by LP Lovell
“Would you like a drink?" Enrique asks as he pours his own.
“No, thank you.”
My father would always accept one drink when conducting business but never two. Enrique takes his drink and comes to stand in front of us, his eyes flicking from me to Gabi and back again. I wonder if he’s comparing us, regretting having declined my sister.
“Why have you requested this meeting, Enrique?” Gabi gets straight to the point as always.
“Adelina wanted to see you.”
I glance at her and see a flat, unimpressed smile on her lips. “I’m sure. And yet, I’m conversing with you while my sister sits like a pretty ornament.”
I cringe at her sharp words. I know she can’t appear weak, but she’s in his domain. I wish she would tread more carefully.
He smirks. “Well, we are to be married. Anything you need to say to her, you can say to me.”
God, I feel sick.
She tilts her head, that condescending smile still on her lips. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
He lifts a brow. “No? It does now.”
My gaze darts between the two of them, and that tension crackles in the air. It’s like watching two big cats in a standoff, sizing each other up.
“Is my sister your fiancé or your prisoner?”
His lips tilt up, and he lifts the glass of alcohol, taking a leisurely sip before strolling over to the fire that flickers behind a pane of glass. He stares at it as though mesmerized by the flames. Seconds trickle by, and Gabriella glances at me, as though unsure what to do. I really want to speak to her alone, but it’s becoming obvious that’s not going to happen.
“I invited you here because I’m having a party tonight. You should be there.”
“A party?” I blurt.
His eyes slide to mine and suspicion curls in my gut. He never mentioned any party. “Our engagement party, of course.”
What feels like ice dumps into my veins, and I still. I can hear Gabi talking, but the words are a muted hum beneath the pounding beat of my heart. My chest tightens, and I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s happening. I mean…of course, it’s happening, but I figured I had more time. I think I thought that- that I could get close to him first. Maybe kill him before any of this became a reality. Panic creeps up in me, and I push to my feet. All eyes in the room land on me.
“I…need…air,” I stammer, whirling around and heading for the door. This wild kind of fear engulfs me, and I need to escape before it hits. I will not allow Enrique Bianchi to see even a hint of weakness. I yank the door open, and one of his men steps in my path. The same huge, scarred individual from before. Those beady eyes meet mine, and I try to hide my blind panic. There’s a moment where we simply face-off, and seconds feel like an hour. I step to the left, and he mimics the movement. Desperation claws at my throat, and I suck in a choked breath.
“Show Miss Ricci back to her room,” Enrique says lazily, finally granting me a sliver of sympathy.
The stalemate finally breaks, and the thug eventually steps aside, allowing me to bolt past him. I hate to leave my sister, but I know he won’t hurt her. He needs her to play along as part of this charade. It must appear as though the Ricci’s have fully sanctioned the union, and well, Gabi is the Ricci’s now because if he has his way, I’ll soon be a Bianchi.
I’m doing this willingly; I’m doing this willingly. I recite the words over and over, reminding myself that I am not a victim because right now, I feel every bit of one. I wonder, would my father approve of the measures I’m taking, or would he be disappointed at the fall of the Ricci empire?
The man leads me back to my room, and closes the door, locking me in once more.
I go to the bed and pull my knees to my chest, blocking out everything. And then I do something that I haven’t done since the first night I arrived here. I cry.
5
Sasha
Icy winds whip around us, the air so cold that it burns the exposed skin on my cheeks and freezes the very depths of my lungs. I’ve missed that familiar burn, the numbness in my extremities, my fogged breath clouding in front of my face. I’ve missed Russia and her harsh embrace because it’s the only home I’ve ever known.
Flurries of snow cut across the dull-orange glow of the streetlamp a few feet in front of us, intermittently dimming the already lacking light. It’s easy to hide in a blizzard, but it’s also hard to hunt. Una remains still next to me, poised. We’ve been waiting for over an hour, and my joints locked into place a long time ago. We can’t see anything, but I know in front of us is a rugged track, and on the other side of it, about ten feet away is a metal chain-link fence. Beyond the fence is a factory. Una and I have contacts within the Bratva still. We know a weapons deal is going on here tonight, a deal between the Bratva and one of the Mexican cartels. It’s expected to be fraught; in other words, there will undoubtedly be Elite with them. Even if they bring ten with them, it’ll be a small blow to their operation, but a blow nonetheless. Una is thirsty for any Elite blood right now. She’ll peck away at them for years if she has to.
Of course, our fight isn’t with the Bratva directly, but they control the Elite, so by proxy, it is. I’m past caring who the enemy is; I just need one. I need to focus my skills, draw blood, start a war. There’s something living in me; this rage that feels like a loose, sparking wire. I’m constantly on the cusp of chaos, and any moment that spark is going to catch, sending me up in flames. I can’t stop it, and the only thing that placates it is this—a mission, laser focus.
The sound of engines cut through the constant howl of the wind, and I press against the wall of the building as the first car’s headlights cut through the white world around us. It slows and turns, the lights illuminating the chain-link fence just as a gap opens up in it. Six cars pass through in total, disappearing into the swirling haze of darkness.
“Let’s go,” Una says as she pushes off the wall.
I follow her as she moves farther along the road, away from where the cars entered. A hundred yards away and there’s another street light, though it’s barely visible in the bad weather. We cross the road and find ourselves standing in front of the fence. I take out a red-light torch, and turn it on, giving Una enough light to see her backpack, but not enough to attract anyone else. She removes bolt cutters and opens a hole in the fence, allowing us to slip through. We’re almost blind until we meet the wall of the factory. We’ve studied the layout, though, we know where all the entrances are.
Running my hand along the rough, damp wall, I meet the corner and follow it around. I count ten short steps, and I know that there’s a back door only a few feet away from us. I also know it will be guarded. Una taps my shoulder, signaling that she’s ready to move with me. The two Elite guards are taken by surprise when I reach them, and I grab the first one, driving a blade straight into his throat. His eyes go wide with shock. It’s always humbling to see the startling realization in a man’s eyes, the absolute knowledge that he’s about to die. He chokes, and blood breaks past his lips as his body slowly buckles, his hands grappling to try to save himself. I lower him to the cold snow and yank my blade from his body. Blood stains the pristine white snow beneath him, and his dying gasps are drowned out by the winds that scream around us. Una is already at the door, ready to go. As soon as we step into the building, it’s like a vacuum, the void of silence deafening as the sound of rushing wind cuts off. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim yet sudden light. Una tugs her hood back, revealing flushed cheeks. Damp hair sticks to her face and neck, and tiny droplets of moisture cling to her eyelashes. Our breaths fog the air, and I rub my hands together, trying to relieve the numbness in my fingers before I have to use a gun. Living in the warmth of New York has softened us.
We’re standing in a small hallway. The walls are bare breeze block, and the single, exposed bulb that hangs above us swings gently before settling back into place. The filament glows dimly, the orangey tone making it look as though it’ll blink out at
any moment.
In front of us is a single door. One way in, one way out. It’s not a good entrance. We’ll be going in blind and trapped. Usually, I’d hesitate, assess, and try to find another way—not today. I inhale, feeling the weight of the rifle slung across my back and the weapons that decorate my body like a second skin. They’re all the power or tactic I need right now. Yanking both guns from my thigh holsters, I shove the handle down with my elbow.
“Sasha!” Una hisses just as the door swings open, and I step into the factory. It’s an enormous space with a few of the SUV’s parked within the concrete walls.
Several eyes immediately shift to me, and I find a strange satisfaction in their acknowledgment. I’m not hiding, shooting them from a mile away. No, they’ll look me in the eyes and know that it was me that ended their existence.
“Shit,” Una mumbles.
And then I lift both guns and start firing. There’s a moment of sheer panic. Even from men such as these, there’s always a moment of disbelief, the shocking knowledge that their lives could end before they draw their next breath. They believe the it’s the luck of the draw whether the next bullet hits them. There is no luck here because I don’t miss. They will all die. Everything else disappears, and I fall into the rhythm of bullets leaving the chamber again and again. The scent of gun powder meets me, and I inhale it deeply like the scent of death itself.
Something grasps my arm, and I’m tugged behind a thick metal pillar. Una shoves my back against it and falls against me, her chest pressed tightly to mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, shaking her head in disapproval.
I blink, and the sound of raining gunfire trickles through whatever haze surrounds me.
“Don’t lose it on me, Sasha. I can’t be the rational one here.” She lifts two guns on either side of the pillar and fires several times.
The gunshots are deafening, and my ears ring for a moment. All I can hear is the quick-fire of an automatic weapon like the lazy thrumming of a bee’s wings. A sting tears across my arm, and I know I’ve been clipped by a stray bullet.
“Ready?” she asks, her brows pulled tightly together in concentration.
I toss the pistols to the floor and reach behind me, pulling the rifle from my back. I load a clip in it before our eyes meet. I notice the slightest trace of fear in my sister’s eyes, and I can’t recall ever seeing it where Dante wasn’t concerned.
“Go.” She moves left and I go right, spraying a wall of bullets, meeting each and every target.
Bodies fall just as quickly as the shells that tinkle over the rough concrete at my feet. I take another bullet in the leg, but the pain barely registers. I’m numb to anything but the gratifying violence of destroying my enemies. The last bullet leaves the chamber, and a resounding click follows it as I pull the trigger. And then there’s nothing but silence. I hear only the panting rasp of my own breaths and the hammering of my pulse.
Una moves in front of me, a frown marring her face. “You’re hit.”
“I’m fine.” But as the adrenaline ebbs away, I start to register that I’m not.
Una removes her jacket and takes off her hoody. “What are you doing? We need to leave.”
“I need to slow that bleeding.” The pain creeps in inch by inch, but it’s not my leg. I follow her line of sight to my stomach and the wet patch that’s creeping over my jacket.
She grabs the zipper and tears it down, allowing the icy cold air to seep through my clothing. Warm moisture turns ice cold against my skin, and I shiver. She lifts my shirt, and her expression tightens further. Taking her wadded-up hoody, she shoves it against my skin.
“Hold that.” She tugs my compression clothing back down over the balled-up hoody and zips my jacket. “Go. I’ll be there in a minute.” She shoves me toward the door we came in.
With each step, I’m reminded of the lesser wound to my leg. When I get into the hallway, I brace against the wall and glance down at the neat hole in my pants, only a few inches away from the one Adelina gave me. At the thought of her, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to force my mind in another direction. Any other direction. Every time I think of her, this feral kind of madness comes over me. I can’t control it, and I hate her for it. Gritting my teeth, I smack my palm against the wall and zero my mind on the pain that reverberates through my entire body. I focus on it and embrace it with open arms. Anything to pull my mind from going in that direction.
A few moments later and the door screeches open on rusted hinges. Luckily, it’s Una that steps through and not a stray Elite because my reaction time is at snail’s pace right now. My head spins, and in the deathly silence of the warehouse, all I can hear is my labored breaths mingling with the steady drip, drip, drip of blood splattering over the rough concrete beneath my feet. A look of concern passes over Una’s face as she inspects the gunshot.
“You’re losing blood.”
“I’m fine.”
Wordlessly, she yanks my arm around her neck and supports my weight as we walk back out into the blizzard. Everything swirls around me, and it feels as though I could simply be swept away in the storm. We’re only a few steps away when I hear the loud bang from behind, followed by the smashing of the glass windows high above us and a subsequent rush of heat that engulfs my back. That small burst of warmth is a welcome blessing to my freezing body. By the time we reach the hired SUV, Una is practically carrying me. She shoves me into the passenger seat, and I’m relieved to be able to sit and rest. My entire body feels weak, and I know it’s the blood loss. Reaching down, I unzip my coat and pull up my compression shirt. The hoody that Una wadded against my stomach is soaked through, and blood now pools, soaking into the waistband of my combat pants. I press the blood-drenched material back to the wound and allow my head to fall against the seat. My teeth grind over each other as wave after wave of pain washes over me.
The drivers door slams. “Sasha.” Una grabs my face before I feel a sharp sting reverberate over my cheek; I blink my eyes open and find her glaring at me. “Stay awake!”
The engine starts, and Una instantly tunes the radio to a rock channel, blaring it loudly. The sweet relief of the heaters is short-lived before she cuts them off and winds down the window. The icy blast of the wind brings flurries of snow with it, and I shiver violently in my damp clothing. She’s trying to keep me awake, but it doesn’t matter. Tiredness falls over me like an iron curtain, and my body feels limp. Darkness beckons me, so inviting, so easy, and part of me wants to fall into it. My eyelids become so heavy that I can’t physically open them.
“Sasha. Sasha!”
Sleep drags me under until finally, there’s just…nothing.
6
Adelina
I sit like a doll as I’m pulled and poked, my hair tugged into shape and my face layered with makeup I wouldn’t usually wear. An older woman grabs my jaw roughly to swipe lipstick over my mouth. I feel like a whore, Enrique’s whore.
He evidently thinks I can’t be trusted to get myself ready for his stupid party. The team of women he sent up here aren’t exactly friendly, and they aren’t asking my permission to do anything. I decide to simply breathe and go with it. This is what Enrique wants. And that’s why I’m here, to play into his desires. A Trojan horse, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The problem is, he doesn’t only want a sheep. He wants the wolf, too, simply so he can tame it. I must walk a fine line between the two, and now, I will be forced to take my act public long before I’ve perfected it.
Finally, the women all up and leave as if working on some invisible cue. I release a heavy breath as I’m alone once more.
Pushing to my feet, I slowly move in front of the mirror. The reflection of a girl I don’t recognize stares back at me. Her dark hair is swept up off her neck, a few loose strands spiralling around her face. The blood-red dress clings to her body, dipping dangerously low between her breasts. And a pinched waist flares out to a skirt layered in silk and netting that stops just above her knees. I notic
e the thick straps carefully cover the mark below my collarbone. He wants to mark me, but I guess he managed to rein in his psychopathic tendencies long enough to realize how bad it might look publicly.
What’s most alarming though is my face. I look perfect, like a doll, with bright-red lips and perfectly chiseled cheekbones. But beneath the layers of makeup, my eyes are sad, haunted even. It’s all a veneer, and if I look hard enough, I can see beneath the shimmering glamor to the grieving, desperate girl beneath. The knock on the door makes me jump, and I watch in the mirror as it swings open behind me. One of Enrique’s men—that I don’t recognize—stands with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting. None of them ever seem to look at me, but rather through me. He’s wearing a black suit with a matching shirt beneath, and it seems apt. After all, it feels like I’m walking to my own funeral.
On a deep breath, I close my eyes and turn around, striding toward him. With a twist of his body, he steps aside as I pass and closes the door behind me.
Though my stomach churns nervously, and my hands tremble, I’m sure to walk with purpose and keep my head held high. Enrique will have invited a lot of the mafia elite here, and I refuse to let my father down in front of them. I am a Ricci. I am a lion, even if I’m temporarily chained.
The man never speaks, and I stare at his back as I follow along obediently. Every fiber of my body wants to rebel and refuse to play along with this farce of a party, but I can’t. I have to swallow Enrique’s sick little games and go along with this spectacle like a puppet dancing on strings. Biding my time. Waiting.