Loving Talia: A Dark Mafia Billionaire Romance (Amatucci Family Book 5)

by Sadie Jacks

  Eyes watering against the pain, I looked up into my captor’s face. Pock marked and ruddy, he had muddy blue eyes and blonde hair. A beard a Viking would be jealous of covered the lower half of his face. Scars crisscrossed his upper cheeks and forehead like he’d tried to push his way through security glass wiring. Or someone else had tried to push his face through it.

  “Do that again and I’ll make you eat it, suka.” He slapped me hard across the face before he shoved me back. “Clean it up. We don’t want to smell your der’mo all the way home.”

  He walked away. Back towards the collection of manly chuckles.

  I raised my head. Took a good look around. Fuck. I was on a plane. Stuck at the back of a private plane. And it was full of unfamiliar men. All of them looked at me with something lurking deep in their gazes. And it wasn’t the idea that they wanted to take me home to meet their mommas.

  If they even had mothers.

  Also assuming they hadn’t killed their own mothers.

  “Do you have any cloths or towels?” I asked. I made sure to keep my voice soft, my gaze lowered.

  “Your mess. You clean. Fast. I tired smelling it,” one of the closer men said in his broken English as he sneered.

  Shit. I struggled to my knees, felt them buckle under my weight.

  The cabin filled with laughter.

  I felt my cheeks burn, but I pushed through it. These men saw me as little more than a bargaining chip for something. I knew enough about our own business to know I just had to be verbal for them to keep me. The condition of my body or mind didn’t matter to them at all.

  Keeping my head low, I ripped the duct tape from my ankles. Removed it from my wrists. Once I was free, I stood up. Tried to bounce on my toes a couple times to get the blood flowing, but also tried to do it on the DL. I didn’t need any more attention from these men than absolutely necessary.

  I looked around. Near the front of the plane was a small galley. I made my way over there. Careful to avoid eye contact and physically touching any of these men if humanly possible.

  One of them reached out and slapped my ass. A harsh spate of Russian filled the air right before more laughter.

  I didn’t need to be a linguist to know I didn’t want that translated. Instead of showing any outward sign, I kept moving. The sink was my goal. The only thing that mattered right now.

  At the sink, I saw a bottle of sparkling water. Did I take it to help clean up the mess and hedge against another slap in the face? Or did I leave it because it wasn’t mine?

  “Suka! I grow disgusted,” a different man yelled from behind me.

  I grabbed a towel, an empty cup, and the bottle of sparkling water. I was out of time and options. Making my way back to the seat, I endured even more touching and disgusting remarks I couldn’t make out but understood anyway.

  Sinking down to my knees, I scooped the vomit into the cup as much as possible. When I got as much of it as I could, I went to work on the stain with the water and towel. The carpet was a tight weave, so that helped a little bit. But nothing but deep professional cleaning was going to get rid of that particular scent.

  Getting back to my feet, I covered the mostly full cup with the rag and my other hand. I didn’t want to accidently splash any of these men. Another beating wasn’t on my agenda.

  I tripped over someone’s foot. Someone’s foot that they’d deliberately stuck out in my way. Both the vomit cup and I went flying.

  Raucous laughter and immature ‘oohs’ filled the air. Right before all sound cut off as I landed against something hard and unmoving.

  The now empty glass clinked to the table beside me.

  My breath backed up in my throat even as my lungs seized in my chest. I was going to die. Right here. Right now.

  This man’s skin was remarkably smooth. No sign of a beard blurred the stark lines of his face. His dark golden eyes were just as hard as his chest and lap. He raised one light brown brow. “Do you wish to fuck me?” he asked softly.

  I heard the Russian accent, but something else, something slightly different flavored his words as he wrapped a steel hand around my upper arm.

  Before I thought about it, a snort escaped me. And it wasn’t a laughing ha-ha kind of snort. No, it was a sound better suited to telling Foster I thought he was a grade-A asshole and not worth my time. That asshole never listened. I could only hope these men did.

  Please let them listen and not rape me.

  The cabin was quiet enough I could hear the air whistling slightly through my nose. Shit. “I-I-I-I tripped. I didn’t mean to drop that on you.” If I could have hammered the guy whose foot I’d hit without repercussions, I would have plowed through each of these assholes before they knew what was coming.

  But I was outnumbered and outweighed. Not to mention they could drop me in a heartbeat if all of them decided to attack at once. No. I needed to pick my battles.

  “If you don’t want to fuck, then get off,” he said. “And clean this der’ mo up…again.” He glared at me.

  I nodded, tried to push up off of him. A little hard to do with him still holding my arm. I looked up at him, looked down at my arm. I fought to keep the glare off my face, out of my expression. When I looked back up at him, I thought I saw something in his eyes.

  His mouth twitched a little as he held my gaze. He held onto me just long enough for me to know, unequivocally, who was in charge. I might be tough shit, but I wasn’t stupid.

  I nodded.

  He smiled, removed his hand. “Khoroshaya devochka.” With that, he turned and began having a conversation with someone else.

  Scrambling to start cleaning again and staying out of these men’s way, I picked up the glass and hurried back to the sink at the front of the plane. Just as I was coming back with the rinsed cup and another bottle of sparkling water, one of the men stood up and got in my way.

  “Excuse me,” I said softly. Inside I was raging. These assholes were trying to get me murdered. If they had been on our plane, we would have tied them up and left them alone. We didn’t hassle our captives. Ever. We were at least nice kidnappers.

  Not so these Russians fucktards.

  “Come fuck me,” he said, grabbed his crotch.

  Another snort escaped me before I could stop it. “No.” I tried to shoulder by him. Wished for my gun. Men never seemed to take me seriously without a gun.

  He caught my arm. “Am I not pretty enough like Arkady?” He yanked me to a halt, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of my arm.

  “I don’t know who Arkady is, so I can’t answer that.” I raised my chin, looked this man in the eye. And it was singular. A ragged scar ran down the length of his face from hairline to jawline. It bisected his brow, eye socket, cheek, and the left side of his mouth. “Scratch that. No, you aren’t pretty like Arkady.” The words were out before my brain—or self-preservation—could kick in.

  Men laughed as Scar Dude’s face went beet red. His single blue eye narrowed as his mutilated mouth twitched.

  I saw the move coming. The bunched fist that clenched and aimed for my head. I readied myself for the attack.

  As his hand came around, I stabbed out with the glass. Caught him in the forearm with the cup. His grunt of pain and distracted attention allowed me to move in closer to his body.

  Dropping the glass, I kicked it out of the way back towards the galley. With the second bottle of sparkling water, I rammed it up into Scar Dude’s nose just before I turned my hip into his. Like some macabre dance, I had my body snugged up to his.

  My ass cradled his hips as I fought to get enough leverage on his arm. With a quick, practiced maneuver, I had him up and over my hip, crashing into the ground. Before he could figure out what happened, I smashed the glass bottle of sparkling water over one of the armrests.

  I had the jagged edges against Scar Dude’s neck, one of my knees in his balls, my other knee out of his reach. “I’m trying to do what you asked. Keep coming at me, I’ll take you all down. Leave me the fuck
alone and we can arrive at our destination without further issue.”

  I looked up at the men. Every single one of them had guns out and pointed at me. Glowers and snarls pulled at their mouths.

  Without taking my eyes off the other men, I knew exactly when he tried to start wriggling free. Pushing the broken bottle end farther into Scar Dude’s neck, he moaned slightly. The slightest give of flesh under the sharp edges of the bottle felt like I’d just battled a lion in the Coliseum and won.

  I lowered my knee against his balls some more. Let him feel all one hundred and forty pounds of my weight on a single point on his pudgy body. Probably the most voluntary action he’d gotten in his entire lifetime.

  “We could shoot you before you kill him,” one of the men said.

  I shrugged. “You could. But that would ruin whatever plans you have that necessitated kidnapping me in the first place.” Plans I really needed to figure out.

  “Polozhi oruzhiye,” the man I’d fallen against said.

  A single vibrating second hummed in the air of the now stifling cabin. As if they had choreographed it, they all lowered their weapons at the same time. It didn’t stop the sheer hatred some of them were still glaring at me, but at least their hatred couldn’t put holes in me.

  Wiggling the bottle against Scar Dude’s neck, I said, “Don’t ever touch me again. I’ll rip your balls off, feed them to some street dog, then kill the dog.” I didn’t look away from the men surrounding me.

  Scar Dude scoffed.

  I lowered my gaze. Sank the bottle against his fleshy neck ever so gently. A small run of crimson beads came up over the edge of the green glass. “Ever.” I ground my knee into his balls again.

  His face blanched white.

  I saw his eyes shift to something over my shoulder.

  He smiled.

  I should have known it was coming. I’d gotten too cocky. Let my guard down too far with the tiniest victory imaginable.

  Something crashed against my head.

  Well shit. Lights out again.

  Chapter 4 – Foster

  “I swear to the gods, Turo, you shoot me again, I’ll rip your throat out,” I snarled as his stupid timer went off again. “I’m working as fast as I can. Making me bleed out on your girlfriend’s couch isn’t really going to help me work any faster.”

  “Hey, that’s not my couch. At least, I didn’t buy it,” Nik said. “Gramps, you make him bleed as much as you want.” She blew the sadist a kiss before she buried her nose in her computer again.

  Turo smiled. “See? She doesn’t care if you bleed out.” He raised his hand again.

  I braced for the impact. How many bullets could one stupid Glock 23 carry? For fuck’s sake. Every single one of them had been a grazing strike. But damn it, they still hurt like the fires of hell.

  My phone rang before he could pull the trigger. I had it connected and up to my ear before he could say anything.

  Or pout. The sick fucker pouted when he didn’t get to shoot me on time.

  “Ambright,” I said quickly, my voice a little higher than normal as effervescent joy shot through me at staving off another bullet.

  Silence greeted me.

  I didn’t say anything else as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lifted to attention. Fuck. I pulled the phone from my ear, read the number. Shit.

  Waving my hand in the air to catch Nik’s attention, I put the phone back to my ear. Rolling through my mental files, I found the right name and vocal tone needed for this particular contact. “Kakiye?” What?

  “Maks?” the man asked.

  “Da.” Yes.

  “YA poluchil tvoy zvonok.” I got your call.

  “I?” And?

  “Vashi istochniki byli pravil'nymi. Oni dolzhny pribyt' cherez pyat' chasov.” Your sources were correct. They are scheduled to arrive in five hours.

  I heaved a giant sigh. “Spasibo. YA tvoy dolzhnik.” Thanks. I owe you one.

  “Vy spasli moyu zhizn'. YA vse yeshche v dolgu pered toboy.” You saved my life. I still owe you.

  I chuckled. “Posmotrim na eto. Proshchay.” We’ll see about that. Goodbye. I hung up the phone before he could say anything else. Turned to see Turo hovering over the computer with Nik.

  “Location?” I called out as I struggled to my feet. Every single part of my body hurt.

  “Presnensky District, Moscow, Russia,” Nik called.

  I nodded. “Good. That’s where he should be. According to my contact, they’re set to arrive in five hours. The biggest rival to the Medvedev family is the Kamenev family. Everything from guns, uranium, drugs, humans, and sex workers, they run it all there.”

  “And your Agency contact agrees with this intel?” Turo asked.

  I nodded again. “Yeah, she does.”

  “Why? Run through it for me again.” He smiled, but I knew an order when I heard one.

  I bit back the sigh. “Medvedev have been trying to get in good with any of the Italian families. According to intel, they’re running out of money. Fast. One of the best ways to fix that is to start a partnership with a grateful, wealthy family.” I dipped my chin at Turo. “What would you give to the person who led you to Amara?”

  Turo dipped his chin. “Anything we could without hurting our own functions.”

  “Exactly. The Medvedev are essentially a bunch of thugs, but they have connections to the deepest pockets in the bratva.”

  “If they’re so connected, why aren’t they higher on the ladder?” Nik asked.

  “Their pakhan—the boss—passed. In the battles to appoint another one, their numbers dwindled dramatically. If they had a partnership with, say, the Amatuccis, that would increase not only their visibility, but also their legitimacy. Win-win in their eyes.”

  “So a bunch of captains are out running their own things without any oversight?” Turo asked, his eyes wide.

  I shrugged. “You make do with what you’ve got, Turo. Not everyone gets to live the high life in the States or in Italy.”

  He shook his head. “That’s lunacy. There’s a reason we have one boss with everyone else falling in power after that.”

  I nodded. “I don’t disagree with you. But bratva aren’t as organized or as old as their Italian counterparts. They’re also largely involved in the political system in addition to the regular family stuff that the other organizations deal in. The Medvedev are struggling to hold on. They’re holding their location and power by sheer fear and bullying.”

  Turo’s brows dropped low. “And you let my sister go off on her own to meet them.” His gun hand twitched.

  “Oh, shut it, Turo. We all know Tali does exactly what she wants, when she wants. Unless Foster tied her to the bed, I doubt anything would have kept her from that meeting.”

  Finally. Someone else was on my side.

  “What could I do? She used her safe word.”

  “Ambright, I’ll shoot you the next time you say something stupid like that,” Nik said as she rolled her eyes. “Not helping and you have enough holes in you now. So shut the fuck up unless you have something useful to say.”

  I rolled my lips in. I hadn’t actually meant to say that, but I couldn’t really let them know my brain/mouth filter wasn’t really working in top form right now. Must be the blood loss.

  My phone rang again. I made sure to look at the number this time. Sighed in relief. “Ambright.”

  “I’ve got a plane number for you,” Babs said.

  “Hold on,” I put her on speaker. “Go.”

  “NC284G03. ETA Moscow, roughly five hours. We can have a team waiting there. Say the wor—”

  “You’ll stay the fuck out of this, Babs. You’ve already lost her once. I’ll be heading to Moscow on my own.”

  She sucked in a noisy breath. “How do you plan to do that?”

  “Not your problem. Call me if you learn anything else. And only then.” I hung up on her.

  I looked at Turo. “I need a plane.” Shooting him my best smile, I wasn’t really
surprised when he shot me again.

  The sound of gun firing wasn’t even startling at this point. I was almost expecting it.

  “Damn it, Turo! You’re just slowing me down.” I ripped another section of my shirt off. Wrapped the slim ribbon of cotton over the burning wound on the outer edge of my thigh. “Do you at least have a needle and thread?”

  He smiled widely this time. “I’ve got one better for you.” He pulled his phone out. Hit a couple buttons. “I need a patch job.”

  He listened to whatever the other person had to say. “I don’t really care. It’s Foster. He got Tali kidnapped.” He yanked the phone from his ear, a huge smile on his face. “Yeah. Whatever tickles your dick, bro. Go to Tali’s loft. He’ll be waiting for you.” He hung up. “Rafe’ll help bind up your owies.”

  Nik started laughing. “You’re a beast, Arturo.” She grabbed his head and pulled it down to hers.

  In no time flat, they were sucking face like I wasn’t standing right there. I cleared my throat. “Ahem.”

  Turo pulled back, a darker scowl than I’d seen this whole evening on his face. “Go back to Tali’s. Rafe will meet you there.”

  Nik leaned into him. “It gets me hot when you order other people around.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He pecked her on the lips. “He’ll pay for making me put you off, I promise you that.” He turned to me. “I’ll have the plane ready for you at the airport in an hour,” Turo said. “I’ve got other calls to make. Plans to put into motion. You better hope and pray you find her first, Ambright. You fail or she dies, we will make you beg for death. And it will never come.”

  Nik smiled. It looked more like a cat/canary situation than actual joy. But knowing her, she could very well be ecstatic over my current predicament.

  I made my way back to Talia’s loft. Saw that Rafe was already there. A huge, red medic bag hooked over his shoulder. His dark eyes lit up when he saw me.

  “Ambright, I just want you to know, I’m going to enjoy this.” He pushed the door open and waved me through.

  Well fuck. I walked through, my gaze automatically going to the possible exits. I’d been in this apartment often enough, I had at least a dozen escape routes planned. But it never hurt to refresh them in my mind. Especially with a sadistic psychopath about to stitch me up.