Chapter 20
VAL
Wearing another expensive dress—bright pink, less formal, and not so revealing—I waited for a knock on my door.
I hated the fucking dress, with its high neckline, fitted bodice, and full skirt. It made me feel like a fifties barbie doll. Like some empty, plastic thing chosen for its beauty, bent, and moved to the will of someone else.
I needed to push beyond all my thoughts because thinking literally hurt. That kind of pain was worse than any headache or bruise or even the aching set deep in my bones.
My last bit of hope had died, leaving me with unbearable nothingness.
Thinking up a plan would only be a waste of time. Even Marco had said he didn’t know how to save me anymore.
Thoughts of Enzo and Stefano hurt the most. Thoughts of Marco and his look of defeat when he left my room earlier that day made it impossible not to cry.
Oh, he’d tried to give me a sliver of hope, saying Stefano might come up with something else. Stefano would come back—I had no doubt. If I knew nothing else, he would never give up anything he wanted so easily.
I didn’t want him to come back, though. I wanted him to stay in New York and focus on raising our son.
Finally, the knock came from the other side of the door. I stood, the door opened, and Saul stepped inside, followed by another large blond man and my three brothers.
The man had cold eyes and nicotine-stained teeth. The sour stench of stale vodka and sweat followed him into the room.
Mother of Christ, I had to steel my gag reflex.
So the Russians had sent another emissary, not a decision-maker, nor the second son they’d promised. This man was more likely to spend his pakhan’s money on cheap booze and women, assuming anyone actually made him pay for anything.
All mob bosses—Mafia, Bratva, and the Irish—liked to pretend they weren’t criminals.
They might get their hands dirty, but they dressed like white-collar elite with their tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, expensive haircuts, and luxurious colognes.
Even the underbosses imitated that level of prestige.
This particular man hadn’t seen a shower, let alone a tailor.
Did Saul realize this was meant as an insult? Marco might pick up on it. More importantly, did it mean the higher price Saul had negotiated would fall through?
Did I even fucking care anymore?
Without even a glance in my direction, Saul gestured at me.
“This is my daughter, Valentina. As I told your boss, we had some trouble with her before, and she has a son—he’s with his father now. She’s more than capable of producing more strong sons. Many good years still left in her.”
I stared straight ahead, mimicking the cold, dead stare on Marco’s and Santo’s faces.
“It looks like you have had trouble with her very recently.”
The Russian grabbed my chin, moving my head from side to side, no doubt scrutinizing the freshest marks Aris and Saul had left on my face.
“She just needed a gentle reminder of who’s in charge,” Aris said, smug satisfaction dripping from his words.
“In Russia, we do not hit our women. Still, knowing the purpose we have in mind for this one, maybe it’s okay.”
His loud, boisterous laugh followed and sent shocks of pain shooting through my damn head.
Saul and Aris joined him.
Marco and Santo stood quietly at the back of the room, blending in like wallflowers. I wished I could do the same.
The man released my chin and clasped his hands together.
“You spoke with my boss about a possible marriage to a second son. I know this. The reason you gave is understood, but it will not be possible with her reputation. Before the mask ball at the hotel, maybe yes. But people say things about her now that would follow a woman anywhere, even to Russia.”
Saul huffed. “What are people saying? I can assure you it’s all baseless gossip.”
“They say she is strong willed. That she will fuck any man. I see these fresh bruises, and I know the first is true. The second might become an asset for what we now have in mind for her.”
“What is your boss proposing?” Saul asked.
“When you first told us she was alive, we would make her a reward for soldiers who prove their worth, given her a luxury penthouse in Moscow, or perhaps Petersburg. The men who visited her would be men who pleased our leaders. Maybe an extra perk for certain others.
“She would have been provided for. Given some allowance to spend for good behavior. It would be a very nice life. Not a long one, of course. Our men sometimes get a little rough. But it would be a good life.”
“And what’s the current offer?”
A note of hostility underscored Saul’s voice.
He didn’t care what they did with me or how they might use me. He certainly didn’t care if I had a good life—or died by the hand of a man who would rather fuck a corpse.
The Russian nodded as if expecting Saul’s frustration.
“We understand why you believe she is worth more. She is very beautiful. She can bear sons, yes. Seeing this, I think she can still please the second son, but not as a wife. As a mistress. She will give him sons. Bratva will raise them. They will not be heirs. They will be soldiers. Parts in the machine.”
He settled his blood-shot gaze on me again.
“But first, I must know if she is up for the task.”
I tightened every muscle in my body to keep from wilting under his frigid stare.
“Whatever you need,” Aris said.
“The pakhan’s son is particular. There must be no defects. No diseases. No curves created by padding or undergarments. No illusion of this shape.”
His gaze wandered down my body, making me want to crawl out of my skin.
No one said a word to me.
No one acknowledged the fact that I was in the room.
Until Aris came up behind me, grabbed onto my dress, and tore down the zipper.
The entire thing fell to the floor, exposing the white lace someone had chosen for me to wear beneath it.
My skin flushed under the weight of their stares.
Not from Marco or Santo, though.
They kept their eyes focused on the floor.
“All of it,” the Russian said. “She must strip for a full inspection.”
I closed my eyes and drifted away, out of my body, somewhere else. Anywhere but there.
The idea squeezed my heart, but I forced myself to let the thoughts come anyway. Thoughts of how Stefano and Enzo would help each other through the grief after my death.
How Stefano would take care of Enzo. He might move on and have more kids with another woman, but she would be kind to Enzo. She would treat him like her own, and he would love her for it.
Not the same way he loved me, but it would be something.
Aris pinched one of the bruises on my side while he said something I didn’t even bother to hear.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter as the air shifted with the Russian’s movements and let go of my thoughts again.
Enzo wouldn’t call her Mama but would still give her gifts on Mother’s Day. That would be enough for her.
Stefano and our son would go out, just the two of them, every year on my birthday and talk about me.
Stefano would tell him about the girl I’d been when he met me, and Enzo might share his favorite memories from when it had been just him and me.
Maybe when my son had siblings, he would read stories to them like I’d read to him. When he got older and had a wife of his own, he would tell her about me.
Aris pinched me again, harder this time, forcing me back to the present.
My fucking eyes flew open.
Saul studied me in a clinical manner, like trying to put a dollar value on a horse. The Russian looked on with thinly veiled lust, and Aris admired the kaleidoscope of colors he’d painted on my body with his fists.
Marco and Santo hadn’t moved, their eyes dead as they stared at nothing, maybe refusing to see anything at all because they couldn’t make it stop.
Dissociation was powerful, and I intended to master it.
The dumb-fuck Russian laughed and slapped my ass.
“She can take a beating. That will serve her well.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, ignoring the sting. Just one more drop in the bucket of pain and humiliation.
“A woman must be tough to make strong boys,” Saul said, like being beaten somehow earned me a badge of honor.
The Russian nodded, his eyes never straying from me.
“Yes, well, here is what I am permitted to offer... We will transfer two million. Half when we take her and half at the end of the first year. That is, if she survives. Then we open trade routes through Canada for you.
“We do not recommend American drivers in the winter. The roads get very difficult. Twenty-five percent of every shipment belongs to us, either in transported goods or the equal value in cash. Bribing of border patrol and any other authorities comes from your pocket.”
Aris shrugged. “That seems fair.”
I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Marco had straightened his posture. His fists were balled at his sides, and when I turned my head to see his face, he had his jaw clenched.
He’d lost his battle with pretending to be apathetic.
Still, my older brother did nothing to help me.
Saul extended his big fat fucking hand to the Russian.
“Tell your boss ten percent, and we have a deal.”
Really? Even I knew a terrible deal when I heard one.
“I must ask his permission first,” the Russian said, gripping Saul’s hand, “but it should not be a problem. We will send you a deal or counteroffer soon.”
Aris laughed. “You could just take her back to your hotel now and give her a test drive.”
The Russian pawed at my breast before tweaking my nipple.
“Ah, it is a tempting offer, yes. But as with all new whores, gifted to a son or not, the boss always goes first.”
I wanted to vomit, but there wasn’t enough food in my stomach for that, which was probably why they’d starved me.
The men continued talking as I stood before them.
Naked and exposed in every way.
I tried to drift back into my fantasy, but I couldn’t see Enzo there anymore. I could only see snow and blood stretched far into the distance of my future.
If this deal went through, if an opportunity didn’t present itself soon—my life would end with a cold death.
Aris settled his hand on my arm and pressed his thumb against my bullet wound.
I fought to stay upright beneath the pain.
It was all I could do not to cry out.
I might not have known what waited for me over the next few days, but I did know one thing for sure.
Aris would die before I left this fucking house.