Between Sin and Silence (Crimson Ice #4)

Chapter 1

One

Luca

I may have been an asshole, tossing Ashton out of the car during a surveillance op for my father, but I don’t deserve what comes next.

In my attempt to head back down the mountainside, to find cover for the vehicle, I’m stopped by another oncoming car, coming head-on right at me, headlights blazing.

That wouldn’t be the worst of it. The vehicle pushes forward, hard and fast on slick snow, forcing me to maneuver in reverse along the one-lane snow-covered road.

They give no indication of slowing down.

As I manage to make it through the swift turns in reverse, back up to the abandoned cabin, I have nowhere to go. There’s no escape. Not even the cover of night will protect me.

There’s also no sign of Ashton.

Desperate, I attempt to call Dante, but there’s no signal. Not surprising. We’re in the middle of nowhere.

Men flood out of the vehicle in front of me, blocking the road, guns drawn, its engine idle, with its headlights blinding me.

A darkened figure steps out. The man who was sitting behind the driver smokes a cigarette. It dangles from his lips as he lifts his right hand, giving a gesture for the men with guns to move in.

Two men whom I don’t recognize come at my driver side door, smash open my car window, throw open my door, and yank me out, dragging me by my arms, letting my legs dangle on the cold, snowy road.

I’m entirely at their mercy.

“Get off me!” I shout, struggling against their grip, fighting them off, kicking to free my legs and squirming in their grasp to break out of their hold.

Two additional men surround me with pointed and cocked guns.

Five men against one.

Me.

Who do they think I am?

“What do you want with me?” I pretend not to know what’s going on, but it’s not hard to play dumb when I don’t recognize these men. “I took a wrong turn. Look, I’m sorry! I’ll get back on the road, find my way to the resort. I swear I didn’t see anything.”

If only I can convince them that I don’t belong here, that I’m a tourist or here on a vacation to go skiing.

I’m not far from Blue Sky Resort.

They ignore my words.

I’m dragged inside the shack, an abandoned cabin, the ceiling barely stitched together, the place crumbling around us with broken floorboards at every step.

I’m just waiting to fall through the floor or get my leg stuck and broken.

The men put me on my knees. “Don’t try anything stupid,” the man on my right says. He’s got a thick Italian accent and a scar protruding across his jaw.

Mafia.

He has to be part of another crime family, because he’s not a Ricci and he’s definitely not part of my father’s organization.

I would know if he were one of us.

“Get up. Walk,” the man grunts, the gun at my back as he pushes me farther inside to the top of the basement stairs. He hits the switch; the lights flicker before brightening up the stairwell.

It’s an ugly fluorescent glow that hums to life.

“You have the wrong person,” I say, trying again to reason with them. “I’m here to go skiing. I must have made a wrong turn because this clearly isn’t the ski resort.”

With a gun at my back, he pushes me to move faster.

I’m not even sure my weight on the stairs won’t bring me tumbling down through the stairwell.

I pause for the briefest of seconds and I feel the hard metal reposition against the back of my head. “Don’t try anything stupid,” the man behind me urges.

Point made.

I continue down the creaky old stairs.

There’s no handrail. The paint chips away at the walls.

This place looks abandoned, but clearly it has electricity. Someone is paying the bills. There’s no sound of a generator, no sign that it’s off grid.

It’s being used for something far more sinister.

The floor of the basement interior is cement, crisp, clean, with a recent coat of paint.

That’s not the only fresh scent permeating the air.

Bleach.

Which means they’ve likely murdered men down here. The fresh scent of cleaner burns my nostrils.

The second man who had thrust me from the car yanks a metal folding chair across the cement floor. The shrill sound sends a shiver down my spine.

There are cardboard boxes near the wall closest to the stairs, stacked waist high across the length of most of the room.

Storage and death.

A strange combination.

There’s another door in the basement, sealed tight, with a padlock. I can only imagine what might be inside that room.

Another man, this one sports a hefty beard and long dark hair, a mix of black and gray. He throws my arms up at the sides and pats me down. If he’s searching for a weapon, I’m not carrying one.

“Where’s your phone?” his gruff voice asks. He doesn’t have a hint of an accent. I’d guess he was raised around here, works for the man with the cigarettes, probably a soldier. He doesn’t strike me as capo material.

“Not on me.” I don’t give him any more information than he needs. It’s in my car, which they can figure out on their own.

During his thorough pat down, he removes my wallet.

“I’d like that back!” I spin around to face him. I don’t have a lot of money, but I don’t need him stealing the cash that I do have on hand.

Although as robberies go, this doesn’t exactly fit the typical stereotype. Besides, the mafia doesn’t really care about stealing a man’s wallet. They’d go after a small mom and pop store for a shakedown.

The bearded man opens my wallet and retrieves my driver’s license, examining it closely.

“Luca Ricci.” His voice is rough, and his gaze unapologetic. “Why do I know that name?” He brings my identification over to another member of his crew, the scarred man who dragged the chair for me to sit.

“As in the Don Ricci?” His accent weaves in and out, the slight Italian emphasis recognizable to the right ear. It’s as though he’s trying to hide it. His brow flinches as he stares at me, sizing me up, like he recognizes me.

It’s not possible.

I’d know if he worked for Dante. I may not have been privy to all of my father’s business dealings, but if he were a member of the family, I’d have seen him in the compound.

Perhaps they’ve crossed paths, but whatever’s happened, whoever these men are, they’re out for blood.

Hopefully, not my blood.

“Sit.” The scarred man points with his gun, gesturing for me to put my ass in the chair.

“I’d prefer to stand.” The longer I drag out every second, the more of a fighting chance I have of survival.

There’s no sign of Ashton, which means he’s my hope at escaping, or at the very least informing my father of our major fuck-up and my ass getting caught.

Dante will send his men to rescue me, won’t he?

Unless Ashton opts not to tell him because he’s pissed at me.

I did tell him to get the fuck out of my car, in the frigid cold.

Shit.

Plus, it’s not like my cell phone was getting service up here. I doubt Ashton’s is either, but maybe if he keeps trying, he can at least get a text sent out.

“As you wish.” The scarred man smirks and then slips on brass knuckles before slamming his fist into my chest.

I swear my ribs crack, the pain radiating as I double over in agony, gasping for breath, and I collapse onto the chair, although I’m not exactly sitting.

The man yanks me up by my hair and puts me on my ass on the cold metal chair.

Heavy footfalls tread down the stairs. It’s the man who was smoking the cigarette. His ashen hair and sullen face irk me like he’s trying to figure me out.

“Seems we’ve managed to capture Luca Ricci,” the scarred man tells the older gentleman with a smoke in his mouth.

He removes the cigarette, putting it out on the floor. “Is that so?” He tilts his head, his gaze tight on me, and a crooked smile falls from his lips.

My heart races and my breath quickens.

I don’t like that he knows my father. “Whatever bad blood there is between Dante and you, it’s none of my business.”

“You sneaking up to my cabin is my business.” His tone is gruff as he steps closer and nods at the man who already beat me once to give me another lick.

It’s like fire to the chest, making me cough and gasp as I try to catch my breath. I’ve been hit on the ice hundreds of times, plowed unsuspectingly, but nothing compares to the burn inside me right now.

Each breath scorches as I wheeze, trying to breathe. The pain radiates through me. “I wasn’t sneaking,” I rasp. “I got turned around, lost.”

“A Ricci just happens to fall upon my cabin in the middle of the night?” The man tilts his head, bending down, his eyes level with mine. “Be straight with me and I can make this quick.”