Bloodcurdling pain yanks me out of the dark. I shake my head, trying to make out my surroundings through blurring vision. The accident and attack flood my mind, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins.
I find myself slumped on a chair, my wrists cuffed behind me.
They’re so sure of themselves, they didn’t even bother tying my legs.
Take the win. You need it.
Moving into a more comfortable position causes my entire chest to be engulfed in an inferno of pain. “Jesus,” I whimper.
Let’s hope it’s only broken ribs, and you’re not bleeding out internally.
A metal door creeks open, and two men come in. When they notice I’m conscious, they laugh.
The one comes to stand in front of me. Glaring up at him, I ask, “Who are you?”
“Names don’t matter.” His accent is thick.
I shake my head and chuckle, “Come on. I at least want to know who I’m going to kill.” When he only stares me down, I ask, “Why did you take me? What do you want?”
His upper lip curls as he sneers, “I only want your body parts which I’ll send one by fucking one to your husband.”
No negotiation. I don’t have time.
With my hands behind my back, they can’t see as I start to press hard on my thumb. I lower my head, so they won’t see the flash of pain as I dislocated my thumb. It’s sharp, feeling as if I’m ripping it off.
Dear God.
You’re okay.
Breathe.
No, that hurts too. Shallow breaths.
Focus.
Slowly, I pull my left hand free from the cuffs, and I push the metal over my right hand’s knuckles so I can use it to hit them.
I’m so thankful for everything Dad taught me. It puts me in a position to at least try to save myself.
Lifting my head, I lock eyes with the fucker who seems to be the leader. “Clench your teeth,” I say right before I dart up and slam the cuffs into his jaw.
I quickly move behind the chair, then take a defensive stance. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s do this,” I taunt them, my eyes flicking between the men and the exit.
The leader spits blood onto the floor, then pulls a gun from his pocket, aims it at my leg, and pulls the trigger.
The bullet slams into my thigh, and the splintering pain hauls my ass to the filthy ground. I bite back a cry, but it comes out as a whimper.
I hear footsteps, and as my head snaps up, the back of the gun slams into my temple, knocking me out cold.
Luca
I’m in the security room with Viktor looking over footage of Albanians getting off a private jet at LAX.
“The fuckers just keep coming,” Viktor mutters. “Who the fuck did you piss off?”
“I have no idea. Next time keep one alive so we can find out.”
Viktor lets out a chuckle as my phone rings. Seeing it’s the number for the lobby’s reception desk, I answer, “Cotroni.”
“Sir, there’s an envelope for you. The delivery guy said it was urgent. Should I bring it up?”
“Yes, I’m in the security room.”
I end the call and only then notice a message from Mariya.
I’m going to visit my parents.
A smile tugs at my mouth. Good girl.
“If you’re sexting my sister while standing right next to me, I’m going to fucking rip your ballsack off,” Viktor mutters.
I let out a bark of laughter, then look at the screen again. There’s one Albanian fucker wearing a hoodie, and we can’t get a good look at his face.
“Anything on the other guy?” I ask as I look at the facial recognition software scanning his face through the system.
“No.”
A knock at the door has me straightening up, and when I open it, the receptionist from the lobby smiles politely at me. “The envelope, Sir.”
“Thanks.” I take it from her and shut the door. I tear the side open and frown when there are no papers. I tip it over, and something shiny falls from it, bouncing on the floor.
The blood in my veins turns to ice, and a hard tremor rocks the ground beneath my feet.
No.
As if in a trance, I crouch down and pick up the wedding ring.
“What’s that?” Viktor asks. I hear his seat squeak as he gets up. “Luca?”
Darting up, I yank the door open and call out, “Stacy!”
The receptionist startles, quickly turning back. “Sir?”
“Who gave you the envelope?”
“A courier guy.”
I swing to Viktor. “Pull up the security footage for the lobby?”
He gets to work, muttering, “Care to fill me in on why I’m doing this?”
My stomach bottoms out, and my heart shrivels to the size of a fucking pea.
God, no.
There’s a sharp pain in my heart as the raw fear knocks me back a step.
Mariya.
Lowering my eyes to the ring in my palm, my voice is hoarse as I say, “This is Mariya’s wedding ring. It was delivered to us.”
“What?” Viktor slowly gets up, shock tightening his features.
I pull my phone out and dial her number. When it goes to voicemail, the air wooshes from my lungs. “Fuck!”
Not this. Anything but this.
I try Lev and Ivan’s numbers, but the same thing happens.
“Motherfucking fuck,” I shout, anger starting to mix with the panic flaying my chest raw.
Viktor sits down and starts to type as if his very life depends on it. Seconds later, he says, “Tijuana. She’s in fucking Mexico.”
The relief that hits me in the gut is drowned out by the shock that she’s already been taken across the border.
“You have a tracking device on her?” I ask. “Please tell me it’s not something she can lose.”
“It’s embedded beneath her skin.” Viktor taps his shoulder. “Covered by a tattoo.”
Thank fucking Christ.
“Let’s go,” I snap, rage boiling in my veins.
I rush out of the office, and I’m just about to press dial on Uncle Alexei’s number when Viktor says, “Don’t do that. This is not something you tell him over the phone.”
“If I don’t let him know, I’m good as dead.”
“We’re heading to the mansion. We tell him face to face and get him and my dad to help. We’re dealing with this as a family.”
We hurry out of the building and climb into the G-Wagon. I floor the gas, not giving a single fuck about traffic laws.
When we enter the high-class neighborhood the mansion is in, we’re stopped because the road’s been closed due to an accident. I’m just about to put the vehicle in reverse when I recognize the SUV.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I throw the door open and jog closer.
Three bodies are covered, and the SUV is on its roof.
“You can’t enter. It’s a crime scene,” a police officer shouts. I ignore the man and lift the first cover, which exposes a dead Albanian. The next is Lev and then Ivan.
Viktor talks to the police officers, and I have no idea what he tells them, but they leave me alone.
I look at the SUV, and my eyes lock on something that looks like chicken scratch.
Alive.
“Mariya,” I groan, almost dropping to my knees. Hurrying to Viktor, I say, “She’s alive. Let’s move.”
“Dashcam,” he says, jogging the SUV and pulling the memory card from it.
We take another road to the mansion and stop in front of it with screeching tires.
Viktor’s father yanks the door open, takes one look at us, then shouts, “Alexei get your ass out here. Something happened.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Uncle Alexei snaps as he appears in the doorway. His eyes lock on my face, then he takes a step back. “Don’t you dare tell me my baby girl’s…” His voice disappears, and he turns his back to us, sucking in deep breaths of air.
“Mariya’s been taken,” I say, my voice not hiding the worry. “On her way to you, they were rammed off the road. It’s a couple of blocks from here.”
“I have the dashcam’s memory card,” Viktor says as he walks into the house.
“I want to see what happened to my daughter and who the fuck dared touch her,” Uncle Alexei growls as we all follow Viktor.
My heart is still thundering in my chest, my mouth dry from the shock. It feels like I’ve been electrocuted, my mind buzzing with energy, but I can’t focus long enough for it all to make sense.
Viktor shoves the memory card into his laptop and accesses the dashcam footage. He fast-forwards to earlier today, and I get glimpses of the road. Suddenly everything’s a blur as the SUV is hit, flipping three times before coming to a skidding stop, giving us a view of a truck and two sedans.
“Fucking Albanians,” I mutter as the men climb out of their vehicles. Intense rage rips through me with the force of a hurricane.
Uncle Dimitri opens his laptop and starts to type, saying, “The house on that corner has a security camera by the gate.”
Viktor glances at his father’s laptop, reaches across, and opens an entirely different screen. “This way is faster. You’re getting old.”
“Fuck off,” his father mutters as they access the camera, which gives us a better view of the street.
Horror washes over me as I see Mariya crawl out of the wreckage. She struggles to stand up.
“Broken ribs,” Uncle Alexei groans. “My baby’s struggling to breathe.”
Lifting my arm, I grab a fistful of my hair as I watch my wife kick off her shoes and assume a fighting stance.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper when she lunges for the man nearest to her, taking him down in one swift move.
“That’s my girl. Fight,” Uncle Alexei cheers for her, his breaths coming faster. “I want sound!” he shouts when she says something.
Viktor grabs the laptop from his father and rewinds, then types something in code on a different screen before pressing play again.
‘Do you know who my father and husband are? Do you have any fucking idea who my brother is?’ She sucks in a painful breath, then her tone is deadly calm as she says, ‘You’re dead.’
‘Koha për të vdekur, kurvë,’ one of the Albanians says.
“Time to die, whore,” Viktor mutters the translation to us.
The realization that this happened after she scratched the message on the SUV rips my heart clean from my chest.
I can’t watch her die.
Fuck no.
I take a step back, but my eyes remain glued to the screen as I watch all the men attack the woman I can’t live without.
“I…” My breaths speed up as I watch her fight with everything she has. My emotions spiral out of control, and my throat closes up.
She fights off four men in her already injured state before one punches her. Both my hands fly into my hair, and I swear I can feel the pain she’s in as she falls to the road.
Still, my woman struggles back to her feet, she stumbles, then drops to her knees.
‘I tried, Daddy,’ she wheezes.
I want to rip the air from my lungs and give it to her.
Mariya slumps to her side, losing consciousness, and as a fucker drags her over his shoulder, everything stills inside me.
As I watch them load her into one of the sedans and drive off, anger replaces the worry, the fear, the shock.
Unadulterated rage sweeps through me as I lower my arms and inhale deeply.
I’m coming for you, my little fighter. Just hold on.
“Time to fucking hunt,” Uncle Alexei growls, death and brimstone brimming in his voice.
