by LP Lovell
“That’s your plan? Threaten my wife?”
I grin, shoving him away until he staggers against the desk. “Who said anything about your wife?” I glance at Samuel, and he leaves the room. A few seconds later I hear the elevator ping at the end of the hallway followed by the rhythmic fall of footsteps over carpet. Carlos comes in, his expression steely, and yet I can see the pain in his features. He drags a woman into the room, her wrists bound and a bag over her head. Forcing the woman to her knees in front of Dominges, he removes the bag. She chokes on a sob, pleading incoherently. Mascara streaks down her face, and her dark hair is a tangled mess. She’s pretty, young, foolish. One look at Dominges’ face and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. His expression replicates everything I’m feeling. He quickly wipes the anguish from his features, his face morphing into a stony mask. I step around her sobbing form and move closer to him.
I grab his jaw and force him to look at her. “Women. Are they not the eternal weakness of men such as us?” His breaths rasp through his chest, becoming more erratic. “Those who are supposed to be so impenetrable.” His teeth grind together, the muscles in his cheek twitching under the strain. “Look at her, Dominges. Watch her cry and plead and beg you to save her.” The anger is creeping up on me, rising with every breath that this fucker continues to take. Stepping back, I place my hand on her head, and she flinches, a whimper slipping past her lips. I don’t hurt women usually, and on any other day, I’d see this girl as nothing more than an innocent bystander in a much bigger game. She probably isn’t with Dominges through choice. Women like her don’t say no to men like him, the rich and powerful.
I gently stroke my hand over her messy hair and a sob breaks past her lips. I bend over, bringing my face close to hers and wrapping a hand around her jaw. “Watch as I snap her neck in front of you.” I stand and place my other hand on top of her head, forcing her head at an angle. She screams, pleading and crying in the face of imminent death.
His mask wavers, his eyes flicking from her, to me, and back again. He’s in love with her. I’d call him weak, but I know the feeling well.
“Stop!” His jaw ticks, annoyance flickering behind his eyes.
I smile slowly because, in our game of chicken, I just won. “Talk or I will kill her.”
“I don’t have your Russian.” On a sigh I force the girls head at an even sharper angle. “I don’t! She’s –” He cuts off, and I narrow my eyes. “The Russians.”
“What the fuck would you know about the Russians?”
“Nicholai Ivanov.”
He sold her out. I release the woman and grab my gun, pointing it at his head. My finger trembles over the trigger, the anger driving me hard.
“Rafe.” Carlos’ hand lands on my arm. “I know you want to kill him, but let it go.” Carlos turns his back on Dominges and whispers in my ear. “He doesn’t have her, so this will only start a war. You can’t fight a war here and find Anna if she’s in Russia.” He pulls back, his eyes meeting mine. I can see the pain in them, the anguish. “I want him dead as much as you do,” he mumbles. “Leave him for Una.”
On a deep breath, I grit my teeth and lower the gun. He falls forward, coughing and choking. “I should kill you, but I’m not going to. Do not see this as a weakness, merely political maneuvering. However, if I do not get Anna back, I will kill her.” I point at the woman. “Bring her,” I order the men. Carlos practically drags me from the room, and Samuel falls into step beside us as we walk into the elevator.
“What now?” he asks.
I sigh. “Now, we go to New York. If the Russians have her, then we need Una Ivanov, and she’s with Nero. Carlos, stay with Lucas.”
“My mother is with him. There’s nothing I can do. I’d rather help hunt the bastards down.”
I glance at him, reading his expression. He and I are cut from the same cloth, brothers in everything but blood. We understand revenge and action. It’s the lack of action that’s a killer.
I nod. “Call ahead. Tell Nero we’re coming.”
13
Anna
My consciousness creeps back in like the very first rays of dawn cresting over the horizon. My head spins, and I blink my eyes open through blurred vision. A pounding rhythm permeates my skull, applying pressure to the back of my eyes. Rolling over, I push myself up, my palms meeting the icy concrete beneath me.
“Ah, you’re awake.” I try to move quickly, but it’s like moving through quicksand. Everything is slow and slurred. The smudged outline of a man comes into view, and I scramble as far away from him as I can until my back hits a wall. “The drugs will wear off soon,” the man says in a thick accent.
I press my fingers to my temples and manage to focus on him more. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, his greying hair neatly combed. He looks hard and implacable, with pale blue eyes that cut through all pretense of humanity.
“Who are you?” I ask.
A twisted smile pulls at his lips. “You look just like her, you know?”
“Who?”
“Why, your sister of course.” It takes me a moment to register the words, but they finally cut through the fogginess still clinging to my mind.
“My sister,” I whisper. “Who are you?” I repeat.
He moves closer and slowly drops to a crouch in front of me. “Oh, little bird, I am Nicholai Ivanov, and I own your sister, just as surely as I now own you.” He reaches out, and I flinch away before his cool fingertip brushes over my cheek. “Yes, just like her, but not as strong.”
“What do you want with me?”
“Tsk tsk. If I have you, then my little dove will come back to me.” He eyes me up and down. “She betrayed me for you, you know? She was always so loyal, so strong. And now…” He shakes his head. “So disappointing. But…” He claps his hands together and pushes to his feet. “I can fix her. She will come for you, and all will be well."
I look up at him. “I haven’t seen my sister since I was ten years old. Why would she come for me?”
“Yes, it is strange.” He tilts his head to the side, and it’s almost animalistic, inhuman, calculating. “Such weakness.”
Something about this man makes me tread carefully. I’ve met bad men, but he is different. Bad men are driven by something: basic desires, simple depravities. This man is cold, distanced—until he speaks of Una. Then there’s a light in his eyes, a rabid kind of obsession. Whoever this man is, Una; no matter how vicious she might be, is not safe with him.
Taking a phone from his pocket, he smiles as he dials a number, placing it on loudspeaker. I listen to the dial tone reverberate around the empty room before it clicks off.
“Hello.” I squeeze my eyes closed at the sound of Una’s voice. I’ve heard it once in twelve years, but I’d recognize it anywhere like we’re attuned.
“Little dove,” Nicholai gets this nostalgic smile on his face.
“Nicholai,” she breathes.
He takes a deep breath. “Did you get my card and present?” he asks, almost joyfully.
“I did.”
“And I asked you to come home, little dove.”
“I can’t do that.” She sounds indifferent, as though she were discussing nothing more than the weather.
He smiles indulgently. “You wound me. But no matter. I told you I would come for you, though, I have had to go to great lengths. I’m not happy with you.”
“What lengths?” He says nothing. “What lengths?” Her voice rises slightly, the indifference slipping. With a grin, he thrusts the phone towards me, and nods, raising his dark brows. He wants me to talk to her. Of course.
“Una?” I say.
“Anna,” she whispers, and my sister—my strong, killer of a sister—sounds so wrecked with that one word. “Are you okay?”
“I think so. What’s going on?”
“Just stay calm. Do what they say. I’m coming for you.”
Nicholai pulls the phone away from me. “She looks so much like you, little dove.
But you were always so strong, Una. You are the perfect soldier, to be surpassed only by your child.” Her child? Una has a child? “But Anna…Anna is not strong like you, little dove. She will not make a soldier…” He lets that hang in the air for both of us to hear.
“I promise you, if you touch her, I will tear your heart from your chest,” Una spits. And she sounds every inch the killer I know she now is.
“Tsk-tsk, I raised you better than that. You have been away too long. It has tainted you. I thought I taught you well enough that love is weakness. Your sister, the Italian, your child…they weaken you, Una. You have become fragile,” he spits, practically shaking with rage. “But it is fine. It is fine. I can fix you. Don’t worry, little dove. I will make you perfect again. And I will make your child stronger than even you.” He waves a hand through the air. He really is mad. This is the man who raised Una? Who taught her to kill? “You will come home, and I will set Anna free. You have forty-eight hours, and then I kill her. Tick-tock.” He hangs up and smiles at me. “I am sorry, little bird.” He’s going to kill me. I wait for a sense of fear or desolation, but it never comes. In the grand scheme of things, there are much worse fates than death.
He walks over to a door and knocks on it. With a loud squeal, the thick steel door opens, revealing two men in military uniform. They snap to attention, arms clasped behind their backs and postures rigid.
With one last glance, Nicholai pulls a lollipop from his jacket pocket and puts it in his mouth before stepping out of the room. The door slams closed behind him, the sound echoing around the cold concrete room. As I glance around, I realize there are no windows, only one door, a cot and a toilet. That’s it. I’m a prisoner on death row, unless my sister, the sister I barely know, turns herself and her child over to this madman.
I hope she runs as far and as fast as she can.
14
Rafael
New York. It’s cold and hectic in a conformed way. Men and women hurry down the sidewalks in their suits, phones pressed to their ears. Stepping out of the car, I glance up at the sleek skyscraper stretching towards the midnight blue sky, lit up like a beacon. The low rumble of the subway echoes through the grates beneath my feet, sending a whoosh of foul smelling air whirling around me.
I don’t want to be here. The urge to fly to Russia is eating away at me, but I know it’s pointless without a plan. I hate knowing that she’s there, and I’m here.
As soon as we step inside the building, a guy jerks his head at us, pressing the button for an elevator. There’re no buttons for any floors, and the numbers keep ticking by until we reach the top. Of course, Nero would live in the penthouse.
The doors glide open, and the sight of several guns pointed at us greets us.
“Let them in,” a voice shouts from somewhere. The guns drop, and the two guys step back, allowing us into the penthouse. Nero strides across the lobby, his expression tight. The guy looks more like a fashion model than a mafia boss, but he’s not to be underestimated.
“Nero.”
“Rafael. This is Gio and Jackson.” He points to the two guys with the guns, both steely and Italian-looking.
I nod. “Carlos and Samuel.”
“Ivanov called Una. He wants a trade.”
“Of what?”
Nero pinches the bridge of his nose, stress lines sinking into the corners of his eyes. “Una for Anna.”
I can see in his eyes, that’s not a trade he’s willing to make. “I’ll go after the Russian myself if I have to,” I say.
Nero laughs. “And you would die. This guy…” He shakes his head. “Whatever you’ve heard or think you know, it’s so much worse.”
I catch sight of movement behind Nero just as Gio mumbles under his breath. “Ah, shit.” A tiny little blonde woman steps around Nero, springs off the floor and lands in front of me, driving her fist into my jaw. The blow snaps my head to the side and leaves me reeling. Jesus. Samuel must have reached for his gun because when I look up, she has a gun pointed at his head and pure murder in her violet-colored eyes. She looks just like Anna, but harder, vicious, ruthless in a way Anna could never be. This would be Una then.
“I will shoot your worthless, sack of shit ass where you stand,” she says.
I rub my jaw, glancing at Nero. “She always like this?” He shrugs one shoulder before shifting to stand beside her. His hand glides around her waist, coming to rest on her stomach. And it’s then that I notice the bump stretching the material of her black hoody. She’s pregnant. My eyes snap from her stomach to Nero’s face. He’s watching me intently. Well, no wonder he was so keen to get her back.
“They’re here to help,” Nero says.
“Loco puta,” Sam mumbles. Idiot. She pistol-whips him across the bridge of his nose without ever taking her eyes off me. Sam groans and clutches his broken nose. Nero clears his throat to cover a laugh.
“You lost my sister,” she snarls through gritted teeth.
I swipe a hand over my face. “Do not think that I take this lightly. The Russians shot three of my men.” I stare back at her, refusing to back down. We both have a lot at stake here, in the form of Anna, but honestly, if it weren’t for her sister, Anna never would have been in any danger. This isn’t about me. It’s about Una.
“I don’t give a fuck about your men! You promised me she was safe with you.”
“She was heavily guarded, and in one of my houses that only my closest men know about.”
“Well then, it looks like one of your closest men is a rat, Rafael,” she growls, glaring at Samuel and Carlos.
“One of the men who was shot was my brother,” Carlos says.
“I. Don’t. Care. If I were you, my only concern would be the fact that my sister is gone.” She says to him. I place a hand on his arm to stop him from moving. “Do you know who I am?" she asks quietly, stepping up to him until they’re toe-to-toe. “If I don’t get her back, I’m going to come to Mexico and end your entire fucking cartel.”
“O-kay…” Nero wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest. “They came to help.” She shrugs away from him and paces the length of the room. She’s tiny, but the way she moves screams dangerous. Her feet whisper over the ground, her movements lithe and graceful. I know exactly who she is, and yet it’s so hard to believe that this girl is one of the most lethal and sought after contract killers in the world. Looking at her causes an ache to settle in my chest. Her mannerisms are nothing like Anna’s, but they look so alike. Una’s hair is white blonde to Anna’s golden, and where Anna has sapphire blue eyes, Una’s are the strangest shade of lilac, but the features are the same.
She keeps pacing, and it’s like watching a caged wild animal, waiting for it to snap and rip off a handler’s arm. There’s something rabid and feral about her. Nero is a far braver man than I, to not only blackmail this girl but then fuck her and get her knocked up. I’m starting to question the Italian’s sanity.
Eventually, she whirls around and walks away, crossing the lobby and disappearing through the doorway.
Nero sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m assuming that’s your kid?” I say.
He glares at me. “Yes, which is why it would have been great if you could have kept the girl safe like I fucking asked.”
My temper spikes dangerously, and I step closer to him, my fists tightening at my sides. His men tense beside him, and I smile. “As far as Nicholia Ivanov is concerned, you have taken his angel of death from him. Anna is innocent in all this shit, and now she’s being used to get to her sister.”
He sighs heavily. “I’m aware. But I can’t let Una go to him, not with the child.”
I know that if Anna were here, she’d never want Una to endanger her child, but that selfish part of me doesn’t care. The pain in my chest burrows even deeper as the gravity of the situation fully settles over me. “I need her back, Nero,” I whisper.
His whiskey-colored eyes lock with mine, and something passes between us, an unders
tanding. Man to man. We’re two men resigned to the crippling weakness of love. Two men who shouldn’t be affected by such things, and yet here we are.
He nods. “As do I, because if we don’t get her back, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep Una from doing something stupid.”
“She’d sacrifice herself for Anna?”
His lips press together in a hard line. “In a heartbeat.”
I glance through the open doorway and can just about make out the form of Una silhouetted against the huge window, the lights of the New York skyline illuminating the space around her. Her shoulders are tight with stress as she watches the city below. Nero follows my gaze, his brows pinching together as he watches her. I know the look in his eye well. Love and fear—because the two are not mutually exclusive, are they?
“Gio, take them into the office and get them a drink. I’ll speak with Una,” he says before walking towards the doorway.
Gio leads the way down a hallway of the sleek, modern penthouse. All the exterior walls are nothing but floor-to-ceiling glass, offering an uninterrupted view of the bustling city far below. He opens a door, and we file into an office. There are no windows in here, only bookshelves covering every inch of wall. Three leather couches sit facing a coffee table, and a large desk sits near the back wall.
“How very Godfather,” Carlos remarks.
The Italians say nothing. Jackson, who I figure is the muscle, takes a seat on one of the couches while Gio starts pouring glasses of liquor from a decanter. He hands me one, and I take a seat. I stare at the glass of amber liquid, my thoughts drifting to Anna again. I’m doing all I can. I’m here with the Italians. I’ve left my cartel on the brink of war to get her back, and I can’t even find it within me to care.
Gio places something on the coffee table in front of us, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance down at what looks like a floor plan. “This is the base where Una believes Nicholai will be keeping Anna.”
