14. Alina
14
Alina
I wake on my side, Damian’s long body pressed against my back, his arm draped over me.
I had the best sex of my life with a man who is holding me prisoner.
Worse, I like the man who is holding me prisoner. I like that he listens when I speak, that he considers my words and questions. I like that he chose to share a little of himself with me. I like that he didn’t lose his temper when I called him spoiled.
I like the man who holds my brother’s life in his hands. Who holds my life in his hands.
A man who is a criminal, a killer, a villain.
A man who is holding me as collateral on a debt.
I have no illusions about who and what he is.
And yet…I like him.
I wriggle out from under Damian’s arm and rise, goosebumps prickling along my arms in the cool air. I grab my robe and shrug it on, wondering what time it is. Leaning over, I check his phone where it sits on the night table. It’s late. Or early. Depending on one’s perspective.
Wait. Damian’s phone.
Adrenaline kicks my pulse up a notch.
I glance at him.
This is my chance to call Markus, to make sure he’s okay. I hesitate. Maybe I should just wake Damian and ask. But what if he says no? He’ll probably say no.
But I’ve been so worried…
I kneel down beside the bed and slowly, so slowly, slide the phone across the sheets toward Damian’s hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t stir, just keeps on breathing, slow and deep and even. I use his thumb to unlock the phone. It takes me three tries, three long, endless tries, my heart in my throat the whole time.
And then it’s unlocked and I bound from the room. I close the bedroom door behind me and quickly cross to the second bedroom at the opposite end of the condo.
After closing that door behind me, I start to dial Markus’ number, a little surprised when he comes up as a contact. But I guess that makes sense. Damian would want to have his number to follow up on the repayment schedule.
My call goes straight to voicemail.
I hesitate for a second and then say, “Markus, it’s me. Just want to let you know that I’m okay. Everything is okay. Damian is treating me well. Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself. I—” I almost tell him I love him. But that will definitely make him worry. Instead, I say, “I’ll see you soon,” and end the call.
I stand there in the dark, my thoughts spinning. I wish Markus had answered. I wish I could have spoken to him. I have no idea if he has a plan, if he’s been able to find his ex-girlfriend and the missing money, if he’s managed to gather any funds at all.
But maybe he’s texted Damian. Maybe…
Curious, I check the text history.
I’m surprised to see that it goes back months… no, years. I thought Markus just met Damian the night of the poker game. But no, that can’t be right. Because before Markus made that idiotic double-or-nothing bet that brought his total to a million fucking dollars, he said that he owed Damian a hundred grand from that night but he owed him a total of five hundred grand. Which meant that wasn’t the first time they’d played.
I scroll through the texts. There’s nothing specific. No chit chat. No friendly ribbing. I read everything carefully and realize that it’s just a series of texts where Damian summons Markus and Markus confirms, or Markus texts a single word: done . A couple of times he texts: usual place. There are no addresses or times or details. My gut is telling me that not all these texts are about poker games. Maybe none of them are. Markus has been doing something for Damian for at least two years, some sort of job. My stomach drops.
Neither Markus nor Damian lied to me about their relationship, but they haven’t told me the whole truth, either. I get that Damian owes me no explanations, but why didn’t my brother tell me he was working for the Russos? And if Markus was working for the Russos, why was he at the party where I met Enzo, who I’m pretty sure works for the Ivanovs?
Was Markus spying for Damian?
A faint noise makes me jump.
On silent feet, I walk to the living room. The glow of the city lights outlines the silhouettes of the island, the table, the sectional. The door to the other bedroom is still closed.
I need to get Damian’s phone back to the night stand before he realizes it’s gone.
I look down at the screen as a text comes through. It’s from Luca. Two words: tutto finito.
I don’t speak Italian, but I’m guessing that means finished or done .
I wonder if whatever Luca is texting about has anything to do with Damian’s mood when he arrived.
A hand grabs my wrist.
I scream and jerk away on instinct, landing a solid kick to my attacker’s shin.
No. Not an attacker. Damian. His features are cast in light and shadow, accenting the hard line of his jaw, the bruise under his eye. He looks brutal, menacing, the demon-angel I thought him to be the first time I saw him.
“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, his tone cold as arctic ice.
He reaches for me.
I flinch away. Is this the moment he hits me?
The second the thought forms, I push it away. I don’t pretend that Damian isn’t a monster of some sort, but whatever type of monster he is, my gut tells me he won’t hurt me that way.
He freezes. He saw me flinch. I read it in his expression. But he makes no comment. He only says, “Answer me, Alina. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes. No. I wasn’t—”
He pulls the phone from my grasp.
“I wasn’t looking for anything. I was trying to call Markus. I just wanted to talk to him, to make sure he’s okay. I left him a message telling him I’m fine and he shouldn’t worry.”
Damian checks the call log.
“I’m telling the truth,” I say, wondering why I feel hurt that he doesn’t believe me.
“Who else did you call?” he asks. His tone would make icicles shiver.
“No one. You just checked the call log. You can see—”
“Easy enough for you to erase,” he says.
“I didn’t erase anything.”
“You accessed my phone without permission,” he says.
“I…” I swallow. “I just wanted to talk to my brother.”
“Then why didn’t you ask?” His eyes bore into mine.
“Because you would have said no.”
He nods. “So you went behind my back, took my phone, accessed it without my permission and scrolled through my call log, my texts…What exactly were you looking for, Alina?”
I’m about to say that I didn’t look at his texts or call log, that I only tried to call Markus, but that would be a lie. I did look.
“I wasn’t looking for anything. It isn’t like that. But…does my brother…does he work for you…?” My voice trails away as I look into his eyes. They’re dark and flat and emotionless.
Gone is the man who kissed me, touched me, made me scream his name. Who shared his thoughts with me and let me see a little of who he really is. Now Damian is a cold stranger, his expression unreadable.
He turns from me and walks into the bedroom. I stand there, my arms wrapped around myself, uncertain why I feel like I let him down. That is some warped and twisted shit. He’s the one holding me prisoner, denying me access to the rest of the world, denying me access to my brother.
He comes back out of the bedroom, fully dressed.
“You’re pissed off because I tried to call my brother?” I’m angry now. Furious. “What would you do if someone was holding you prisoner, holding you as collateral for a debt? Because that’s what I am. I’m your prisoner.” I fan my arm in front of me. “This is my prison. I can’t leave. I can’t call anyone. I’m just here for you to come by and fuck. If the tables were turned, would you just take that lying down? Or would you grab an opportunity if it presented itself?” My anger fizzles, leaving sadness in its wake. “I just wanted to check on my brother,” I finish, my voice soft.
“What were you looking for, Alina? Information? Contacts?” he asks, as if he didn’t hear a word I fucking said. “Who do you work for?”
“Work for—?” I shake my head. “I wasn’t looking for anything. I was trying to call my brother.”
“There is nothing on my phone for you to find, but had you found something, were you going to pass it on to Enzo?”
“Enzo? I don’t know where he is. I have no way to reach him. And even if I did, he would be the very last person on earth I would contact.”
He quirks one dark brow. “And I should believe you, why?”
“Because it’s the fucking truth!” I yell.
But I’m yelling at his back because he’s already opening the front door, leaving. He closes it softly behind him. I think it would have been easier if he’d slammed it, if I’d warranted his anger. But apparently Damian Russo doesn’t think I’m worth even that.
And why the hell does that hurt so much?