21. Alina
21
Alina
I wake up and for a moment I don’t know where the hell I am.
And then I remember. The yacht. The stateroom. Huge king-sized bed. Sleek, polished wood walls. Silk comforter. Butter-soft white sheets that are probably about a billion thread count. About a million throw pillows that are currently scattered all over the floor. I stretch, a smile curving my lips as I think about last night, about Damian.
Last night, just before I drifted off, the way he looked at me…
I roll to my side and reach for him only to find an empty bed. I’m alone. The fluffy pillow beside me is dented but vacant. It smells like him, like his warm skin, like citrus and spice. That scent is on me now, every inch of me, and it’s threatening to sink deeper, right into my soul. I am in way too deep, barely treading water.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” I mutter.
“Good question,” a male voice answers.
I stiffen, then sit up, gathering the sheets to cover my naked body.
I was wrong. I’m not alone.
In the shadows of the room, I see a dark outline sitting in a chair, facing me. Watching me.
He rises to his feet and draws nearer, and I realize that it’s Leo.
“Good morning,” he says, his tone cold, boding nothing good.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask. Then hesitate, remembering whose boat this is. “Sorry for how rude that sounds, but I’m not used to waking up with a stranger watching me.”
It’s creepy, I think. And weird. And deeply unsettling.
“I’m not a stranger,” he replies. “I’m Damian’s brother.”
“You’re a stranger to me.”
“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledges. “I have a few questions for you, Alina.”
A shiver runs through me. I don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce what Leo Russo wants to ask me.
“Where’s Damian?” I ask.
“Not here.”
“Where is he?” I press.
“He’s not going to save you, Alina, if that’s what you think,” Leo says. He leans against the bedpost, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans.
“Do I need saving?” I ask as evenly and calmly as I can.
“That depends on your answers right now.”
“I’m in bed.”
“Yes, you are. So get up.”
“I’m naked.”
“Your point?” His gaze is as cold as a snake’s.
“I don’t think Damian would like you in here right now.”
“Really. And why’s that? You think he’d be jealous?” He scoffs. “Don’t for one moment overestimate yourself, Alina. My brother doesn’t give a steaming shit about you other than being his latest fuck.”
My cheeks warm, partly from anger, partly from hurt. “Charming.”
“Just telling the truth.”
Is it? Am I just a fuck for the mafia prince who’s made me crave him, made me care about him, despite my better judgment?
“I’m going to need you to leave so I can get dressed,” I tell him firmly, “but I’m happy to answer any questions you might have for me later.”
“You’re fine the way you are,” Leo says, and the way he looks at me chills my blood.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but fear freezes my tongue. I don’t know him. All I know about Leo Russo is that he’s the current boss—the dangerous head of the Russo syndicate, or whatever it’s called.
If Damian is a demon, then that means Leo is Satan himself.
He could kill me, and I won’t be able to do anything but scream. And it seems as if Damian will be no help to me. Maybe he left the room so Leo could have some one-on-one time with me. The possibility makes me both heartbroken and afraid.
“Get up,” Leo says.
He has all the power. I have none. And he wants to make sure I know it.
“Get up now. Or I drag you to your feet.”
I get to my feet, managing to keep the sheet around me, clutching it together at the chest. It’s clear he wants me as vulnerable as possible. Frightened. Off balance.
Once I’m standing, he settles back into the chair he was sitting in when I woke up. He stares at me as I stand there, awkward, afraid.
I wait.
“I want to tell you a story,” he says. “When I was nineteen, my father had me confront a man we suspected of spying. I asked him questions. He gave me answers. I didn’t like his answers. I asked him if he was right handed or left. He told me right. So I took a knife and starting with his right little finger, I sliced off a bit of finger for each answer I didn’t like.”
He grabs my wrist and pinches the end of my right little finger to the furthest knuckle with his left thumb and index finger. Then he pinches the next knuckle and the next. “I kept slicing.” He pinches the end of my right ring finger. “He never did give me an answer I liked.”
I shiver as he moves along my right ring finger, pinching each section in turn, then starts on my middle finger.
He lifts his eyes to mine, dark, soulless. His expression is ruthlessly neutral.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. It’s black, tooled leather with a gold clasp. “A souvenir,” he says, using his thumb to slide the clasp free then flip open the lid of the box.
There are ivory beads inside.
Except they aren’t beads at all.
They’re little bones. Ivory bones.
I feel sick.
He sets the box down on the low table beside him, then lifts a knife with a long blade.
“See this curve?” he asks, turning the knife. “It’s good for skinning. And this handle? Textured rubber so my grip doesn’t slip, even in wet conditions.” His smile is terrifying. “Things sometimes get a little bloody.” He leans back in his chair, balancing the knife with his right index finger on the hilt and his left index finger on the tip of the blade. He stares at me, saying nothing.
Bile burns the back of my throat. Fear tightens my chest, my breathing shallow.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says at last, silky smooth and full of threat, like a snake gliding through grass.
“You already know who I am.”
He nods. “Alina Madsen. Cocktail waitress. Twenty-three years old. Sister of Markus Madsen. Girlfriend of Enzo Bianchi.” He says the last words like he’s spitting poison.
“Not an impressive bio, I’ll admit it,” I say. “And I am not Enzo’s girlfriend. I dated him. He wouldn’t take the hint when I no longer wanted to date him.”
“Girlfriend of Enzo fucking Bianchi,” he repeats softly.
“Do you label every woman you’ve ever dated as your girlfriend?” I snap and instantly regret it.
His eyes narrow.
“I don’t know where Enzo is,” I say to him. “I already told Damian this.”
“Yeah, but the difference between me and my brother is that I know you’re lying. Which is why I told him to bring you here this weekend. Miles out at sea… do you know what happens to pretty little liars who get in the way of me and the information I want?”
I clutch the sheet with both hands, trying to still their trembling.
Now everything makes much more sense. Me being here was Leo’s idea, not Damian’s. Of course. I sensed that something was off when he first mentioned the boat. I sensed he wasn’t asking .
“If there was a lie detector here, I’d take it,” I say. “Because I’m telling you the truth.”
“I’m the fucking lie detector.” Leo sets the knife down on the table. He rises and draws closer and it’s all I can do not to cower away from him.
“I don’t know where he is,” I spit the words out, managing to sound more angry than frightened. “If I did, I’d tell you.”
“Not that loyal to your so-called ex?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’d throw him under the bus to save your own ass?”
“I’d throw him under the bus because he deserves it. He’s a bad guy.”
Leo laughs at that, the sound dark and forbidding. “A bad guy.” He shakes his head. “Tell me about his job. Who does he work for?”
I know I should come clean now, tell him what I overheard and my suspicion Enzo works for the Ivanovs. But I also know that’s a monumentally bad idea. Leo will probably think I kept the information secret all this time in order to protect Enzo. Shit. I should have told Damian the truth right from the start. Why did I think that keeping this secret was a good idea, one that might save me and Markus at some point? If anything, revealing it now will seal my fate. Leo will drop me in the ocean without a second thought.
“He never talked about work with me.”
“No?” He sweeps his gaze over me and I’m not sure if he’s disgusted by what he sees or impressed. “I’m guessing he didn’t trust you either.”
“I don’t know anything,” I say, raising my chin.
Leo’s lips curl to one side in a cruel smile. He takes another step closer, looming over me. “Here’s something I know about people, Alina. Everybody lies. About small things, about big things. Sometimes it’s easy to tell who’s telling the big lies, sometimes it’s not. At least, not until some duress is applied.”
I stop breathing for a moment. My gaze snaps to the table and the knife and the box with its macabre contents.
He laughs and it’s a bone chilling sound. “That’s a bit extreme at this stage. There are other ways of extracting information from a reluctant mouth. Some ways don’t even leave a mark. No evidence of what happened to get to the truth.” He nods. “Others do. They leave marks and scars and are accompanied by a great deal of pain.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” My heart is pounding. A lump of terror sits in my throat.
“I doubt you are. But I will know for certain soon enough. See, I don’t think it adds up. A new woman, out of the blue, lands in my brother’s bed. And she happens to be the girlfriend of the fucker who took out my father—”
“I am not Enzo’s fucking girlfriend,” I grit out.
“She steals my brother’s phone,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “Searches for information. Installs spyware—”
“What? I never—”
“Sit down, Alina.” He nods at the chair he’d previously been sitting in.
I shake my head vigorously, backing away. I don’t get far. The backs of my knees hit the bed. I glance at the door, hoping for rescue. But there is no one to rescue me. Damian won’t save me from his brother. He brought me here on his brother’s orders, left me here alone to be interrogated by someone with a portable collection of his victim’s bones.
Leo takes another step forward. There is nowhere left for me to go.
“I’m thinking this is a new situation for you. So, let’s make this crystal clear,” he says. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. Now sit.”
I stand, frozen by fear. When I don’t move quickly enough, Leo reaches forward, grabs my arm, and tosses me like a ragdoll down into the chair. I stare up at him, clutching the sheet like it’s my lifeline.
“Now, let’s start over Alina. Where is Enzo Bianchi?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who does he work for?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you tell Bianchi when you used my brother’s phone to contact him?”
“What? No! I only called my brother!”
He makes a tsking sound. “Don’t lie to me, Alina. This won’t go well for you.”
I stare up at him. Every cell in my body wants to cower, but I won’t let myself. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I glare at him, gritting my teeth.
“Do you think your show of bravery will convince me?” he asks, whisper soft, as he leans close, his black eyes blazing. “You work for the Ivanovs. I know it, you know it. Now I only need you to admit it out loud.”
My eyes widen. He doesn’t just think I’m involved because I dated Enzo. He actually thinks I work for the Ivanovs. “You think I’m a spy? I’m not a fucking spy! I...I dated Enzo for a couple of months, but I’m not a spy for anyone!”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
His smile is chilling as he rests his hand around my throat, thumb on one side, fingers on the other. I hold his gaze, my fingers twisting in the sheet, as if covering my nakedness will save me.
“Where. Is. Bianchi?” He growls.
“I don’t know.”
He nods as if approving my answer, but his grip tightens ever so slightly.
My heart slams against my ribs. I try to wriggle away, but he shifts forward, crowding me against the seat back.
“Who does Bianchi work for?”
“I don’t know.” The words come out on a rasp as he tightens his hold even more.
“And who do you work for, Alina Madsen?”
His grip grows tighter, tighter…
I let go of the sheet and scrabble at his hands, but my nails are short, and I can’t even manage to scratch him. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. The world starts to go dark at the edges.
I’m not a spy!
I try to speak, but I can’t form any words, just pathetic gurgles.
And then Leo suddenly pulls back from me, and I gasp and sputter and try to find my breath again. My hands are at my throat, protective, as if I could ward off another attack. I’m shaking, my head spinning. I think I might throw up.
Then I realize that Leo didn’t let me go by choice.
Damian shoves his brother against the wall so hard that his head snaps back and slams against the gleaming pale wood paneling. He presses his forearm against Leo’s upper chest, pinning him to the wall. They’re about the same height, same size. But Damian has rage on his side.
“What the fuck are you doing to her?” he snarls.
Leo slaps Damian’s arm away and jabs his finger in my direction. “You’re blind. You know that? She’s a goddamn spy!”
Damian’s dark eyes flick to me, but only for an instant. “So you were going to fucking kill her?”
“I was questioning her.”
They glare at each other, and I feel like they’re having an entire silent conversation.
“The cops went to the warehouse,” Leo says. “Strange how they got an anonymous tip. Lucky that Luca was thorough.”
“She didn’t fucking know anything about the warehouse,” Damian says.
“She went through your phone. You have no idea what she knows.”
“There was nothing on my phone to find,” Damian says. “Just like there would be nothing on your phone. On any of the family’s phones. You take me for a fucking moron?”
I’m shaking so hard that I know my legs won’t hold me if I try to stand and flee the suite. Besides, where would I flee to? There is nowhere to run. So I shrink back in the chair and try to make myself as small as possible.
“I want Bianchi,” Leo snarls.
“You think I don’t?” Damian snarls right back.
“Then we are in agreement,” Leo says, his dark gaze flicking to me. “Let’s get some answers.”
“You will not fucking touch her,” Damian says. “You hear me?”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“I am.”
With that, Damian physically drags Leo out of the cabin as I watch with shock.
It takes me a moment to gather myself, to drag on panties and bra and the pink dress I wore yesterday, to decide if I should stay put or follow. In the end, I follow, reaching the aft deck just as, with a roar, Damian wrestles Leo down.