by LP Lovell
“Your place in Ischia was blown up an hour ago.”
On a sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not good.
“The media are calling it a gas explosion.”
The question is whether or not it’s the Elite chasing Adelina and if they have orders to kill. It could also be someone working for the Bianchis. And if so, they could be after Adelina or me. That flat is listed under one of my old aliases. The Bratva would know it. Or they could just be trying to flush me out. Perhaps Bianchi is here in Rome and knows I’m looking for him. This could well be his way of trying to force me to expose myself. Too many possibilities make it hard to know which direction the next hit is coming from. Either way, Adelina’s not safe here. We’re too close.
“Thanks.”
“Sasha—”
I hang up because I don’t have time to debate the situation in New York. I just made a choice, and I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with it.
When I go back to the apartment, I find Adelina in her room. The door is open, and I can see her sitting on the bed, staring blankly out the window. She does that a lot. The sunlight plays over her face, and her hair shines with red tones under the rays. Her incessant chatter and careless immaturity used to irritate me, but I find I miss it. Sadness clings to her like a cloak, and I shouldn’t care, but there’s something tragic about it.
I step over the threshold into her room, and the floorboard creaks underfoot. Her gaze snaps to me, her hand inching towards her back where I can see the outline of her gun.
“We need to leave,” I tell her. “You aren’t safe.”
She sighs. “According to you and Gabi, I’m never safe.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Adelina!” I shout. I frown when she stills, both of us surprised by my outburst. “Please just pack a bag.”
She pushes to her feet. “No. I’m tired. I’m not running, anymore.”
We don’t have time for this. Going to the wardrobe, I take her bag off the top and start shoving clothes into it. “This isn’t a game.”
“No, it’s my life!”
I whirl around to face her. “If you do not come willingly, I will render you unconscious and take you by force.”
Her eyes pinch. “You would—”
“You absolutely know I would.”
“You should talk to someone about your psychopathic behavior.”
“Pack. Now. Leave the gun. You can’t take it where we’re going.”
I stalk out of her room and pick up my own bag. It’s already packed. I always keep it that way for moments like this. I can never be too prepared.
12
Adelina
We get out of the taxi, and Sasha tosses the driver a handful of notes. We both travel light with one bag each. I glance up at the enormous building in front of us. Roma Termini spans the front of it in huge letters. Two military vehicles are parked right outside, and a couple of soldiers lean against the front of one. Their guns are clasped in front of them. My heart pounds and my muscles tense the second I spot them.
“Why are there soldiers here?” I ask quietly.
“There is civil unrest in the capital. The military presence is merely a deterrent.” We pass by the vehicles, and one of the soldiers makes eye contact with me, and I instantly drop my gaze. “Watch your bag closely,” Sasha says.
I clutch my bag closer, hurrying to keep up with him. As soon as Sasha’s bought tickets, we’re striding into the center of the station. It grows busier, and I can see how pickpockets could easily make a living here.
"Take my hand," Sasha orders.
"What?" I’m confused by the sudden cancelation of the no touching rule.
He snatches my hand and threads his fingers through mine. This is... weird. “We’re being followed. Don’t let go.”
I'm jostled from every direction as he drags me through the crowds at a brisk pace. I try to look around to see who is following us, but I don’t get a chance. I stagger on after him, dodging children and ankle bashing suitcases.
He suddenly ducks out of the mainstream traffic and down a quiet platform. A train sits empty, and I spot a cleaning crew inside. Still, he keeps going, and I jog to keep up. We’re almost at the very front of the train when he slams his hand on the button for the door, and it pops open. As soon as we’re inside the abandoned train, he shoves me beneath a table until I’m squashed against the wall. My hands press into the dirty floor. Gross.
“Do not move until I come for you.” Sasha unfastens his watch and hands it to me along with one of the tickets he purchased earlier. “If I don’t come for you in fifteen minutes, leave. Take the train to London.” And then he’s gone.
“Sasha.” I hiss, but it’s no use. For the first time since this nightmare began, I panic. I hate him most of the time, but I don’t know what I’d do without him. Even if I make it to London, I’ll be lost without him once I get there. I suddenly realize just how much I need him if I’m to escape Enrique’s clutches.
I still when I hear the train doors open. I clutch my knees to my chest and hold my breath. A pair of boots pass by, though there’s no sound. The footsteps are silent. Just like Sasha’s. And I know, it’s one of them, the men who tried to take me in New York.
There’s a grunt, and the man’s knees wobble before he buckles, hitting the ground. Wide eyes stare through me, and my pulse leaps into a flat-out sprint. A knife protrudes from the man’s throat, and a pool of blood creeps across the floor toward me. I scramble away from it, rolling through the gap between the top of the table and the seat. When I sit up, I find Sasha standing at the end of the carriage. Our eyes meet before the door to the next carriage opens behind him, and a man steps through. Then another. Both dressed from head to toe in black, their stances more akin to a terminator than a living person.
“Run, Adelina,” Sasha shouts before turning to face them.
I leap over the back of the chair and slam to a halt. A woman steps through the door we first came through. The look on her face says she’s about to hurt me, and she’s going to enjoy it. Everything about her is severe, from the solid black uniform to the way she walks. Her red hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail that swings as she tilts her head, assessing me like a predator would wounded prey. She takes a step forward, and I mimic her, moving back.
“Adelina Ricci,” she says, her accent far thicker than Sasha’s.
I look her in the eye, hoping to appeal to…something, but there’s nothing there. No emotion, no basic humanity. It’s like looking into the eyes of an animal with base instincts. I take another step back, and her eyes zero in on the movement.
A tiny smile pulls at her lips as she cracks her neck to the side. “It would be best if you came with me.”
Behind me, amongst the grunts and thuds of flesh hitting flesh, there’s a sharp cry of pain. The urge to turn around to check on Sasha is strong, but I don’t dare take my eyes off the woman in front of me. I retreat another step, and she doesn’t follow me, though that smile grows. She enjoys my fear. My heel bumps against something, and I know it’s the dead man Sasha killed. I risk a glance over my shoulder. One man is dead on the floor while the other has his back to me as he pins Sasha to the wall by his throat.
When I snap my gaze back to the woman, her eyes slip past me to the fight. “He will die.”
One, two…three. I drop to the floor and wrench the knife from the dead man’s throat. Blood splashes against my arm as I pivot. I have a split second and serious doubts as to whether I can still throw a knife with any accuracy, but I allow the blade to fly, watching it tumble end over end before I’m wrenched backward. I blink, and when I open my eyes, the knife is buried in the man’s back.
“That was foolish,” the woman hisses in my ear. Her arm wraps around my neck in a vice-like grip, and I close my eyes, waiting for her to snap my neck. No more running. But it never comes.
When I open my eyes, all I see is Sasha. Those blue eyes tha
t once appeared so icy cold now seem so pure. Still other, still ethereal. Angelic. He stands a few yards away, his feet planted wide, and a gun raised…at me. He’s pointing it right at me, and I know there’s no way for him to get a clean shot at her.
Just let them have me, Sahsa.
His head tilts to the side, his lips pressing in a hard line. “I won’t let them have you, malyshka.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Do it.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second before he pulls the trigger. The gunshot explodes through the carriage as red-hot pain tears through my shoulder. I feel the moment it lodges in the Russian woman’s chest. She hisses out a breath, and her grip loosens. Using all my strength, I shove forward, falling right on top of the dead man. Another shot goes off, and I know she’s dead.
“Adelina.” Sasha drops to a crouch beside me, forcing me to get up and sit in one of the seats.
“You said no guns.”
He laughs, actually laughs; I didn’t think he was capable. “You have a hole in your shoulder, and that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Yeah, well, if I’d had my gun—shit.” I hiss out a breath as he presses his hand against my shoulder.
“Find a spare shirt in your bag.”
With my free hand, I reach for my bag and pull out the first shirt my fingers touch.
He takes it from me, wadding it up and pressing it against my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“We need to move.” He grabs me by my good arm and hauls me to my feet. His eyes flick over me before he unzips his jacket. “Put this on. Cover up.”
I glance down at my white tank, splattered and smeared in crimson streaks. A trail of red gravitates downward from my shoulder. I look like a murderer or a murder victim. I’m not sure which I am at this point. By definition I’m the victim, and yet, I’m standing while my enemies lay dead at my feet. Thanks to him.
Sasha helps me into his jacket, and I wince as I pull my arm through the sleeve. It feels like someone is shoving a hot poker into my shoulder with each inch I move.
“Come on.” He leads me off the train, and we hurry along the platform.
Sasha wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. He’s like steel, solid and unwavering. He practically carries me down the platform and through the station, while lugging both of our bags. I can feel the blood soaking the material of my top and slicking over my skin. My head spins, and I stumble over my own feet.
Sasha’s getting more frantic, and his strides quicken. He drags me onto a train and down a narrow hallway.
“Is she okay?” Someone asks.
“She’s fine. She’s just unwell. She needs to lay down.”
A door opens, and Sasha leads me into a room with two cots on either side. There’s just enough room to walk between the two. At the back is a window, and Sasha tugs the blinds down over it.
“Adelina.” He lays me on a bed and grabs my face, tilting it toward him.
I try and shoo him away. “I’m fine. Do we have any whiskey?” I need a drink right about now.
A small smile touches his lips. “Let me see this.” He tugs the jacket away from my shoulder. I don’t want to look at it, so I focus on him and the beautiful blue of his eyes. His brows pull together before his gaze snaps to mine. “I’m going to fix this, but I need to wait for the train to start moving. It’ll be safer. Okay?”
I nod. “Yep. I’m fine.”
“You said that already.”
“I did.”
My eyelids feel heavy, so I close them. Just for a moment. “Adelina, stay awake.” I blink my eyes open, and Sasha strokes the back of his knuckle over my cheek.
Something has changed, an infinitesimal shift in the balance of the world. As I stare into Sasha’s eyes, a thread snaps tight between us, a bond of sorts. Those razor-wire-topped walls that he keeps so firmly in place are down. Or maybe I’m just delirious from the pain. But he saved me. Again. Granted, he shot me to do it, but in our world, we make tough choices.
“You’re getting good at this hero shit,” I mumble.
He cocks a brow. “I wouldn’t have to if you kept that knife to yourself.”
“He was choking you.”
“I had it under control.”
I huff a laugh. “You did not.”
When I look at him, he’s staring at me through narrowed eyes. “Why would you throw your only weapon?”
“Why not?”
“But why?” He’s genuinely perplexed. It’s written into every hard line of his face.
Maybe it’s the blood loss or the near-death experience, but I tell him. Truthfully. “You’re the only person I can trust, anymore.” I don’t tell him that the idea of being without him terrified me.
He ducks his chin to his chest. “I lied to you. About your father.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. Just thinking about my father opens up that empty void inside me. “It wasn’t your place to tell me. It was Gabriella’s.”
Sasha says nothing, neither agreeing or arguing with me.
“Anyway, if you die…” I’ll have no one, not a soul in the world. “You can’t die.”
“I told you what to do if I didn’t come back.”
I snort. “We both know I wouldn’t survive two minutes without you.” I close my eyes again. I’m just so tired. I jolt as a sting reverberates over my cheek, permeated by a loud clap. My eyes fly open, and I glare at him. “Did you just hit me?”
“Don’t fall asleep.” The bed rocks beneath me, and it takes me a moment to realize we’re moving. He places something on my chest, wrapping my fingers firmly around it. I glance down at the enormous knife that looks ridiculous in my small hand. “Anyone comes in here, you cut them, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” I laugh, hysteria creeping into the edges of my consciousness.
He stands, hesitating as he glances down at me. A frown crumples his face, and his lips pressing together in indecision.
“Go.” I wave him off and nearly drop the knife.
He leaves, and the second he does, I’m fighting to stay conscious. I count in my head. I get to four hundred and five before the door slides open again. I hope to God it’s Sasha because there’s zero possibility I can defend myself at this point. He slides through the gap, and I release a sigh of relief.
“Malyshka,” he says, dropping to my side.
“What does that mean?” I ask, mainly because I want him to talk and take my mind off what I know he’s about to do.
A rare smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and he picks up a towel from the floor. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he pulls me into a sitting position to help me out of his jacket. I wince as I’m forced to move my arm.
“It means little girl.” He places the towel down on the bed and lays me on top of it.
“Well, that’s…derogatory,” I say through gritted teeth.
“It is what you are.”
“I’m offended.”
He shakes his head, and another smile makes an appearance. I must be hallucinating. The glug of liquid being poured from a bottle drags my attention away from his face to a cloth and the Jack Daniels. “That’s not really what I had in mind when I asked for whiskey.”
“It’s all I could find.” He puts the bottle down and tugs the strap of my tank to the side. “On three. One, two…” He slaps the wet cloth to my shoulder. “Three.” His free hand slides over my mouth.
The whiskey soaks into the gaping wound, and the pain is so intense, my vision wanes and then blacks out for a moment. A scream bubbles up my throat, but it’s drowned out by his palm.
“It’s okay. It’ll pass.”
Tears escape the corners of my eyes, and I blow heavy breaths through my nose. Finally, he removes the cloth. When his hand leaves my mouth, I suck in a gulping lungful of air.
“Shit, that hurt.”
He puts down the cloth and picks up something else,
placing it on the edge of the bed. I make the mistake of looking. “Where the hell did you get a sewing kit on a train?”
“It was in an older lady’s handbag.”
“You stole from an old lady?”
He lifts a brow, a piece of thread hanging from between his lips. “I’m sure she won’t die if she loses a button, Adelina.”
“The jokes just keep coming.”
“You on the other hand.”
Wait, what? “You think I’m going to die?” I struggle to sit up.
He forces me back down. “No, but if I don’t sew that up, you’ll either lose enough blood that I’ll be carrying you off this train, or it’ll get infected. If I have to take you to a hospital, you’ll be a sitting duck for the Elite.”
He’s abnormally forthcoming, so I decide to ask the question that’s been eating away at me ever since we left New York.
“What exactly is the Elite?” My breath seizes in my chest, and my entire body tenses when he comes toward me, a threaded needle in hand. “Wait. Give me that whiskey.”
He hands it to me with a confused look, and I take off the top and knock back a heavy swig. “You know that won’t actually help with the pain.”
“I don’t care.” I take another gulp before he takes it and resumes his position; ready to impale me.
“Breathe, malyshka.” I feel the prick of the needle, and my jaw tenses so hard I’m sure my teeth are about to crack. As soon as the pain abates, it starts again. It’s pure torture. “The Elite are the Russian Bratva’s assassins.” His gaze lifts from my shoulder to my face, checking I’m still awake no doubt, although I wish I weren’t. “They are trained from childhood to be killers, and they are the best in the world.”
Stab pull, stab pull. “You were one of them.” I grit out. It all makes sense.
He nods. “Una and I.”
“But now you aren’t.”
That tiny concentration line sinks between his brows. “The Elite were run by a man called Nicholai. He became obsessed with the idea of breeding perfect soldiers. Una had escaped, but she was always his favorite. He wanted her back, and he wanted her child.”