Chapter 18
ISLA
I’m jolted awake by a noise, blinking my eyes open and searching for the source.
I drew the electric shades over the windows because I can’t sleep with sunlight streaming in, and being up half the night with Alessio left me exhausted. With nothing better to do, I decided that I’d go back to bed with Cid.
The room is draped in shadows, so it takes me a second to realize that I’m not alone. There’s a strange man standing at the edge of Alessio’s bed. The instant I lock eyes with the intruder, I scream.
He doesn’t even flinch.
I scramble backward against the headboard, the duvet yanked up to my chin like it’s a shield that can save me from the man staring at me with pale blue, glittering eyes.
“You can scream,” he says patiently when I take a frantic breath, “but no one will hear you.”
The Russian accent sends terror through me. He’s not the same man from the coffee shop. This much, I’m certain of. But I have no idea who he is or why he’s here, only that it’s not going to be good for me.
“Where are the guards?” I demand.
“Sleeping,” he says. “They looked like they could use a nap.”
Oh my God. Did this monster murder them? I can barely breathe. My heart is pounding hard, my mouth dry.
“D-did you kill them?”
He stalks toward me. I realize Cid is gone, and for some reason, his absence becomes another major source of panic. Did he hurt Luna’s beloved baby too?
“Where’s Cid?”
“Cid?” The man frowns. “Who is that?”
“The cat. My friend’s cat. What have you done with him?”
“The little beast ran away. A bit like your lover, no?”
He’s talking about Alessio. Which means he knows Alessio left for work earlier this morning. He knows I’m alone. And he’s apparently done something to the guards. Which means I have no one to save me from whatever it is he’s come to do.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying not to let my fear show.
“You.” He grins at me, and it startles me to realize that he’s actually a very handsome man.
But monsters come in all shapes and sizes.
And this one is particularly huge. He towers over me, at least six-foot-five, and with a chest that’s so broad I wonder how he fits through a doorway. He oozes menace and sheer strength. He doesn’t even have a weapon. At least not one I can see.
“You can’t have me,” I tell him. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ll have to kill me first.”
That probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say.
He laughs like he finds this funny. And maybe he does. Maybe he’s enjoying my terror, the sick fuck.
“Nobody said anything about killing,” he says calmly. “I want to talk with you, Isla Davenport. That is all.”
He knows who I am.
He knows my name. First and last.
It makes me wonder what else he knows.
“Why this way?” I ask. “Who are you?”
“Because we have some mutual acquaintances, no?” His smile fades. “Think of me as a friend of the family.”
“Friends of the family don’t kill guards and sneak into bedrooms.”
He makes a tsking sound. “Yes, but this isn’t just any family, is it?”
My mind whirls with the question of how I can get myself out of this situation alive. I need to get my hands on a weapon. Maybe if I hit him over the head with something from behind…
“Can I at least get dressed before we talk?” I ask, thinking that if I can be alone for a few minutes, I can find something in the bedroom to use.
Maybe I can make a noise to lure him in here and attack him. Hopefully Alessio has something in his walk-in closet that might be of use.
But the Russian monster looming over me shakes his head. “I’m afraid there isn’t time for that.”
“Why not?”
He laughs again, like this is all child’s play to him—amusing entertainment. “Because your knight in shining armor is on his way here to save you right now, and I’m not in the mood to get shot today.”
Alessio is on his way here? My instant relief at hearing he’s coming for me is tempered by the cold, unflinching stare of the intruder.
The last thing I want is for this psycho to harm Alessio in some way.
Is the Russian planning an ambush? Oh my God, I need to get ahold of Alessio somehow, to let him know to watch his back.
I swallow hard, keenly aware that my cell phone is sitting on the nightstand by the bed. It’s within reach, but I don’t want to make a move too quickly and risk getting caught. This man could do anything to me, and then Alessio would come rushing in here, totally unaware, a lamb for the slaughter.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” the Russian drawls. “I’d hate to have to break your pretty little fingers.”
My breath catches. “I’m not trying anything.”
“I didn’t come here to argue with you, Isla Davenport, most recently of Iowa, professor of creative writing with a focus on Victorian literature and short stories. I came here to give you a message.”
The more he reveals he knows about me, the more my heart rate speeds up.
He wants me to know there was no mistake about this visit.
He knows exactly who I am. The realization is horrifying, compounded by the fact that I know this man must be a member of the Russian Mafia, as ruthless and deadly as they come.
How the hell did I get myself into this mess?
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, my tone placating, because the last thing I want to do is make this monster angry. “I’ll do whatever you want, I promise. Just, please, don’t hurt anyone else.”
“Very good,” he says. “Now, I want you to listen closely to what I’m about to tell you. I want you to remember it—every fucking word—and then I want you to tell it to Saint Andriani when he comes rushing through that door. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes. I understand.”
I’m still clutching the duvet and sheet in a death grip, my hands trembling. I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life. All I can do is hope that he doesn’t harm me, and that he doesn’t do anything to Alessio either.
“Good.” He leans down so we’re eye to eye.
“You tell him that Pakhan knows Andriani soldiers are responsible for getting some of our innocent brothers arrested and shutting down an operation that was very, very profitable. Because the Andrianis took something from us, we have to take from them. Pakhan will be in touch with options.”
I swallow hard, trying to commit everything he just said to memory. “Okay.”
“Repeat it to me,” he commands.
“Y-you want me to tell Alessio that the Andrianis are responsible for getting some of your men arrested.”
“Mmm. And what else?”
“That they shut down one of your businesses that was profitable, and now you’re going to take something from the Andrianis, like they took from you. That Pakhan will be in touch.”
“With options,” he prods.
“With options,” I repeat.
“We won’t be taking no for an answer.” He stares at me, unsmiling, a venomous snake about to strike at any second.
“Got it,” I manage.
“Very good. Now, hold out your hands, and don’t try to do anything stupid or I’m going to have to hurt you. You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?”
He’s speaking to me with the same calm, yet authoritative air one might use for a child. It’s a jarring contrast, the fact that this man is capable of causing me immense harm, and yet he’s talking to me as if he doesn’t want to do so.
“I don’t want you to hurt me,” I agree, praying that he won’t.
I don’t know if I can trust him. This could be one big mindfuck, and he’s pretending that he’s here to do no harm right before he starts torturing me.
“Then hold out your hands,” he orders firmly.
If I do, I’m going to have to let go of the blankets I’m using as a shield to cover my nakedness.
But one look at the Russian stranger’s impassive face tells me I don’t have a choice.
I slink down as much as I can, and then I pull my arms out of the covers like he asked, holding my hands toward him.
“Don’t try to move, or it will go very poorly for you,” he warns, reaching inside his black jacket.
I tense up, waiting for him to extract a knife or a gun.
But instead, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and relief washes over me.
Maybe he really is just going to restrain me.
Maybe he only came here as some sort of sadistic warning.
A small act of terrorism so Alessio knows the Russian Mafia means business.
God, I hope so.
I hold my breath and my tongue as the intruder snaps a cuff onto my left wrist.
“Arm up,” he orders.
I realize he’s going to handcuff me to the headboard. I hesitate, knowing that if I do as he asks, the duvet that’s resting precariously over my breasts is going to slide the rest of the way down, exposing me to this stranger.
He chuckles, the sound dark and low. “I’ve seen tits before. No need to be shy.”
I’m sure he’s being intentionally crude, but I can’t keep the heat of embarrassment from stinging my cheeks when I reluctantly do as he commands, lifting my arms up like he indicated.
“Wise choice.” He loops the handcuffs around the headboard and snaps the other ring onto my right wrist.
The blanket falls. Cool air washes over my exposed breasts, and I hope to God the Russian won’t look, won’t notice. That he’ll spare me this small bit of dignity.
My hopes are in vain.
His glittering eyes dip, an appreciative smile curving his lips into a sharp smile. “They are nice tits, malyshka. Andriani has excellent taste.”
I want to tell him to go to hell. To rail at him for this violation, even if he hasn’t touched me.
But I’m terrified that if I stand up to him, the Russian will do something far worse than handcuffing me to the bed and leaving my naked breasts on display.
He could break my fingers, like he threatened when I was contemplating going for my phone. Or worse.
He could rape me. Kill me. Kidnap me. For all I know, this man is capable of anything. He was skilled enough to incapacitate the small army of guards Alessio keeps here. To slip through the building’s security, to gain entry through a locked door. What else can he do? I don’t want to know.