Chapter 58 Amara
AMARA
“Where the fuck have you been?!”
I tell myself that I am going to be cool as a cucumber when Ransome finally walks through the penthouse door. But right now, I think I’m more of a Flamin’ Hot Cheeto. Though I feel like I have every right to be.
“Goddammit, woman, I’m busy!” he barks out as he throws his keys aside.
It’s a very not Ransome thing to do. Mr. OCD always hangs them on the hook. Then he takes his shoes off, tucks them neatly in the closet by the door, loosens his tie, and heads to the kitchen for two fingers of whiskey.
He’s still wearing shoes and he’s drinking the whiskey straight from the bottle. I think that about says where we’re at.
Not to mention the fact he just spoke to me like a caveman.
But I don’t care. His archnemesis is threatening all of us via my little brother, and to say that I am Mama Bear-ing right now is an understatement.
“Yeah, well, while you were out being busy, I was with my siblings.”
“Good. At least you have something to do to keep you from meddling all the time. That or going out to speakeasies with your slutty friend.”
“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” I snap, standing right in front of him with my body practically pressed against his. But before I can say anything else, he goes on.
“I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but my life? It’s on fire right now. It’s been on fire for a while. Or have you forgotten since you stopped working as my assistant and just shifted to a full-time pain in my ass?” He takes another gulp from the bottle.
I rip it from his hand while he’s mid-chug.
His eyes turn black. “Woman…”
“I need to talk to you!” I stop my foot. “And do not call me woman. I have a name.”
“Did you not fucking hear me just now?”
“Oh, I hear you loud and clear, Mr. Rozanov. But you’re not hearing me! Tristan is going to kill you!”
“What’s new?”
“I don’t mean as a threat. He is actively trying to figure out how to eliminate you and your family and everyone you care about.”
“And how would you know that?” He shoves around me. “Been hanging out with him again, have you?”
I am seriously two seconds away from ripping his dick off. “No. I was talking to Gianni. He called me and I went over there and he said that Tristan—”
I am cut off when Ransome’s phone buzzes and his expression drops. “What the fuck?”
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s your brother,” he says, his body language stiff and urgent.
“Gianni?” I ask, rushing over to him. “He’s texting you?”
“Not exactly.”
Ransome shows me his phone. The text is not from Gianni. It’s a photo of Gianni. The text is from Tristan.
“What is that?” I blurt out before my voice goes even more frantic. “Ransome! What is that?!”
“He has your brother.”
Ransome’s words level me. Like a cinderblock falling on my stomach, forcing the air and the life from my lungs.
I can’t breathe at all. I can’t process anything. The words in the room go to a screaming white noise as my worst fear comes true.
The photo is of Gianni, sitting in a chair. Tied to the chair. He’s bound and gagged and oh my God.
Oh my God.
“We have to do something.” I realize that I’m sobbing. Hyperventilating. Losing my mind.
“No.” He shakes his head heading for his office. “I have to do something. You have to stay here.”
A moment later, he reappears with a pistol.
“What are you going to do with that?!”
He checks the bullet chamber and locks it back in place. “I’m going to take care of things.”
“Okay, wait.” I trail after him as my mind races. “Maybe there’s another way to do this. Maybe—”
“This is my world, Amara. It’s dirty and fucked up. And right now, Tristan has your brother. Chances are, he doesn’t even look like that photo right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” he says as he shoves the gun in his pants. “It’s been, what? Ten minutes since that photo was taken. I’d be shocked if he isn’t bleeding out of his ears or missing teeth or fingernails because he refuses to talk.”
“Talk about what?” I cry out in horror.
“How he can get hold of you.”
With that, Ransome tugs the door open and sets the lock. “Do me a favor. Let me do my job. Your job right now is to stay here.”
“But—”
“Just stay here.”
And then he’s gone. Out the door, with a gun to go after Tristan. Who has my brother. My brother.
Gianni is tied to a chair somewhere and Tristan, who will stop at nothing to hurt Ransome and the Rozanov family, has my little brother.
I collapse on the floor, my head swirling with painful what-ifs and my heart throbbing in my chest at the possibilities of what could happen. Of what he might do. I mean, the man flat-out admitted that Nik’s death was at his hands.
But Ransome doesn’t know that. I didn’t get a chance to tell him.
Last night, I let my body get the better of me and then fell asleep like an idiot.
I didn’t tell him that Tristan came to see me twice, that he basically confessed Nik’s murder to me, that he gave me an ultimatum for myself and my siblings.
And it hits me.
If Tristan would kill Nik, a kid whose death would start a war between the two families, hurting or even killing Gianni would be a wave of the hand for him. He could do it without blinking, without a thought at all.
I double over, dryer heaving onto the floor. I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of and protecting my younger siblings. I thought my dad was the devil. I had no idea. And now I might lose one of them, all because I got caught up in the Rozanov family and the fucking Bratva. Caught up in Ransome.
I stop. My hands are braced on the cold floor. I stop throwing up, I stop crying, I even stop breathing. A wave washes over me. But it isn’t fear or worry or panic at all.
It’s anger.
I come to my feet and intentionally walk into Ransome’s office. There, in the drawer, I find the burner phone. I don’t have his location on my own phone—he won’t share it with me—but this phone is linked to him. This phone will tell me where he is.
This phone will tell me where Gianni is.
And that’s where I am going to go.
Stay here my ass.