by LK Shaw
“Unless you wish for Nestor to come up with far more painful ways to get you to cooperate, I recommend you listen to his instructions,” the second man, who’s remained standing near the door this whole time, says.
I clamp my mouth shut tight, but I spear them both with my most evil eye. The man called Nestor only seems amused by me.
“Make yourself comfortable. Our boss should be here shortly.”
Both turn and slide the door closed behind them, leaving me alone. The lock engages, and then it’s completely silent. My gaze travels around the room. It’s devoid of anything except a single chair and a waist high marble slab that I avoid looking at for too long. I don’t dare think about what it might be used for.
Just to be sure, I rush across the room and try to move the door, but it doesn’t budge. I’m definitely locked in. I back up several paces and attempt to cover my nakedness again, just in case someone is watching. My eyes scan the ceiling looking for any signs of a camera, but nothing stands out. I move to stand in the corner and keep my eye on the door.
A cold chill dashes across me, and I shiver. My thoughts drift to my husband. Jacob has to be going crazy with fear and worry. I don’t doubt he’ll find me, but I only hope it’s not too late. I have no idea what the Russian’s plans are. I have to be brave. No matter what they do to me. I have to survive.
I stay standing so long that my feet begin to hurt and exhaustion is overwhelming me, but I don’t move from my spot. I’m freezing and thirsty. The lock rattles, and I jerk to attention. The door opens and in steps an unfamiliar man. Behind him are Nestor and my other abductor. This must be their boss. He could be attractive in an older gentleman kind of way with blondish hair and a clean shaven face. He’s taller than the other two and less paunchy. It’s his smile though that sends terror through me. This is a man who won’t hesitate to kill me.
“Welcome, Mrs. Ricci. I’m Mikhail,” he greets me with a faint Russian accent, as though we’re at some social engagement he’s hosting. “Perhaps you’d like to take a seat.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to stand.”
That sick smile twists. “I apologize that I gave you the impression it was a request.”
With only the slightest hesitation, I move forward on shaking legs and take a seat in the chair. I cross an arm over my chest and lay the other in my lap, shielding myself.
“Now, isn’t that more comfortable?”
I don’t respond. Mikhail begins to walk forward, and my eyes follow his every move. He circles me, and I lose sight of him until he comes back around. His gaze appraises me in a way that sends a shudder through me. My fear seems to please him.
“Your husband seemed very worried about you back at Divine. Imagine how surprised my men were when you presented us the perfect opportunity to…acquire you, by leaving the club alone.”
I’d like nothing more than to punch that smirk off his face, but then his words penetrate. Oh god. Is this my fault? If I hadn’t stormed out, and instead actually asked Jacob what happened on our wedding night, then maybe I wouldn’t have been taken, and Gio wouldn’t be dead. I fight back tears.
“My inside source tells me that you and your husband have become close,” he continues. “That makes him vulnerable. Weak. When a man is weak, it makes it much easier to come in and take what’s his.”
“Jacob is not weak,” I bite out, unable to let the insult to my husband pass. “He’s stronger than you think, and I can promise that you will never be able to take anything from him.”
That cold, deadly smile returns. A fist flies through the air and slams into my face, knocking me out of the chair. I crash to the floor, and everything goes dark for a moment. Rough hands drag me up and toss me like a rag doll onto the marble slab. I’m too disoriented to fight back. When the blackness inside my head fades and the light comes into focus, I blink at its brightness. I’ve never been in so much pain before in my life. I’m having difficulty breathing through my nose. I wonder if it’s broken.
I try moving. Wildly, I thrash around. I’m lying spread eagle on my back, my arms and legs secured tightly. I jerk all my limbs and the rope abrades my skin.
“Not so confident now, are you?”
My head whips to the right to find Mikhail standing at my side. Gone is any sort of pleasantness he vaguely displayed before. This is Jacob’s enemy.
“Your husband thinks that he can marry you, and that gives him some type of power? That he can kill my men and I won’t retaliate? The Russians own Brooklyn. The Italians and the Irish are merely pests that irritate us. We are the ones with the power in this city. The ones who control things. Emilio Ricci can’t even control his own organization.”
Mikhail pulls out a knife, and I shrink back in fear.
“He can’t seem to keep his pretty little wife under control either.” He places the flat side of the blade against my cheek. I stop breathing, afraid to move a single inch. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. I’m going to die. Slowly he draws the razor sharp tip down my jaw, that evil smirk appearing on his face again. He continues moving it further along my neck.
“And I did take something from him. You.” He punctuates the last word with a small jerk of his hand. I hiss at the sting of pain. Mikhail’s free hand reaches up. He glides a finger along my skin and raises it toward his mouth. I shudder. The tip of it is covered in my blood. He laps it all off, leaving his fingertip glistening with saliva. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it back.
The point of the blade leaves my neck. I nearly sigh in relief. Until he begins lightly tracing it along my breast. He circles one, then the other, gently gliding the razor sharp edge across my skin. I flinch as he adds a bit more pressure. Against my will, more tears flow faster. Mikhail draws a line down the middle of my chest, a small amount of blood rushing to the surface, until finally he jerks the knife from my body.
He stares down at me with pure hatred. His face is slightly blurred from the tears, but his expression is clearly visible. “This is all your husband’s fault. I want you to think about that as you lie here.”
Then he and the other two men disappear out the door, flipping the light on their way out, and leaving me in complete and total darkness.
Chapter 29
Jacob
* * *
Cold rage nearly blinds me. I shove the door open and level my gun at the man I’ve called my uncle. “What the fuck do you mean ‘took care of’?” I bark.
Paulie glares back at me with disdain, his lips curled, but no fear. “I did what needed to be done.”
I round on my father. “Did you know about this? Was it on your word that he murdered my wife?”
He shakes his head looking far older than the last time I’d been here. “No. I swear on my honor, I knew nothing about this. She was your wife?”
“Yes,” I bite out. “We were going to tell you, but then everything happened with Francesca.”
“My god, son.” There’s a thread of sympathy in his tone.
I turn back to the traitor in front of me, my gun pointed straight at him.
“Why?” I bark.
“I’ve been loyal to this syndicate my entire life. It’s in my blood. It’s in yours. And you,” Paulie sneers. “You were going to throw it all away. Turn your back on it for a woman. She made you weak. Getting rid of her and making it look like the Russians had done it should have been enough to make you accept your birthright. You were supposed to seek vengeance and then take your place at your father’s side. Instead, you ran away like a coward.”
Fury sears my insides. This is a man I’ve trusted my entire life. A man I call family.
“Don’t speak to me about loyalty, you fucking traitor. I was never going to turn my back on the syndicate. You murdered an innocent woman for nothing,” I spat.
“Yet it took your father dying to bring you back here. Otherwise, you’d still be hiding away. You don’t deserve to rule the Brooklyn syndicate. I’m the one who’s given my entire life to this o
rganization. I’ve bled for it. I’ve proven my loyalty again and again.” He pounds his fist over his chest where his crown lies. A crown I will burn off him.
“You’ll bleed for it, all right.” I fire a bullet into his shoulder.
Paulie clutches the bleeding wound. Pierce steps around me and smashes the butt of his gun into his face. He drops, unconscious, to the floor.
“Take him to the warehouse,” I command.
My cousin drags the traitor out of my sight.
My father collapses in a tired heap in his chair. He’s lost all color in his face. His head drops to his chest, and he cradles his face in his hands. After a few steadying breaths he raises up. So much fatigue shows on his face.
“I believe he may be working with the Russians to undermine our alliance.”
I straighten. “What?”
“Too many things he’s said that haven’t made sense. I can’t be certain.”
“Mikhail Popov was at Divine tonight,” I tell him. “The only person besides Pierce and Giovanni who knew about the meeting was you. Did you tell Paulie?”
My father nods. “I shared it with him, yes. I may no longer rule the syndicate, but he is—was—still my closest confidante.”
“The Russians have my wife.”
His eyes jerk to meet mine. “When? How?”
“Tonight. Brenna was with me at Divine. I’m not sure why, but she left with Giovanni. There was an accident. They shot Gio and took her. If you think Paulie is working with them, then he may know where they are holding her.”
“It’s possible.”
“Before morning comes I will know where she’s been taken.”
My father doesn’t acknowledge my promise. Grief pours from him. For a brief moment I almost feel a sliver of regret for what I need to do to find my wife. My father’s best friend of over thirty years betrayed us. Betrayed him.
There’s nothing I can do to ease his pain. Instead, I leave him with it. I have more important things to take care of.
“Wake up.” I slap the traitor across his face.
Paulie groans. His eyes snap open. He glances up at me and begins to struggle in his bonds. Pierce has removed his shirt and tied him securely to the chair. The wound in his shoulder has stopped bleeding.
“Where’s my wife?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinds out.
In a flash, I clutch his shoulder and jam my thumb directly into the bullet hole. He screams in pain. I swivel the digit back and forth driving it, along with the bullet still lodged inside, even deeper. The screams grow louder. Finally, his voice cracks and turns hoarse. Only then do I remove it.
I grab Paulie’s face, squeezing, and smear his blood all over it. “Where…is…my…wife?”
He glares at me, silently, through pain-filled eyes. I push him away and release my death grip. On the table next to him is the special piece of equipment Pierce uses. I flip the switch. A humming begins. I pick up the heating implement. It almost resembles an electric toothbrush aside from its metal tip.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask, my eyes never leaving it as I move it around between us so he can see it. “It’s used to cauterize wounds to stop them from bleeding. I can use it one of two ways. You tell me where my wife is and I’ll apply this to that nasty hole you’ve got there. Or you can refuse, and this will happen.”
I apply the implement directly to the crown inked into his chest. The scent of burning flesh wafts through the room and is joined by more screams. I roll it back and forth across the entire width of the mark. When I’m satisfied, I lift it off. Where before rested the crest of the Brooklyn Kings, the skin is blackened and a fiery red surrounds it. Paulie’s breaths come fast. His chin drops.
“I’ll ask you again. Where is my wife?”
Still, he doesn’t answer. Once again, I shove my thumb into the wound in his shoulder. Hoarse shrieks leave his mouth. Spittle follows. Paulie whispers something. I crouch down and move closer. “What was that?”
He clears his throat. “Stop.”
“I’ll stop when you tell me what I want to know.” My digit sinks further into his flesh.
“I’ll tell you.” The words come out choked. “She’s being held at Mikhail’s compound in Sheepshead. Just off Bedford.”
I rip my thumb from Paulie’s wound and straighten. How pathetic.
“You better hope she’s still alive.” A shot rings out. I put my gun away and stare down at the traitor to our family. “After we find my wife, bury him.”
I spit on his body and head out the door.
Chapter 30
Brenna
* * *
I’m so cold. Although maybe that’s a good thing. It might be helping to numb the pain in my body. I lost feeling in my fingers and toes yesterday. At least I think it was yesterday. How long have I been lying on this hard slab? Without any windows, it’s all one endless day. The time is only broken up by the occasional arrival of my tormentors.
I’d cry, but my tears have all dried up. Besides, I’m Brenna Ricci, wife of Jacob Ricci, and I refuse to let these bastards break me.
They’re trying, though. Along with my face, my breasts are bruised. Blood has crusted around my nose and lips.
My neck still stings from where Mikhail cut me. As does the wound on my chest. Fear had made my mouth go dry. I didn’t think he was going to stop there. I hadn’t been raped. Not yet at least.
The lock on the door rattles, and I brace myself for another round of torture. I can handle it. I just have to keep holding on until Jacob finds me. There’s no question that he will. My only worry is that it’ll be too late. My heart aches at the thought of leaving him. No, don’t even think that.
It clanks again and then the rusted metal groans and creaks as the door slides along the track. Whoever it is will show themselves in a moment. Except there’s no one. I lift my head. The room is empty, but a shadow moves outside the door. It grows larger until finally a young boy appears. I blink out of my one good eye, positive I’m imagining him.
He rushes across the concrete floor toward me, and draws a knife out from behind his back. Before I can scream, he slams a palm over my mouth.
“I am sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you. I’m here to help, I swear, but you must be quiet,” he whispers harshly in accented Russian. I blink again to try and clear my vision. Oh my god. He is actually a she. What is a woman doing here? I’m not sure I should trust her, but I nod anyway. She removes her hand, and saws at the rope binding me to the table.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
She shakes her head, her short blonde hair swirling over her ears. “It doesn’t matter who I am. We have to hurry.”
Once I’m free, she helps me off the table, and my legs buckle. The woman barely catches me before I hit the floor.
“Just give me a second, please,” I beg. Pins and needles pierce my skin, and I grind my teeth to hold back the whimper.
“We must go. Now.” Before I’m ready, she drags me out of the cold, dank room. I’m acutely aware of my nakedness. The tears I couldn’t shed before spill from my eyes. I’ve never been in so much pain. We make it out the door and down a short hallway. We stop where it’s bisected by another, and she leans her head out and looks both ways.
Then she’s yanking on me again, and we travel down a hallway. Windows line the corridor on the left side. It’s dusk outside. It’s the first glimpse I’ve had of anything other than the four cement walls and ceiling I’d been lock in since I’d been taken. The view is of a square courtyard guarded on each of the other three sides by a window-lined wall. More tears fall.
“This way,” the strange woman directs, and we make another turn, then another. Each corridor looks the same. There’s a metal door with a single window in front of us. She releases her hold on me and pulls something from her pocket. A key.
The woman unlocks the door, opens it a crack, and peers through. “Stay against the wall. Follow my every move if y
ou want to get out of here alive.”
I nod in understanding. She opens the door only wide enough for her to squeeze through. I slip through it next. We’re on the outer wall of the building. Across a large yard, there’s a tall brick barrier lining the perimeter.
Out of nowhere, rapid gunfire begins. Angry shouts follow. Then an explosion. As if that’s the cue she’s been waiting for, she grabs my hand and pulls me along the cement wall. “Come,” she whispers harshly.
I jerk and duck as the shooting grows louder and more frequent, almost certain that in any second a bullet is going to pierce my skin. The rough texture at my back scrapes along my skin, and I hiss in pain. She ignores me. We finally reach the end of the building. There’s another explosion, and this time, the wall behind me shakes, as does the ground beneath my feet.
“We have to move,” she barks. She yanks me so hard, I stumble and barely recover. We’re running across the yard toward the brick wall. I can’t go much farther.
The scent of smoke reaches me. Along with a continued barrage of bullets being fired.
“Brenna?” Someone screams my name.
I freeze. Jacob? The woman keeps pulling me, but I resist. My gaze is scanning the building we just escaped from, searching.
“Brenna?” My name comes again, louder this time.
“Jacob!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “I’m here.”
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
I round on her. “That’s my husband.”
Rough hands grab me and pull me back into a hard chest. A strong arm circles my waist. The other wraps around my throat in a choking grip. I kick and scream, but the hand squeezes my windpipe, cutting off my breath.
The woman attacks the man holding me, pounding on his back. He releases my waist and pulls out a gun. He turns it on her.
“Nyeuzheli ti dumala shto ti tak lehko spasyoshsya, Mila?”
“Mikhail!”