Milana
I’m pacing the apartment. It’s been six hours since Luca ran out, cursing. Six horrible hours since there were gunshots.
At some point, I opened the front door and stared down the corridor to the elevator, but it was empty.
I went back inside, having no clue where I’d end up if I walked out and took the elevator.
With the gunshots, Il Consiglio’s security will be even more vigilant.
This might have been the perfect opportunity to escape, credit card and all, but I’m sick with worry.
Ivan. Is he even okay?
Images of our bullet-riddled house on Long Island keep flitting through my mind’s eye. Then images of Ivan, fighting for his life, for his girls. Dimitri’s blood drenching the Steinway.
My stomach is twisted tight, and bile has been pushing up my throat ever since Luca rushed out. Not knowing what happened next door is the worst. And Ivan—he nearly died in July. How dare Luca leave me hanging like this, not knowing who got hurt?
When the apartment door opens, I spin on my heel and rush toward the foyer.
“Luca?”
There’s no response, but as he turns the corner, we bump into each other. He grabs me by the arm to steady me, his fingers biting into my flesh.
“Who got shot?” There’s blood flecked on his cheek, and when my gaze drops lower, I see it: great red stains soaked into the front of his T-shirt and jeans. “Oh my God, you’re covered in blood!” My fear skyrockets again and my legs want to cave in. “Did you get hurt?”
“No.” The word is cold. Hard.
“Then who? Not Ivan, please!” I’m barely breathing, my body in a chokehold as I frantically search his face.
“Ivan is fine. But Gabi got shot.”
“Oh my God.” Here I was fretting about Ivan, and then Gabi got shot! This is somehow worse. Gabi. Sweet innocent Gabi. How is this even possible?
“Is that her blood? That amount…she’d be dead!” I retch, the urge to throw up overpowering, but nothing comes up.
“Gabi isn’t dead, but she took two bullets. It’s serious.” The anger in his voice is only barely under control, slicing through me like shards of glass. “Dominic and Matteo took care of her. They’re at the clinic now and she’s in the operating room. Hopefully, she’ll pull through.”
Only now do I register his cold stare. The hard pull of his mouth. My legs almost buckle. “Gabi’s… She isn’t…whose blood is this?”
“It’s Mara’s.”
The woman he’s mentioned before but she means nothing to me. I’m too confused at how any of this happened.
“She took ten bullets, so she’s very dead,” Luca says.
“And this is what you look like when you have to deal with a bullet-riddled corpse. Especially a fresh one, because heaven forbid Tasha gets home and realizes there’s been another unfortunate incident in their apartment.
” He smirks a grimace, bitter. “I’m not sure how Matteo’s going to explain the bullet-chipped tiles or our sister basically being on her deathbed. ”
Gabi on her deathbed. I inhale a shaky breath. “Who shot her? And why? In Matteo’s apartment, too?”
He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively back up.
“Mara shot her. Turns out our Italian delegation sold out to some Russians.” Another step. “Russians with tech.” One more step. “Tech that allowed them to slip a gun through all our security checks.”
My back touches the wall as he closes the gap between us. A shudder ripples through me. “Which Russians?”
“Chertnikov. Ring a bell?”
It’s a cold bucket of water in my face. The name that haunts me. The black mold that’s quietly killing us all.
“Chertnikov?” I repeat, stunned.
“You’ve mentioned him before.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m hardly in the loop here. How?”
“I don’t know, princess,” he murmurs, the lightness of his tone barely hiding his leashed fury. He presses me to the wall and parks his hands on either side of my head. “You tell me.”
It’s threatening, but I stand my ground. The last thing I can afford is to underestimate my husband. Like this, he seems unhinged. Dangerous. Deadly. How far can I push him away, keep him at arm’s length and keep my secrets to myself? “I have no clue, Luca. Honestly.”
“And yet, here you are. A knot of secrets begging to be untangled. Every single one of them a clue.”
He stares down at me, and in his cold eyes, I see what he told me about before.
This thing that’s in his Mafia blood. The cruel brutality that runs like a curse through his veins.
This man is dangerous, and I have no idea what he’s capable of.
I shouldn’t push him, but I stare back, because it would be madness to flinch or look away.
His gaze drops first, to my lips, and with a hissed fuck, he pushes away from the wall. “I’m going to shower, and then we’re going to have a chat, Milana.”
He stalks off, and I follow him in a daze. He isn’t paying attention because he walks into my bedroom—the room that used to be his—and starts to strip as he heads to the bathroom.
“Luca.”
“What?” He turns as he pulls his T-shirt over his head with one hand, stomach muscles rippling.
“Nothing,” I say, mouth suddenly dry.
“Like usual, then,” he says, yanking at his belt like it has wronged him. “Here’s the thing that takes the fucking cake, princess. Before Mara got shot, she said something that basically doesn’t bode well for any of us.”
“What?” Do I even want to know?
“Here’s where the plot thickens, because The Mole got away unscathed after hearing everything that went down in Matteo’s apartment, including Mara’s last words.”
“Got away? How?” Another name that means nothing to me, but God, did someone manage to escape this prison? Teach me your ways!
“Don’t be so fucking eager, princess. You’re not going anywhere.”
He disappears into the bathroom, and I want to scream my frustration as he seems to read my mind, always one step ahead in this stupid game we’re playing.
“What did Mara say?” I ask, following, a little voice in my head whispering this is a bad idea, but I need to know.
Luca is at the vanity, shirtless, jeans unzipped and tugged open. “Funny thing,” he says, all light and breezy as if he’s playing at being mystified about something. “Mara’s body was covered with fresh Russian tattoos, as if she did a little detour to the fucking gulag before coming here.”
Gulag? What is he talking about?
Now he’s emptying his pockets. He pulls the white soap stand closer, removes the liquid hand soap and moisturizer dispenser, and drops several pieces of metal into the empty stand. “Have a look at these and let me know if you recognize anything here.”
He waits for me, and I edge in, baffled. “What is that?”
“Come now, princess, you know what it is.”
I stare at the collection of rings and things in the small tray, and then my gaze snags on one of the piercings.
“Oh my God.” I meet his gaze, but have to look down again, not sure I’m seeing right.
“You see, before we freeze-dry a body in our promession site, we first put it through an airport security scanner to see what the fuck we’re dealing with.
To extract the bullets and so on. The problem with undetected metal is that it fucks with the powdering process when we eventually get to that stage. ”
“Freeze-dry?” I choke out.
“Yes. That’s how Il Consiglio gets rid of bodies.
Latest tech really, as with everything we do.
It’s really fun when money isn’t an issue.
We get to play mad scientist every now and again, but it has become the perfect solution for us.
” He laughs, but it’s dry. “And now, I’ll have to kill you, because you know too much. ”
We stare at each other. This is the second time he has idly made this threat, but this time, it doesn’t feel like he’s joking. All these details he so nonchalantly hands out about their operations only ties me tighter into their world. Locks me up for longer, because there’s no trust here.
I drop my gaze first, and it lands on the small tray on the vanity.
“What is all this?” I ask, a tremor in my voice.
“These are the piercings and jewelry Mara had on her body when she died. Tell me which one she got from the Chertnikov Bratva, because I know which ones she got from Randazzo.”
My gut twists into a fist. It’s a test.
I chew my lip, studying the collection, not wanting to give away that I recognize the barbell piercing with the dreaded skulls on either end. The way it’s soldered closed, never to be removed. The only way to remove it is to cut it out, and the idea makes me shudder.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, not meeting his gaze.
He smirks and then his hand shoots out and circles my neck, his thumb and forefinger forcing my chin up so I have to look at him.
“I love it when you lie to me,” he murmurs, his voice softly menacing as he runs his thumb along my jaw.
I turn into cold stone on the spot, his gentle touch shooting ripples of lust to my sex, making my clit throb around my piercing. “Why? I’m not—”
“Because this is a game,” he cuts in, “and I like playing games. Except we’re running out of time for this one.
” He strokes his forefinger over my cheek, not letting go of my chin, then to my lips as a curse falls from his own.
“Fuck, princess,” he says, his voice scratching. “I wanted more time to do this right.”
There’s resignation in his tone now, and I’ve seen him go from contained anger to this state in mere minutes.
“What did she say?” I whisper, dreading what’s to come but quietened too, by his touch, which tells me he’ll keep his vows to me, whatever comes next.
His touch tells me we’re in this together, even if all I’ve wanted from the start was to escape.
But we need trust between us. Without trust, nothing is moving forward, and more importantly, I don’t get to go back to Russia.
“Tell me what this Mara woman said that is so dangerous?”
“Chertnikov’s girl is here. She shouted that into the phone as Gabi rushed into the room and they saw each other for the first time.”
My world crumbles. “Gabi? Chertnikov’s girl?”
Luca drops his hand, leaving me swaying in shock. “Yes. The Mole will let him know and then there’s going to be war, because whatever happens next, Gabi might have been promised to Chertnikov when she was younger, but she’s married to your brother now.”
“And Ivan won’t let her go,” I whisper, knowing the lengths my brother has already gone to protect his girls, his home, the Petrov Bratva. That he’s in love with Gabi.
“None of us will let her go. There will be war. So here’s the crux of the matter, Milana. You need to choose the team you’re going to be on, and in the process not force me to do something we’ll both regret.” He pauses, then nods to the collection of jewelry. “Pick one.”
I close my eyes, my life flashing past me in dull grays, stuck in this Bratva riptide I can’t swim clear of.
And suddenly, I’m so tired, because for more than a year, all this shit has been the least of my worries.
Pick a team. Choose a side. It’s the one choice I would have made without thinking twice if it wasn’t for Russia and everything I’ve left behind there.
Chertnikov’s girl.
He has more than one.
This isn’t the test. It’s the first crack in my armor that could lead to the truth.
I’m a fool to think I’ll be able to hide everything from Luca forever.
I’m even dumber to think I’m going to get back to Russia without his help.
All those brutal vows I made…this is the first opportunity to start breaking them.
Time will tell if this is the right path, but I’m too cornered to make any other choice. I lift a trembling finger and point to the piercing with the double skulls. “That’s Chertnikov’s.”
Luca reaches for my elbow and gives me a soft squeeze. “Good girl. See? This is how we earn our freedom. Wasn’t that hard, was it?”
His words send a tremor through me, that double-edged sword of sexual innuendo I can’t help but react to even if the praise is for something totally different.
He releases my elbow, and I immediately miss the warmth of his touch.
I know I need to leave, but I’ve grown roots.
Freedom and roots don’t go hand-in-hand.
His jeans drop, and his metal belt buckle clanks as it hits the tiles. The shower door swooshes open and the water turns on.
I’m in the bathroom. With my husband, naked in the shower, and there’s this current running through the room, daring me to look.
I inhale a shaky breath, and as I look up, I catch him in the mirror.
He has his back to me. There’s pure, beautiful skin, not a single bullet hole or cut or stab on him, his back muscles flexing as he fists—as he fists…
his cock. My breathing stalls. I can’t see it, but the movement is there.
I drop my gaze to that perfect ass I want to squeeze as he thrusts into me, the fantasy suddenly so vivid, the only way it got to technicolor like this is because it’s been brewing for days.
I turn to walk away, but in my lust-fogged mind, I go the wrong way, facing him just as he also turns.
“Ahh, fuck, princess, you’re still here,” he says, a whole different gleam in his eyes. “I was just—” he breaks off and then laughs as he lets go of his cock to drag his wet hair from his face with both hands, exposing the full length of his body to me. “Decompressing.”
“Decompressing?” I mouth, no sound coming out as I home in on his cock where it’s bobbing under the rainfall shower, large, male, utterly mouthwatering and…pierced. And not just once. There’s a whole row of piercings along the underside of his shaft. Oh my…
Heat swarms on my face as I spin around and make a run for it, heart pounding, panties soaked, mouth salivating with the need to go on my knees.
His laughter follows me into the bedroom and beyond, but my mortification is complete when he calls after me. “I showed you mine, princess! Can’t wait to see yours!”