floor, joining the growing puddle beneath his chair.
Matteo steps forward, a small bowl of salt in his hands. "Your choice," he says, his usual charm replaced by his darker side. "Names. Or more pain."
When Sokolov remains silent, Matteo nods to Noah, who makes another precise cut along the Russian's collarbone. Then Matteo dips his fingers into the salt and presses them into the fresh wound.
The scream that follows doesn't even sound human.
I stand back, arms crossed, watching. This isn't my first interrogation, but the sound still crawls under my skin. Necessary evil. That's what I tell myself.
"The leak," I say when the screaming stops. "Who's feeding you information about the Ferettis?"
Sokolov's head hangs forward, chin touching his chest. His breathing comes in ragged gasps. Zip ties cut into his wrists and ankles where he's strapped to the metal chair. The concrete floor beneath him is stained dark with blood and urine.
"Fuck you," he manages, voice barely audible.
Matteo sighs, placing the salt bowl on a nearby table. He pulls out a pair of pliers.
"We've been gentle so far," he says, turning the tool in his hand. "But my patience is running thin."
Sokolov's eyes widen at the sight of the pliers. For the first time, real fear breaks through his defiance.
I watch Noah lean closer to Sokolov, his blade still dripping red. The Russian's breathing is shallow, desperate. Blood pools in the hollow of his throat.
"Let's try a different approach," I say, stepping forward. "What do the Volkovs actually want?"
Sokolov's swollen eyes focus on me with effort. His laugh sounds like broken glass. "You think this is about revenge for Ivan?"
"Isn't it?" Matteo asks, setting the pliers down.
"Alexei Volkov..." Sokolov gasps, "never liked his brother. Ivan was reckless. Got himself killed playing games with your family." He spits more blood. "Alexei didn't shed one tear when Ivan died. You did him a favor."
My jaw clenches. "Then what the fuck is this about?"
"The Andersons owed money. Lots of money. To Ivan before he died." Sokolov's head lolls back. "Alexei inherited those debts. But you Ferrettis... you stuck your noses where they don't belong. Protected the girl's family. Made Alexei look weak."
Noah's grip tightens on his knife. "So this is about respect."
"Bratva doesn't play games," Sokolov wheezes. "Someone disrespects us, we make examples. Show everyone what happens when you cross the Volkov name."
The pieces click together in my head. The attack at the casino. Evelyn's poisoning. All of it designed to prove a point - that the Volkovs can reach anyone, anywhere.
"When do they hit again?" I demand.
Sokolov's laugh turns into a wet cough. "Soon. Very soon. Alexei's bringing more men from Moscow. Your little family war is just beginning."
Noah moves the blade to Sokolov's throat. "I need the name of whoever's working with Volkov inside the Feretti organization."
Fear flashes in Sokolov's eyes. Real terror now. He knows this information is his death sentence either way.
"I don't?—"
Noah presses the blade deeper. A thin line of blood appears. "The name."
"Nathan!" Sokolov gasps. "Nathan Turner. From your security team."
Nathan Turner. One of my own men. Young guy, been with us for three years. Always eager, always volunteering for extra shifts. Always around when things went to shit. Never talking but he was fucking good doing his job.
My hands clench into fists. "Nathan fucking Turner."
Matteo nods grimly. "That's who I suspected. He was the common thread - present at every incident. He knew about the casino security rotation. He knew which hotel suite you'd be staying in for the engagement party."
Rage burns through my chest like acid. I trusted Nathan. Brought him into the inner circle. Let him guard Lucrezia.
One of my own men has been feeding information to the Russians. Setting up his brothers to die. Setting up Lucrezia to be targeted.
Noah's blade moves faster than lightning. It slides across Sokolov's throat in one smooth motion. Blood sprays across the concrete floor.
"That's for poisoning Evelyn you bastard," Noah says quietly, watching Sokolov's eyes go blank.
The warehouse falls silent except for the steady drip of blood hitting the floor.
I stare at Sokolov's lifeless body, my mind already racing. Nathan Turner. The betrayal cuts deeper than any knife wound. But now I know. Now I can act.
I wake to sunlight streaming through my bedroom curtains, momentarily disoriented. The events from last night flood back. My head pounds as I sit up, noticing I'm still wearing the silk dress from the engagement party, now wrinkled beyond repair.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
"Come in," I call, my voice raspy from sleep.
Damiano enters, dark circles shadow his eyes, and the lines around his mouth seem deeper than yesterday. He hasn't slept.
"How's Evelyn?" I ask immediately.
"Stable. Noah's with her." He sits on the edge of my bed, something he hasn't done since I was a child. "We need to talk, Lu."
Whatever he's about to say, it's serious.
"What happened?" I pull my knees to my chest, bracing myself.
"I spoke with Riccardo this morning." Damiano rubs his hand across his jaw, the stubble making a scratching sound against his palm. "In light of last night's attack, we've agreed to move up the wedding."
My stomach drops. "Move it up? To when?"
"One week from today."
The room spins slightly. "One week? That's impossible?—"
"It's necessary," Damiano cuts in, his voice firm but gentle. "The Russians are escalating. We can't afford to wait."
I press my fingers against my temples, trying to process this. "But why would moving up the wedding help anything?"
"Riccardo has already transferred half of the ten million the Gaming Commission is demanding. With the engagement officially sealed, he's committed to our alliance." Damiano leans forward. "This buys us time and resources to deal with the Volkovs while protecting our business interests."
"So I'm just a transaction that needs to be completed quickly?" The words come out sharper than I intended.
Damiano flinches. "Lucrezia?—"
"No, I understand." I force my voice to steady. "Family first. Business first. It's always been this way."
"If there was another option?—"
"But there isn't." I meet his eyes. "I agreed to this arrangement. I'll honor it."
Damiano studies my face, searching for doubt, perhaps, or the breaking point he fears I'm approaching. I keep my expression neutral, the way I've learned to do at countless business dinners and social functions.
"Ava will help with the arrangements," he says finally. "She's already contacted a planner who can work with the timeline."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
"Lucia." Damiano takes my hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around mine. "I swore after what happened that I would never let anyone hurt you again. That I would never put you in a position where you felt powerless."
"This isn't the same," I say automatically.
"Isn't it?" His eyes, so like mine, hold a pain I rarely see him reveal. "I'm trading my sister's future for business security."
I squeeze his hand. "I'm choosing this, Damiano. There's a difference."
He doesn't look convinced, but he nods. "Daniel will continue as your security detail until the wedding. After that..."
After that, I'll belong to the Sartori family. The unspoken truth hangs between us.
"One week," I repeat, the reality sinking in. Seven days until I leave behind whatever chance I might have had at finding real love.
Daniel's face flashes in my mind, and I push the thought away. There's no room for what-ifs now.
"One week," Damiano confirms, standing. "I'll let you get dressed. Breakfast in thirty minutes."
When the door closes behind him, I finally allow myself a single, shuddering breath.
I rise from the bed, letting the ruined silk dress fall to the floor.