26. Danika
DANIKA
The hands on my arms yank me forward, and I stumble, my feet catching on something. Carpet, maybe a rug, I can't tell. The hood over my head is so thick I can't see anything. Not even a hint of light bleeds through, but I can smell something.
It burns my nostrils. That sharp, artificial lemon scent housekeepers use. The scent clings to the air, and while they think it smells nice, I've never liked it.
So, I'm in a house. A nice house, probably.
The realization doesn't comfort me.
We keep moving, and we walk across what sounds like hardwood now. The guards flanking me say nothing, their grips staying firm on my upper arms. I try to gauge the layout. Left turn, then straight, then another left, but my disorientation makes it impossible to build a mental map.
Suddenly, the man on my right tightens his hold, his fingers digging into my bicep, and we stop.
I try to jerk away from the pain, twisting my body, but his grip only tightens further. I feel his thumb pressing into the muscle, grinding against bone.
I hear a door open.
"Lestnitsa," one of them says.
Stairs.
My stomach drops.
I move forward slowly, stretching out my foot, searching for the edge of the step, but I can't find it. I stretch farther forward, afraid I'm going to fall, but I feel nothing but empty space.
Then a hand shoves me from behind, and my foot lands wrong, catching the edge of a step. My ankle twists, and I'm falling, my bound hands useless to catch myself.
Pain explodes in my knees as they slam into the stairs.
But before I can tumble farther, pain shoots through my scalp as someone yanks me back.
A fist wrapped in my hair pulls me upward by the roots, causing the pain to radiate from my skull down my neck. I rise to my feet, my legs shaking beneath me.
Then I hear the men laugh.
"Tupaya suka," one of them mutters.
Dumb bitch.
My jaw clenches behind the gag, fury flooding through me despite the pain.
I want to gouge out his eyes, maybe break his nose with my forehead, anything to silence his fucking laughter, but all I can do is stand there, trembling, as they shove me forward again.
This time, I'm more careful.
I find the edge of each step before putting my weight down. We descend slowly, the air growing colder with each step. The lemon smell fades, replaced by concrete and the faint metallic scent of old pipes.
We're heading down to a basement.
We reach the bottom, and the floor beneath me is hard. I'm dragged down a hallway, the sound of our footsteps bouncing off the walls. We take a right, then a left.
Then we stop.
A door creaks open, and I'm shoved inside.
The temperature drops immediately, and goosebumps prickle across my arms. I can feel the chill seeping through my shirt. I can't tell if it's actually colder in here now or if I'm just starting to get more anxious. It's that chilly feeling when fear starts to work its way into your mind.
I hear footsteps around me. Then a voice, low and cold, speaks directly into my right ear.
"Poprobuy chto-nibud', i ya tebya ub'yu."
Try anything, and I'll kill you.
I flinch, my body jerking away from the sound and his threat.
Hands then grip mine, and I feel the tension break as something sharp slices through the zip ties around my wrists. For a single, fleeting second, my hands are free.
But before I can do anything, swing, grab, fight, I'm spun around and slammed backward into a wall.
My back collides with the concrete, knocking the air from my lungs. I can't breathe. My nose works hard, trying to suck in air, but the gag and the impact have stolen everything.
Panic flares, and my hands are clasped together in front of me now. I feel the bite of new zip ties cinching tightly around my wrists.
Someone grabs my bound hands and lifts them over my head.
I try to pull them down, but they won't move.
I'm stuck.
I yank again, harder this time, and feel the resistance. My wrists are hooked onto something above me. A chain, a pipe, I don't know.
Voices are all around me, speaking in Russian, and there are too many to count.
I turn my head toward the sounds, trying to locate them even though I can't see a damn thing.
I try to speak, to tell them all to go fuck themselves, but the gag stops the words before I can get them out.
After a moment, the voices stop, and a door slams shut. I jump, startled by the sudden noise.
There's nothing now but silence and the sound of my own breathing.
I'm alone.
I tilt my head, straining my ears to hear anything, footsteps, voices, but there's nothing.
My shoulders start to ache almost immediately. My arms are stretched too high, pulling at the joints, and the weight of my body hanging from them sends sharp pains shooting down my sides.
Minutes pass, but I can't tell how many.
The pain in my shoulders intensifies, a dull, throbbing burn that spreads to my neck and upper back.
I shift my weight, trying to relieve the pressure, but it doesn't help.
I close my eyes beneath the hood, focusing on my breathing, trying to slow my racing heart.
Victor is dead.
The thought slams into me like a fist.
No. He's not. He can't be.
But the guards said it. They said the hit squad got him.
My chest tightens.
What if he died because of me?
The thought is unbearable.
I shake my head, trying to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
Focus. You need to focus on how the hell you might get out of here.
But all I can think about is him.
His smile. His voice. The way he kissed me, fucked me like the world was ending and he didn't care.
Maybe he knew it was only a matter of time. Maybe he...
The door opens.
I hear footsteps, and then light floods my vision as the hood is ripped off my head.
I blink, squinting against the sudden brightness. Everything is blurry, shapes and colors bleeding together.
I blink again, harder this time, willing my eyes to adjust.
Slowly, the room comes into view, then the figures standing in it.
Dimitri.
He stands in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression cold and relentless.
Behind him, two guards flank the door.
Dimitri nods to someone behind me, and the gag is ripped away. I gasp, sucking in air.
I look up, my vision finally clearing, and see my hands. They're zip-tied together and hooked onto a large metal hook hanging from the ceiling.
"I had plans for you. You know that?" Dimitri says, his voice calm, almost conversational.
I don't respond. I'm too busy pulling air into my lungs.
"I was going to keep you on when the transition happened."
I gasp again, my chest heaving. "I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."
Dimitri laughs.
It's a low, mocking sound that makes my skin crawl.
"Sure you do. You saw what's on my tablet. The accounts, the infrastructure I've set up. All without Ivan even fucking knowing."
He shakes his head, his smile fading.
"And now, you won't be around to see me correct a mistake my father made long ago. The wrong son was chosen to run this family, but that'll be ending soon."
I stare at him so intently that I feel like I'm looking through him.
I want to spit in his face. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he stops breathing.
But I'll have to settle for hanging here, helpless, while he gloats.
Dimitri steps closer, his hand reaching up to grip my hair.
He yanks my head back.
"Tell me about my tablet. What did you take? Who'd you give it to, huh?" he says, pulling tighter. "Do the Romanians have it?"
I grit my teeth. "No," I lie. "But Ivan does. Or will soon."
Dimitri releases my hair, his expression skeptical.
"Bullshit. You haven't left Italy since you got here. And my brother's contacts here have been on my side for months now. All except for those who are loyal to Enzo Bonventi, but we watched those men, and you didn't speak to them."
I wince as the pain in my shoulders intensifies.
"You sure about that?"
He laughs again, but this time, there's no humor in it. He walks around me, rubbing his chin.
"You know, maybe it doesn't matter. The trafficking, the drugs. I've built something that Ivan can't even destroy."
The words make my eyes go wide.
So it's true.
Victor's claims about what the Volkovs are doing. It isn't the Volkov Bratva. It's Dimitri. He's doing things under the family name, behind Ivan's back.
I shake my head, my voice steady despite the fear curling in my stomach.
"If Ivan doesn't get you, the Ionescus will."
The men laugh, and Dimitri grins as if he finds my words amusing.
"The Ionescus? Why, because of that bitch who got my son killed? Please, their father came to me. What my son did was his business. I plan on finishing them off once I seize power anyway, since they don't plan on running things like their father did."
I stare at him, my mind racing.
"So, if you plan on killing me and seem to know everything, why am I here?"
Dimitri steps closer, his smile fading.
"I want to know where you took the intel."
I tilt my head as I rub my fingers together, my ring still on my finger.
"Maybe I gave it to Victor?" I say, disguising the truth by wrapping it in sarcasm.
Dimitri shakes his head.
"I thought that at first, too. But then I realized you have no thoughts of your own. You're just an obedient weapon always doing as its told. It’s not like you've ever been capable of anything more.”
He steps inches from my face, his breath hot against my skin.
"So my brother ordered you to. Yes. Now I want to know what my brother knows. Why did he tell you to come after me? What does he think?"
I look away, refusing to meet his eyes.
Dimitri's voice rises, his composure cracking.
"Tell me! Because I had it going well. He was on board with killing your little Romanian boyfriend, given what they did to my son, but somehow things changed. What? Who's giving him intel?"
Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell him. Besides, Ivan didn't tell me who tipped him off or why he wanted the tablet. He just told me to do it.
But if I'm going to die, then I might as well go out my way.
I smile.
"He knows everything."
A hand flies across my face.
The slap is so hard my head snaps to the side.
"Bitch."
Dimitri turns, motioning to someone behind him.
When he turns back, he's holding a syringe.
The liquid inside is blue.
"If you won't talk, I've got just the thing.
This stuff right here," he says, holding up the needle, "has made me millions.
It built my secret empire, and it's what will help me take over my family.
But first, it's going to make you answer everything I want, and don't worry, there'll be plenty more for you once we're done. "
I wiggle, trying to pull away, but there's nowhere to go.
He takes a step toward me, aiming for my arm.
Suddenly, the room is plunged into darkness.
"Chto za khuynya?" Dimitri says, his voice sharp.
What the fuck?
He yells at his men to go check it out.
One of them tells him in Russian that they need to secure him in a safe place until they know everything is okay.
Dimitri curses, and I can barely see him in the shadows.
Then he walks out, everyone follows, and the door slams shut.
I'm alone again, and my heart pounds in my chest. What the hell was he going to give me?
Then I hear it. That unmistakable sound I know so well.
The whiz of silenced gunshots, followed by groans echoing in the dark.
Then complete chaos.
Gunfire erupts all around me outside the room, the sounds bouncing off the walls.
I wiggle my body to free my hands, but it's no use, and the movement only makes my shoulders hurt more.
The gunfire and yelling stop for a moment, and the door bursts open.
I scream from the sudden impact of the door hitting the wall.
A flashlight turns on, and a beam cuts through the room, landing directly on my face, blinding me.
"Danika?"
I know that voice, and hearing it causes my heart to almost leap out of my chest.
"Victor?"
The light moves up toward my hands, leaving me blind.
I hear him walk up to me, his footsteps quick.
"Are you alright?" he asks, and I feel the tension break as he cuts me free. "Are you hurt? Did they hurt you. I’ll fucking kill them."
I collapse as my arms fall to my sides, and he catches me, his hands steady as he looks me over.
"Victor?" I ask again, unable to believe it.
"Yeah, baby. Were you expecting someone else?"
I laugh, the sound shaky and breathless.
"No, but I thought..." I stop myself. "It doesn't matter. I'm so glad to see you."
He brushes the hair out of my face, and my eyes finally focus on him.
"Well," he says, "I couldn't let you get kidnapped and have all the fun."
I smile, staring into his eyes, his face illuminated by the flashlight.
"Well, you're late. You missed some good times."
He leans down, his face inches from mine.
"Yeah. That's okay. I'm only here for you. And for this."
He kisses me.
Despite my heavy arms, I lift them and wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer.
His lips feel like heaven, and his stubble against my face is something I want to feel every day.
We break apart, and I smile.
"So, what's your plan to..."
Before I can finish, we hear footsteps running toward us.