Chapter 26
SAINT
“I’ll do it,” I say without hesitation.
“Not so fast,” Priest interrupts.
“I’ll marry her,” I repeat.
If that’s what it takes to get Isla out of this fucking maniac’s clutches, then so be it. I’m beyond caring at this point. I already know I can’t have the woman I love at my side, so nothing else matters.
“Excellent,” Sidorov says. “Get your zasranets brother to bring Ekaterina back to civilization, and then we can talk.”
“Saint isn’t marrying your sister,” Priest bites out before I can say anything else. “You’re forgetting, we have the upper hand here.”
I turn to him, wondering what the fuck he’s thinking. We need to make sure this bastard lets Isla go. I’ll happily sacrifice myself.
“I don’t give a shit what I have to do, as long as Isla’s safe at the end.”
And I mean that. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything. She’s it for me. She’s too fucking good for me; that much is a given. And she’s not cut out for this life. I know that too. But I’ll always protect her.
She’s mine.
Even if I can’t have her.
Priest holds up a hand to me and turns back to Sidorov. “You want an alliance between our families? That’s what you’re after now?”
Sidorov nods. “A guarantee. That’s what I want. I need a promise that what happened…the gas leak…that there won’t be retaliation.”
It all makes perfect, sickening sense. At first, Sidorov was coming at us hard because he thought the Andrianis were double-crossing the Bratva. Now that he knows differently, he’s trying to save his ass. Only, he’s using the woman I love as a pawn.
“You have my word,” Priest says easily.
“Not good enough,” Sidorov denies just as swiftly. “I need blood ties. Ties that can’t be broken the second we leave this room.”
Priest nods. “Fair enough. But wouldn’t you agree that we could do an even exchange, your sister for Isla and my men? Why force anyone into a marriage they don’t want?”
“Don’t play stupid, Andriani. Protection. And trading one woman for four people isn’t an even exchange. We are the ones with the true upper hand here now, not you. Make your decision, but make it quickly. I’m growing impatient, and you won’t like what happens then.”
“Let me,” I tell my brother urgently.
All that matters is Isla. Getting her out of the Bratva’s clutches. Sending her home where she belongs and where she’ll be safe. Far the fuck away from me and anything and anyone that will hurt her.
“I’ll agree to your offer, Sidorov,” Priest says suddenly. “But Saint isn’t marrying your sister. It’ll have to be a different Andriani brother.”
“Which one?” Sidorov asks dispassionately.
The cold bastard truly doesn’t give a shit which one of us marries his sister. As long as he gets what he wants.
“It should be Scorpion,” Priest says. “The two of them are already acquainted. They can build on that for their marriage. We’ll have a rock-solid alliance, and everyone wins.”
Sidorov nods. “Done. Bring me my sister, and I will have my guests delivered safely to you in return.”
He extends a hand, and Priest reaches across the table, shaking it and sealing our brother’s fate in the process.
Isla
I’ve been tied up and left on a floor that’s so uncomfortable, it may as well be its own torture device.
My legs are bound at the ankles, and my wrists are tied together, a rope cinched tightly between the two so that I’m perpetually hunched over.
My back aches, my butt hurts, my head is still throbbing from the crash, and I’m reasonably sure I’m going to be killed soon.
The first panic attack that hit me was so intense that I almost passed out.
I couldn’t even defend myself as I was hauled from the mangled car and thrown into the back of a waiting van that sped me off to some undisclosed location that smells like old water crossed with a musty attic.
I’ve had some time since my ignominious arrival to use every tactic and technique my therapist armed me with for controlling my anxiety, and I’ve reached a numb acceptance of what’s happened.
I hope I’m not going to be tortured and that the end is merciful.
For now, it’s small comfort that I’m not alone in this windowless room that’s got a lone television hanging on the wall.
Game of Thrones dubbed in Russian plays while a Bratva goon presides over us in a worn office chair that creaks every time he moves.
Rocco and the guards are here with me. Santino is in rough shape, and Giovanni’s even worse, both eyes swollen shut from putting up a fight even after the Russians stripped his pistol away.
Rocco took a bullet to his left shoulder.
After the crash, everything happened so fast. There was a hail of gunfire.
Santino shoved me onto the floor and lay on top of me as a shield.
They were outnumbered and outgunned, and the Bratva had the element of surprise on their side.
On the episode that’s playing, a dragon breathes fire. Having a dragon of my own to summon and breathe fire on the Bratva bastards who kidnapped us would be amazingly handy right now. But this is real life, and I don’t have a dragon. I also don’t have a chance of making it out of this place alive.
“How are you?” I whisper to Rocco.
I’m worried about that bullet wound of his. He claims the bullet went right through, and he was initially taken to a separate room for “medical attention.” When he was brought to this room, he was sporting a bandage, but I have no idea what passes for first aid in a run-down Bratva warehouse.
“I’m fine,” he mutters.
He doesn’t look fine. His expression is drawn, like he’s in pain, and his face is pale. It looked like he lost a lot of blood, which can’t be good.
“You’ve been shot.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”
“How do you—”
“No fucking talking!” barks out the Russian, not bothering to take his eyes from the show holding his rapt attention.
I bite my lip and hold my tongue. The last thing I need to do is get us into more trouble.
If I make this guy mad, he could take it out on us.
So I sit in miserable silence, turning my mind to possible means of escape.
There’s nothing sharp anywhere. No way to cut our bindings, and the more I test my bonds and try to wiggle my wrists and ankles free, the tighter the ropes get.
If there were a way for us all to overpower the lone guard…
The door to the room swings open suddenly, and another man steps inside, speaking to the guard in hasty Russian. The man gets off his chair and stands to his full, intimidating height. More men pour into the room, coming toward us.
My stomach drops.
Oh God.
This is it.
It’s time.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg, desperation kicking in. “You don’t have to kill us.”
The guards roughly haul Rocco, Giovanni, and Santino to their feet. Rocco goes with a grunt of pain.
“Hey,” I protest before I can think twice about the wisdom of talking back to the ruthless goons holding us captive. “Watch it. He’s been shot.”
“Don’t,” Rocco warns me tightly.
The man guarding him pushes him between the shoulder blades. “Get moving, and don’t do anything stupid. We’re not going to hurt you, da? Your boss is making an exchange.”
An exchange?
Does this mean they’re going to set us free? Hope wars with fear inside me, my stomach a swirling sea of anxiety and desperation. I’ve never been more terrified, not even when I was handcuffed to the bed in Alessio’s apartment.
“Up,” says another voice, a big hand reaching down toward me.
It’s a voice I recognize. My head jerks up to meet the startling, light-blue gaze of the man who broke in and terrorized me that day.
“You,” I spit out.
A feral grin curves his lips. “We meet again, malyshka.”
Saint
I’m ready to murder Sidorov and every goddamn man in this room.
But my rational mind knows I can’t do that, regardless of how much I want to.
Because even looking at the new Pakhan the wrong way could make the bastard change his mind and go back on his word.
I’m desperate enough to swallow my pride and possessive rage and keep from ripping every one of them to pieces with my bare hands.
All I want is Isla’s safe return.
Right fucking now.
And if she has so much as a fucking bruise on her anywhere, all bets are off the second she’s out of these fuckers’ reach.
Hours have passed since our meeting earlier, and now we’re in Bratva territory at Sidorov’s demand.
It’s getting late. During that time, it feels like a lifetime has gone by.
We finally reached Scorpion. Priest ordered him back to the city with Ekaterina, careful to keep out the part where he’s going to have to marry the Russian hellcat he took hostage.
Sidorov sent over a marriage agreement for review. It’s designed to finalize the alliance.
“Your lawyer has finished reviewing the contract?” Sidorov asks Priest.
Lazaro pored over it like it was a treaty between warring nations. Which, in a way, it is. He found nothing objectionable, other than a few minor items that Priest was willing to accept and one major one that’s a sticking point.
“He has,” Priest acknowledges. “And we are good to go except for one thing. There’s no mention of a prenuptial agreement. We’ve taken the liberty of adding a clause that accounts for what happens if the marriage is dissolved for any reason, including death. Have a look for yourself.”
He slides the folder containing the agreement across the desk to Sidorov. Lazaro advised against going digital for the contract because of the opportunity for manipulation. We don’t want to take any chances that Sidorov moves shit around on us.
Sidorov accepts the folder and begins slowly turning the pages of the agreement, absorbing the content of every page as he goes.
“Page fourteen,” Priest adds.