by Shanna Bell
She took the elevator up to Gio’s floor, while trying to coordinate her thoughts. He deserved to know that she loved him. She had a slight buzz going, which hadn’t disappeared by the time she exited the elevator. It was late at night; the whole floor was empty. Even Gio’s assistant Gale, who was like part of the furniture, was nowhere to be seen.
When she glanced inside the small opening to Gio’s office, her buzz disappeared instantly. And just like that, her heart exploded into a million pieces of shrapnel.
She spun around and ran back into the elevator, which was still there. She tried to avoid the mirrors that were mocking her for being so gullible. For trusting him. For… loving him.
It wasn’t Vanessa she had found naked in his room, waiting for him. No, it had been Lisa, and somehow, that was even worse. That moment at their wedding, when he’d sided with her in throwing Lisa out, had been a ruse. The moment she had decided to take as the foundation to their marriage had been a sham. And that, she could never forgive. It was like being stabbed in the back and punched in the gut at the same time.
Unsure of what to do when she left the building, she looked around in the cold night. She spotted her bodyguard in his car. No. The last thing she needed was him giving his boss a call about her being upset. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep the tears at bay.
She was done. This time, when she disappeared, it was going to be for good. But first, she had to get rid of her security detail. She started walking, up until she saw her bodyguard leave his car, to follow her on foot. The second he crossed the street, she ducked into an alley and ran. She ran until her feet hurt, until the pain in her lungs was almost as bad as the one in her heart.
The call from her bodyguard came within less than a minute. She pressed it away.
The next call was from her husband. She decided to pick up because he deserved to be told what an unfaithful asshole he was.
“Gio,” she answered, trying to put as much venom in his name as possible. Unfortunately, the catch in her voice screwed that up.
“You’ve ducked your bodyguard. What’s going on, Jocelyn?”
He sounded worried. Well, he never needed to worry about her again.
“I left him behind. Just as I’m leaving you.”
Silence. Then, “You are what?”
“You heard me. I. Am. Leaving. You.”
More silence, and she could just imagine his jaws grinding, trying to remain his cool and collected self.
“Is there”—a chill crept into his voice—“someone else?”
“Excuse me?!” No longer able to control her anger and hurt, she cursed. “I’m leaving your ass because you cheated on me, you asshole. I saw her in your office. Naked as the day she was born.”
Was that a sigh of relief she heard? Was he for real?
“Listen to me, bella. That wasn’t what it looked like. Come back and—”
Wasn’t what it looked like? As if she didn’t know what that meant.
“No! You listen to me. We always knew this was going to end someday. You… you got control over my grandfather’s company. You don’t need me anymore. I won’t file for divorce until we’re married for two years. But we’re through. Please, Gio.” She closed her eyes for a second. “You… broke my heart. At least have the decency to let me lick my wounds in peace.”
With that, she ended the call and turned off her phone. When she rounded another corner, a car stopped next to her. Afraid that Gio had somehow found her, she was ready to bolt when she recognized it was Oscar’s.
The car door flew open and she looked at Gina’s frown. “What are you doing outside in the cold? Didn’t we just drop you off at your office?”
“I…” Jazzy looked around in the busy street, feeling hunted, and made a split-second decision to step inside the car. “Please drive.”
Gina looked baffled. “Drive where?”
“The airport.”
“Why—”
“Not now, Gina. I’m really not in the mood for any explanations. Just get me out of this city.”
“Don’t worry, Jocelyn. I will get you out of here,” Oscar assured her.
CHAPTER 30
JAZZY
Somewhere in between stepping into Oscar’s car and her ride to the airport, something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong, judging by the lingering scent of chloroform.
Waking up zip-tied to a chair in some ratty motel room was getting old. Jazzy groaned as the blurry room came to life, with the distinctive sound of a man talking.
For some bizarre reason, she expected to see Marco’s face. A part of her had always feared, and dreaded, that one day he would come for her. Come back and make good on his promise to kill her. It didn’t matter that he had tucked tail and run back to Europe. He was always there, in the back of her mind.
Her jaw dropped when she saw it was Oscar staring at her, instead of Marco.
Oscar was screaming into his phone. “I know it was you! You’ve ruined me, and now I’m going to ruin you. If you want to see your wife again, make a fucking donation to this bank account.”
He named an obscene amount of money. The hate in his eyes, though, told her that it wouldn’t matter whether Gio paid him or not. This man was not going to let her go. It wasn’t about the money. Well, not just the money. This was personal. What she didn’t know yet was the how. How was this personal?
Oscar returned to her with a syringe in his hand. He hit her leg with the tranquilizer, and she could barely hold in a cry of pain.
“So you can be transported nice and easily,” he said by way of explanation, as if she’d asked him for one.
“Where’s…” She cleared her dry throat. “Where’s Gina?” They might not always see eye-to-eye, but it would devastate her to know that the cousin she had grown up with, had been in on her kidnapping.
“You should think about yourself instead of that airhead.” He held the phone to her ear. “Tell him you’re alive.”
“Jocelyn. Bella, are you okay?” Gio’s voice sounded clipped.
“I’m… fine.” She was anything but fine, but she didn’t know what else to say. Hearing his voice again, after she’d vowed to herself she would never see him again, was both surreal and painful. God, it was so painful.
“He’s not going to touch you. His business is with me.”
“What… what business?”
Oscar snatched the phone away. “You have one hour, Detta.” Then he shut his phone off and removed the SIM card.
A knock sounded on the door and Oscar let in that cigarette-smelling reporter. What was his name again?
“Glad you could make it, Harvey.” Oscar shut the door behind him and gestured toward a chair.
Harvey's jaw dropped when he saw her. “You kidnapped Giovanni Detta’s wife? Are you insane? He’s going to think I had something to do with this. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He looked as if he was ready to burst a blood vessel.
Oscar ignored Harvey’s breakdown; instead, his crazy eyes focused on her. “Your husband ruined my life!” he snarled, and slapped her across her cheek.
Shit. That burned.
“Jesus!” Harvey lit up a smoke and took a deep pull. “What the hell. Don’t hit her...”
“I might be on the Detta list”—Oscar spat in her face—“but I will take his heart with me before I go.”
The maniacal glee in Oscar’s eyes terrified her. Gone was the man trying to charm her cousin. “I don’t understand how—”
“I’ve heard of the way he looks at you. Your dumb cousin wouldn’t stop talking about it. She mistakes it for possession and basic lust, but I know what it is. It’s the same way his father looked at his mother. Brianna should have been mine. Mine!”
And suddenly, all pieces of the puzzle fit neatly together. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Oscar turned away from her, tousling his hair, then pointed a finger at her.
“I have a scoop for you right here, Harvey. Write it down. Every black smudge on Gi
ovanni Detta’s wife. Just like you wanted.”
Harvey puffed out more smoke. The small room that looked like it stemmed from the Jazz era, was quickly becoming misty.
“A scoop on his wife? What the fuck would I do with that? You promised me an exclusive on the San Francisco underworld!”
“Oh, but to understand how the underworld works, you have to understand what makes them tick. How a man would do anything to protect his family name. Anything.” Oscar’s lip curled up. “But first, let me tell you about what happened to Jocelyn and Mary Rossi a decade ago.”
Jazzy’s head snapped up. For a second, she didn’t feel the throbbing pain in her cheek, or the bone-wrenching fear of being in the clutches of a madman. She felt disgust and shame. “Don’t…”
Oscar laughed. “Oh yes, you vicious little slut.” Then, as if it gave him great joy, he started to unfold her dirty laundry.
How had Oscar found out? She thought her grandfather had buried any files on that night. Then again, when you had the resources, it probably wasn’t too difficult to find out anything about anyone.
“Please don’t,” she whispered.
A part of her hated herself for the pleading tone in her voice. She hated it because it made her sound weak, and also a hypocrite. Such a damn hypocrite for telling Mary that she’d done nothing wrong, that no seven-year-old would invite a man to her bed. All the while, feeling guilty herself for letting Marco touch her. If she made it out of this alive, she was going to see a damn shrink.
When Oscar finished commemorating the story of the worst night of her life, Harvey looked baffled.
“That’s your big, dirty secret on Detta’s wife? That she was abused as a child and stabbed her attacker. Really?”
Oscar looked as if he wanted to say more, but then another knock sounded on the door.
The reporter jumped up once again and lit another cigarette. For a crime journalist, Jazzy found him acting very skittish.
“Guess this is your first time being an accomplice to a kidnapping, huh?” she said, giving Harvey a glare.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish before he turned back to Oscar. “Who’s at the door?”
A nasty smile appeared on Oscar’s face. “That would be Kristoff Romanov.”
Harvey’s jaw dropped. “You called the head of the Russian crime syndicate? Jesus, fuck! Are you insane? That man is a beast. A stone-cold killer. He will never, ever dignify himself to come over here. It’s like asking Al Capone to take care of a pest problem for you. You’re going to get us killed!”
When the man in question however did walk in—by himself, as far as Jazzy could tell—a bone-wrenching fear coursed through her system.
Kristoff Romanov had tall, dark, and dangerous plastered all over his big frame. Romanov’s shoulder-length strands of hair gave him a surprisingly young and rakish look. He wore a dark custom-made suit like Gio, but that was about where the similarities stopped. Romanov’s eyes were cold and flat and the oddest shade of green. Where had she seen those eyes before?
For some reason, she had expected him to be ugly and wearing a striped suit, almost a caricature-looking bad guy. Except he wasn’t, if she didn’t count the absolute chill in his eyes.
Oscar approached him tentatively, looking like a puppy searching for his master’s approval. “You came alone.”
“You sound surprised, Bianchi. Yet this is what you requested, no? Now, show me this great deal you have for me.”
If words could be turned into meteorological conditions, Romanov’s words would come out as icicles.
Not caricature-looking, but he did have the heavy Russian accent. Which was probably a ridiculous thing to focus on, since there were more pressing issues to concentrate on. Like, how she was going to get out of here alive.
“You know, they call my husband Black Ice,” she said. “But I have a feeling he has nothing on you.”
Romanov cocked a brow at that. “I will take that as a compliment, Mrs. Detta.”
“You know who she is?” Harvey chimed in.
Romanov’s eyes narrowed at the reporter, who was trying to disappear against the ugly brown wallpaper.
“Of course I know. I know about all the major players in my town. Even the insignificant ones who are like lice in my hide.”
Harvey blanched at that. His eyes scurried around the room, trying to peek through the dusty curtain rods. Jazzy could have told him that there was nowhere to go. There was only one way out of this room, and that was through the door Romanov stood in front of.
Oscar’s eyes flicked to her mouth, making her blood run cold.
“I want you to take her. Sell the whore through your contacts.”
Bile rose up her throat when she heard his plans for her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the promise of a quick death, which sounded better by the minute.
“He doesn’t trade in women,” Harvey said nervously.
“The nicotine-smelling suka is right. It’s the one thing I actually don’t trade in.”
Before Oscar could respond, the Russian made his move. He gave him a right hook, and Oscar dropped like a rock onto the filthy linoleum floor.
Standing over Oscar’s knocked-out body, Romanov scoffed, “I also don’t like to be summoned.”
Harvey took an unsure step toward Jazzy, as if in some twisted way, he was seeking comfort with her. “Mr. Romanov—”
“I don’t like to be called Romanov. Didn’t your extensive background check on me tell you that? I’m not impressed by your reporter skills, Mr. Harvey.”
“Sorry. Of course, I… I knew that.” The reporter started to stutter again. “You hate your father’s name, and—”
“You called me a stone-cold killer,” Kristoff cut him off.
Harvey paled. “I didn’t mean…”
“Of course you did. And you should, because it is exactly what I am. Never apologize for telling the truth.”
Harvey stupidly seemed to consider Kristoff’s words as praise. “Yes, yes, indeed. Speaking of the truth. I want to do an editorial on you. An exclusive to show the public the real man behind the name.”
“Ah, yes, your editorial on the Bratva. What is it that you want to hear? Do you want to hear about how I grew up on the harsh streets of Moscow, as an orphan?”
Jazzy could almost see Harvey typing inside his head. The idiot even took another pull of his cigarette before he took out his phone to type.
“That… that would be a good starting point.”
Kristoff’s eyes almost reached the Ice Age. “Except… I wasn’t born and raised in Moscow. It was right here in California.”
Harvey looked up from his phone. “But, according to your birth certificate…”
“Anything can be forged, you fuck,” Kristoff suddenly said, in perfect English, with no trace of an accent. “When powerful men want to rewrite their history, they can make anything happen. Even turn a loving mother into a whore, making her put her pimp’s name on a birth certificate, instead that of her illegitimate child’s American father.”
Jazzy was wondering why Kristoff was sharing his life’s story with a man he clearly despised. And then it hit her.
Dead men don’t talk.
Harvey’s mouth almost dropped open by the sudden change in Kristoff’s demeanor. Gone was the semi-easygoing man, and back was the crime boss who casually pulled a gun on him.
“Oh, God.” Harvey stumbled backwards, his head hitting the wall. “I won’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight. I swear!”
Kristoff didn’t move or even blink. “You don’t know this yet, but I am doing you a favor, suka. If you knew what Detta had planned for that shit stain on the floor, you would beg me to make it quick.” He aimed his gun at Harvey’s mouth.
“Please don’t shoot me!” Harvey started sobbing and begging for his life, while Jazzy had difficulty keeping her eyes open.
“I’d say cigarettes kill, but that stick in your mouth isn’t going to be the thing that kills you,”
Kristoff said, right before he pulled the trigger.
Blood splattered all over the wall behind Harvey.
Jazzy felt sick, looking at the reporter’s head, with a hole in the middle.
Kristoff then turned to her.
“Now, what to do with you?”
She wasn’t sure if it was the drugs finally kicking in, or the fear, but suddenly, everything went dark.
CHAPTER 31
GIO
Gio handed Kristoff a glass of his best scotch, while he waited for his wife to wake up.
The Siberian had installed himself in the comfortable leather chair before a bookcase, facing the window. Kristoff never had his back to any door or window. Not even when he was sitting in a library, in a house that was surrounded by high gates and around-the-clock guards. Kristoff’s men were waiting for him downstairs. Probably playing poker, as Gio and Kristoff did once a month. No matter how much money they had now, they still played with one-dollar bills, to reminisce the old days, when they were both starting their business in San Francisco's worst neighborhood, trying to make a buck. Kristoff and the Dettas had each other’s back. Even though their lives had gone into different directions, that had never changed.
Kristoff downed his drink in no time. “I like this scotch.”
“I’ll have a case delivered to you.”
“You should come try the new vodka I have imported from St. Petersburg. Smooth as a stripper pole, and with a killer burn. One bottle, and it will have you swaying on your feet.” Then he gave him a smug smile. “We are even now.”
Gio knew what moment he referenced. A decade ago, Gio had taken down a man that was about to stab Kristoff in the back. Literally.
“You sound all too damn happy about it.”
“Owing you my life... irked me.”
Gio smirked. “And the package?”
“At your disposal, in a silo near the docks. I put him in a nice cage for you. You can put his legs in concrete, add a few cuts, and he is shark’s bait.”
