by LP Lovell
She has no idea how much I hate to run. I’m a killer, a fighter. I don’t run. I don’t hide. But this isn’t about me; it’s about her. If I could find Enrique, this would be a different story. Like a cowardly puppet master, he hides, commanding Elite like his own personal army. It makes him dangerously powerful in a way that I’m not prepared for. I don’t know how to tell her that, though. I can’t admit that I don’t know how to fix this. It feels like a failure. Especially now. This has gone beyond killing him for her safety, or so I can be free of my contract. I promised her revenge.
For now, we have no choice. Una wants me in New York, and I have always believed that was the safest place for Adelina. I headed for Italy because in the back of my mind I always knew I would probably have to kill Enrique. Gabriella Ricci acts like she has it under control, but anyone can see she doesn’t. She’s a little girl, lost and trying to fill her father’s big shoes. Truthfully, I think Adelina would be better suited for the job, but she’s too wild. She’d never conform to the neat box the mafia would put her in. Neither does Nero, though, and that’s what makes him so good. People fear what they do not understand.
In another world, Adelina would sit on the Ricci throne. But in this one, the throne is burning, and I will keep her from the flames, even if Una doesn’t like it. We come as a package now it seems, and I can’t recall when I ever made that conscious decision.
“It will be over soon,” I tell Adelina because I don’t know what else to say.
“You could end it so easily—”
“Stop talking, malyshka.” I get out of the car, slamming the door. I don’t want to hear her make another speech about becoming a sacrificial lamb.
14
Adelina
When we pull up to the house, I do a double take. The place is enormous and old, so unlike the penthouse that Nero and Una occupy in the center of the city. And the security is much higher. There are guarded metal gates at the bottom of the drive, and as we get out of the car, I notice armed men on either side of the front door. Movement on the roof alerts me to more above us. It’s like a fortress.
“Come on.” Sasha leads me to the front door and walks inside.
More men, more guns. Getting in or out of here would surely be impossible. The house is not what I expected. The décor is dated with dark woods and grand chandeliers that hang everywhere. Gilded mirrors adorn the walls next to antique paintings. Beneath our feet, heavy rugs cover scarred and worn oak floorboards. And then it all changes. We step into the kitchen, and it’s like a different house. The entire back wall is glass, and it’s modern and bright.
Gio and another man lean against the bar, but they both stop talking when they see us.
“Sasha,” Gio greets him before his gaze slides to me. “Miss Ricci. This is Jackson.” He jerks his thumb towards the enormous man next to him.
Jackson is so broad that the holster he wears over his crisp white shirt struggles to contain his mass. Two guns sit on either side of his muscular chest, and combined with his stern expression, I decide I don’t want to cross him. A broad smile stretches his lips.
“You’ve been in the wars?” He nods to my shoulder.
“He shot me.” I point at Sasha.
The Russian rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. “I shot an Elite…through you.”
Jackson glares at Sasha, and I have to laugh. Gio smirks.
“I told him to.”
“To shoot you?” Gio asks.
“In my defense, I didn’t really think it through very well.”
Gio laughs, shaking his head. “You’re Eduardo Ricci’s kid alright.”
At the sound of my father’s name, my chest tightens, and that jagged lump makes an appearance, clogging my throat.
The smile slips from Gio’s face. “I am sorry, about your father. He was a good man.”
“He was.” I suck in a sharp breath, wondering if he also knew of my father’s death while I was completely oblivious. It feels like the whole world knew, except me.
“Gabriella called yesterday. She knows you’re coming and asked that you call her.”
That pain in my chest intensifies, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to talk to her, but Gio is her friend. I don’t want him to think I’m a horrible person. “I…”
“Adelina needs medical attention,” Sasha interrupts, and when I glance in his direction, I find him watching me intently. “Where’s Una?” Sasha places a hand on the small of my back, and both Gio and Jackson zero in on the gesture.
“The snug,” Gio responds before Sasha starts to pull me away.
“It was nice to meet you, Jackson.”
“You too, princess.” He winks, and Sasha’s fingers flinch against me, digging into my skin.
He leads me down a hallway, back into the older part of the house. There’s something inviting about the dated décor. It makes the house feel lived in like it’s seen children grow and powerful families rise. We step into a living room with a huge fireplace burning. Una is on the sofa, studying the paperwork spread over her lap.
“You’re finally back,” she says without looking up.
“Yes.”
I can’t work out their relationship. He’s loyal to her. They grew up together and yet they seem more like boss and employee than childhood friends. Surely, he can sense the undertone of aggravation in her voice.
When Una finally looks up, her eyes land on me, not Sasha, and I want to shrink into the floorboards. She doesn’t like that he’s been with me and away from her. It’s written all over her expression, set into the hard press of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. I’m no expert on the politics of assassins, but I know women. I know basic emotions, and Una is not happy.
“I need you to look at Adelina’s shoulder,” Sasha says.
I nearly choke. “No, I’m good. Really, it’s fine. I feel much better.” I think she’d rather shoot me again than help me.
He frowns at me. “Those stitches were only temporary. It needs tending to, or it will get infected.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Jesus, if I needed any more proof that Sasha is emotionally mute, his complete inability to sense the crippling tension in this room is it.
“Una can restitch better than I can.” Oh, I bet she can.
The petite blonde pushes to her feet. “Sit,” she snaps.
I reluctantly sit on the sofa, and she leaves the room, I assume to get some equipment.
Sasha goes to leave as well, but I grab his wrist without thought. I expect his hand at my throat, but he doesn’t react. “Sorry.” I snatch my hand away, and he only frowns; perhaps he’s just as surprised by his lack of reaction as I am.
“What is wrong?”
“I just…” God, I feel so pathetic, but I really don’t want to be alone with Una. “Can you stay?”
“You will be fine, Adelina. You survived my stitching with no anesthetic.” A line sinks between his brows, and I fully expect him to walk away, but instead, he takes a seat beside me. I jump when his hand lands on my thigh. “Stop bouncing your knee.”
“Sorry.”
“You are acting strangely.”
“Una doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
I duck my chin.
“You are much more than you seem, Malyshka.”
Well if that isn’t a back-handed compliment. “And what do I seem?”
“Like a spoiled mafia princess.”
“Thanks.” Dick. “Look, I don’t want her to stitch me,” I whisper, bringing my face closer to his because I don’t want her to overhear me.
“I would not let her hurt you,” he says simply.
Those glacial blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, everything else is lost. Warmth and safety wash over me because I know he would never let anything bad happen to me. I feel it in the depths of my soul. I’m dumbstruck with the truth that this cold, psychopathic Russian has become the only person I fully trust. He’s not cold;
he’s just broken.
The tension leaves my body, and I inhale a deep breath before releasing it. “Okay.” I nod. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You can go.”
His head tilts to the side, as though studying some strange creature he’s never encountered before. After a few seconds, he stands and leaves without a word.
I sit anxiously until Una returns. Her hips sway with every step, and I wonder if she ever wears anything that doesn’t make her look sexy and scary. She places a box on the coffee table and pulls out a clear, sealed package. Inside is a suture needle, a scalpel, and some thread. I’ve never been scared of needles before, but the experience on the train with Sasha has engrained a certain fear over the whole situation. I watch silently as she takes out a sterile syringe and draws clear liquid from a bottle. She sets the shot on the table before turning to me. Placing a hand on my neck, she forces it to the side and slides the strap of my top down my shoulder. I hiss when she rips the dressing off my shoulder with a swift tug.
“This is infected.” She wrinkles her nose. “Dante could stitch better than this.”
“Sasha didn’t have much to work with,” I say, feeling the need to defend him.
She picks up the syringe, and I instinctively flinch away from the unnecessarily large needle. I mean, really, it’s like she’s trying to reach my spine with that thing. She rolls her eyes before stabbing it into my already abused flesh. My eyes prickle, and I grit my teeth, sucking in sharp breaths. I’m fairly certain she’s enjoying this.
After a few seconds, my shoulder starts to go numb, and I release the breath I’d been holding.
“Who shot you?” she asks.
“Sasha.”
She lifts a brow, and it strikes me how similar her mannerisms are to his. Exactly like siblings.
“Shot me to kill an Elite.”
She picks up the scalpel and gets to work removing Sasha’s stitching. I can feel the tug and pull but nothing else. “They want you badly.”
“Enrique does,” I correct.
“Enough to pay a lot of money for you. The Elite are not cheap.”
I chew on my bottom lip as I mull over her words. I doubt he will ever stop. “The Bianchi’s are powerful; money is no object to them.”
We fall into silence again while she removes the last of the stitching. As soon as she does, a trickle of blood runs down my chest and soaks into my shirt.
“Does he think himself in love with you?” she asks.
I snort. “He doesn’t know me. I’m just a prize, a Ricci bride. Old bloodlines to breed with.”
“I wasn’t talking about Enrique Bianchi.”
“What?” I don’t understand… Those violet eyes of hers meet mine, hard, probing. “Sasha?” I squeak.
“Sasha.”
I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She’s not laughing though. “You have met him, right? No, absolutely not. He’s my bodyguard.”
“And yet, he chooses you over his family.”
The blood still runs down my chest and arm, and I have a feeling she’s deliberately allowing me to bleed. Maybe it’s a sign of things to come. It would be just my luck to run halfway across the world only to be killed by my protector’s jealous sister.
“He’s just honoring an agreement he made with my sister. It’s Sasha. He’s honorable.”
Her eyes narrow, and her lips twitch in a humorless smile. “Yes. He is. A weakness of his. Sometimes honor leads us to act against our best interests. The Elite are chasing you like a pack hunts a fox. He is the only thing standing between them and you. How do you think this will end?” She knows I don’t know how to answer that. “Bianchi wants you alive, but my brother is entirely disposable.”
I straighten, my muscles tensing. “I tried to run. I asked him to drop me at Enrique Bianchi’s gates. He wouldn’t.”
Sasha has been as much my jailer as my protector these last few weeks. He always seems so invincible, but my problems are not his.
“Then perhaps—”
“Enough.” My gaze snaps to the doorway where Sasha stands, his frame tense and his eyes fixed on Una. “This is not your choice, Una. If you do not want Adelina here, then we will leave.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
His jaw sets, and he turns away without a word. Una gets up and goes after him, leaving me with an open—and bleeding—hole in my shoulder. Great. Rummaging through the first aid kit, I pick up a wad of gauze and use it to stop the steady trickle of blood.
“You’re back then.” Tommy strolls into the room with that easy smile and soothing disposition.
“Unfortunately.”
He presses his hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt that you aren’t thrilled to see me.”
I can’t help but smile. I like Tommy, he doesn’t make me feel like a leper around here. “It is nice to see a friendly face.”
He takes a seat on the sofa next to me, slumping back into the thick cushions. “Ah yeah, weeks with just Sasha for company…” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head.
I chuckle. “He’s not that bad.” He raises his eyebrows, obviously not agreeing with me. “He’s not!”
“I’ll believe ya.” Sitting up, he grabs some kind of solution from the coffee table and pulls away the gauze at my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing down at what he’s doing hole. It’s a mistake because my stomach rolls at the sight of the inflamed, bleeding hole in my flesh.
“I’ll have you know, I’m the number one bullet hole stitcher around here.”
“Oh, well, sure. In that case…”
He picks up a bottle of something.
“Wait, are you sober?” I can smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.
“I feel like that’s a trick question. I’m half Irish. Do you mean drink and drive limit sober, or…”
I can’t help but laugh. “Fuck it, just do it. If I end up with a Frankenstein shoulder, you have to let me shoot you and stitch it up.”
“Jesus, if you wanted matching scars, I’d have gotten a tattoo with you, you crazy bitch.”
I laugh more, and I realize that I can’t remember the last time I really laughed. Probably before Gabi came and got me. And then I remember why I shouldn’t laugh, because my father is dead. The thought alone instantly steals any and all joy.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Tommy asks.
“Yeah. Fine.” My voice is raspy, and I swallow hard.
Taking the bottle, he pours it over my shoulder. From the smell, I can tell it’s Ethanol. I’m so glad I can’t feel it because I know it would sting like a bitch.
When he’s done, he picks up the needle. I stare into the crackling flames in the fireplace while he stitches me up for a second time. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he works, and it’s kind of cute. When he’s done both the front and back, he applies dressings.
“Okay, just…” He stabs me in the arm.
“Ow! Shit, Tommy.” I glare down at the syringe now sticking out of my upper arm. He offers me a gawky yet unapologetic smile.
With a cheeky shrug, he depresses the plunger. “Antibiotics.”
“You couldn’t warn me?”
“I didn’t think you’d feel it to be honest.”
“How? It’s huge.” I rub at my arm. “Pretty sure you hit bone.”
“Okay. Done.” With a roll of his eyes, he tosses the stuff onto the coffee table and stands without cleaning up. “You hungry?”
I glance up at him, and he offers me his hand. “Sure.”
He tugs me off the sofa andI follow him out of the room to the kitchen. Mid-morning light pours through the huge glass doors. “Grilled cheese okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, distractedly, walking over to the doors.
The gardens stretch out before me, eventually giving way to the woods. A swimming pool sits a few feet away, but the water is covered for the winter.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Tommy comes to stand beside me.
&nbs
p; “It is.” Sunlight catches the frost tipped glass making it sparkle like crytsal.
“Nero hates this house because it belonged to the last boss. It’s the seat of the New York mafia.”
“He’s obviously updating it.” I jerk a thumb toward the kitchen behind us.
He snorts. “No, Una blew up the old kitchen, so they had to rebuild it, anyway.”
“Uh…”
He shakes his head. “Long story. Let’s just say that girl loves a war.”
We eat grilled cheese, watch TV, and generally, just hang out.
I love the normalcy, and yet I find myself continually looking at the door, waiting for a certain Russian to appear. He doesn’t.
15
Adelina
Days pass, and it seems like I’m a spare part. I see no one, talk to no one. Even Tommy gets called away, and Zeus becomes my only companion. Once again, I’m an unwelcome stranger in a house that I never wanted to be at.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door, and Zeus lifts his head, ears perking. I get up and answer it. Gio stands there in his an immaculate suit, looking every inch the righthand man of a mob boss.
“Gabriella wants to talk to you,” he says, holding a phone out to me, and I stare at the device mute and frozen. “She’s your sister, Adelina.”
I don’t want him to witness my family dissension, so I take it from him. “Thank you.”
I close the door in his face and back up towards the bed. For a moment I just sit, stroking over Zeus’s fur. I have to talk to her at some point. I can’t just avoid her forever. On a deep breath, I lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Adelina,” she breathes. For long moments neither of us speak.
I don’t know what to say to her. My heart squeezes painfully, and that fissure in my chest trembles, threatening to split wide. “What do you want, Gabriella?”
“What do I want? I don’t want any of this, Lina. I want Daddy back. I want my sister back. I want Enrique Bianchi to disappear, but none of that is possible.”
Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I can’t find it in me to pity her. I’m too consumed by her betrayal. “I didn’t ask for this either.”