Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless)

by Victoria Vale

  It happens the same way each time: Elena walking to the door, Viktor rolling down the window. Elena doesn’t get into the car right away. She doesn’t wrench the door open and jump in. She seems to wait for direction. For Viktor to tell her to get into the car.

  My body is already moving, even before the truth finally clicks in my mind. I rip the door open and rush to the stairs with my heart in my throat and my insides frozen over. My anger flames hotter, but the gasoline that’s poured over it is mixed with fear and guilt.

  I nearly knock into Jovan rushing into the control room, where I find Jaime and two others working at the various computers.

  “I was just on my way—”

  “Elena didn’t leave with Viktor willingly!” I blurt, cutting Jovan off. “He took her. He fucking came right up to my front door and took her!”

  Jovan places steadying hands on my shoulders, seeming to sense I’m about to lose my shit. If I thought I was spinning out of control before, the sensation is ten times worse now that I know what really happened here.

  “We found them,” Jovan says, giving me a little shake. “That’s what I was coming to tell you. There’s a beach house where Oleg vacations with his family for the holidays. It’s isolated and far enough out of the city for Viktor to feel safe there. Are you sure he took her? It didn’t look that way in the video.”

  “I watched it again,” I reply, giving Jaime a nod. “Again and again. She wasn’t running. All the times she ran, none of them were like this. Why is that?”

  “There’s no camera in the bedroom,” Jaime says with a shrug. “But … her phone. Why would she have left it behind? I took the encryption off like you asked me to, and that enabled him to call her. He could have told her anything to convince her to leave without a fight.”

  “Exactly. He has her because he knows I’ll follow. It’s a trap.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jovan asks, a hand resting on the pistol holstered at his hip.

  I’m already halfway out of the room, and both men struggle to keep up as I make my way toward my office—where the best of my firepower is stored in the safe. The cold resolve is back, smothering all the fear and worry over Elena. I’ll allow myself to feel it all later, when this is over and Elena is safe. It’s the only outcome I can accept right now. I can’t fall to pieces wondering what Viktor might be doing to my wife; not right now. I’m going to need every bit of the cold ruthlessness I possess to get her back.

  “Get every soldier and lieutenant over here now. This is an all-hands on deck situation. We’re going to get my wife back, and then I’m going to tear Viktor apart piece by piece.”

  31

  Elena

  The splash of cold water hits me like a tidal wave, jolting me back to consciousness. Coughing and sputtering, I blink to clear my eyes of the water streaming into them. My entire body aches, but most of the pain originates in my skull. My forehead throbs where it crashed into the dashboard, and my right eye is swollen, making each blink scratchy and uncomfortable.

  Through hazy vision I make out my surroundings—a dark, humid room with bare floors and brick walls, maybe a basement. Viktor stands over me with an empty bucket in one hand. He’s still immaculately dressed in a white button-up and gray slacks, every hair slicked into place. His expression is soft with humor and smugness as she stares down at me.

  It isn’t until then that I notice my hands are tied and stretched over my head. My butt is planted on the hard floor, and as my senses come slowly back to me, I realize I’ve been stripped of my clothes. I jerk against the rope biting into my wrists, bending my knees to try to cover my exposed skin. Viktor left me in my bra and panties, but I can’t be sure what he might have done while I was out cold.

  “Relax,” he croons, crouching in front of me. The bucket hits the floor and he raises a glass to his lips with his other hand while pinning me in place with his cold, frightening eyes. “I haven’t touched you … yet.”

  I blink and struggle to hold my head up. It’s heavy and spinning with every breath I take, threatening to push me back into darkness. I gave myself over to it before, but I can’t bring myself to let go this time. That instinct to survive, even in a world where Diego no longer exists, keeps me awake and defiant.

  “What’s your game here, Viktor?” I ask, both because I’m curious and because I need to stall for time. I need to know what he intends to do to me and whether there’s any way out of this.

  “Come now, dorogoy. You’ve never pretended to be a brainless bimbo. I know you’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.”

  Just now I feel like a bumbling idiot. I can’t tell up from down, let alone try to figure out what the hell he’s up to.

  “If Diego’s dead, you have no use for me,” I mumble, my words drunkenly slurred. He smashed my head into that dashboard harder than I thought. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?”

  Viktor takes a sip from his glass, and I smell the vodka on his breath when he speaks. Yezhov Platinum … the best money can buy. “Oh, you sweet little thing. I don’t want to kill you. That would defeat the purpose. You’re worth much more to me alive. I’ll give it another few hours before Diego and the rest of those Pérez pridurkis show up on my doorstep, guns blazing.”

  I blink several times, my head lolling against my arm as I try to make sense of his words. Diego and the rest … but that can’t be right.

  “Diego is dead,” I say, my throat burning and my eyes welling with tears as I say the words out loud for the first time.

  “No, sweet,” he purrs, one hand cupping my cheek. He lets his fingers trail down my chin, my neck, my collarbone. Revulsion sweeps through me when he traces the edge of my bra, one finger slipping past the fabric and skimming my nipple. “I only said that to get you to cooperate. I have to say, my father was suspicious of your sudden romance and marriage, but I knew the truth all along. I told him Diego was pussy-whipped, and I was right. But he isn’t the only one, is he, dorogoy? You really do love that mangy little prick. You came running like a good little bitch when I sent you that video footage. Did you know it was taken two hours before I sent it to you? By the time I called, your husband had already come and left from my building.”

  His taunting laughter sends a surge of heat through me, and exhaustion and pain melt away in the face of my rage.

  “Fuck you,” I snap, lunging clumsily in his direction. My arms jerk when the rope brings me up short, my shoulders screaming from being nearly torn from their sockets. My legs splay uselessly beneath me, my body sagging.

  Viktor grabs my chin, his fingers tight enough to leave fingerprints. He wrenches my head back and slowly begins to stand, pulling me up with him. I scramble for balance, my legs tingling when the blood goes rushing into them. My neck strains and aches from the way he’s holding me up, his jaw jutting out as he stares at me as if I’m a lowly slug.

  “That feisty mouth of yours would piss me off if it wasn’t so goddamn sexy,” he growls, forcing the insides of my cheeks against my teeth until I taste blood. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, little by little. You want to know what my game is? Once your husband is gone, I intend to keep you for as long as you amuse me. You fascinate me … you have ever since the night you appeared in my father’s house, so defiant. You’re a fighter, and I like that. It’ll be a shame to destroy that but … well, I could never resist a challenge.”

  I jerk my face out of his grasp and sneer at him, forced onto my tiptoes by the short pull of the rope. “You don’t have the balls to break me, you spineless little bitch. You’re just a pale imitation of your father, wishing you could live up to Daddy’s greatness. You’re a fucking disgrace, pitiful in every way.”

  The last word is hardly spoken before I’m choking and coughing as my mouth and nose are flooded with vodka. Viktor hurled his liquor in my face, and now drops the glass. It shatters all over the floor. With a snarl I spew a mouthful of saliva and vodka at his eyes, too furious to care that he has me at
a disadvantage. I’ve already let him trick me into getting myself in danger; I won’t allow him to turn me into a sniveling, weak bitch.

  Viktor lets out a string of sharp, unintelligible Russian before slamming his fist into my stomach. My belly quivers and seizes, and I double over, my wrists wrenched up behind me as I wheeze and fight for breath. My body snaps back up when he backhands me across the face, filling my mouth with blood and making me feel like my head is going to spin right off my neck.

  My legs give out from under me, and I slam into the floor, the impact rattling my bones and making my teeth clatter.

  Viktor lands a kick in the center of my chest, sending me sprawling against the wall. “You sound just like the rest of them,” he rasps, his voice deepened by heavy breaths and a snarling edge. Apparently, I hit a nerve. “I’ve done everything that man has ever asked of me. I’ve been the perfect son. I’ve killed for him! I helped build an empire worthy of any great bratva family … but do I get any recognition? No, I get compared to the son he wishes he had—the mongrel wetback who let his mama help him murder his way onto his father’s throne!”

  Even with my head slumped toward my chest and my entire body throbbing with agony, I can’t hold in the laughter that wells in my chest. It starts as low giggles and slowly increases into the full-throated cackles of a cartoon witch.

  “You stupid jackass,” I wheeze out between laughs. “You spoiled little shit. That’s what this is about? You’re jealous of Diego? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You could never be half the man he is.”

  Viktor makes a move toward me, hand raised as if to hit me again. I watch him through the sweaty strands of hair hanging in my eyes and wait for the pain. If he’s going to kill me, I’d rather provoke him into doing it quick. Diego’s warnings about Viktor have never been far from my mind, and now I’m getting a taste of his deranged nature firsthand.

  But, no, I don’t want to die—not now that I know Diego is still alive. Common sense tells me Viktor might be lying, just like he did before. There’s no proof on either front, and I can’t be sure whether my husband is alive or dead.

  Viktor stops himself short, droplets of spit staining his chin from his tirade, his face a bright shade of cherry red. His eyes are wide and manic, his body quivering with the violence coiling through every muscle.

  Lowering his hand, he steps back and spits at my feet. “Grebanaya suka,” he mutters, calling up the translation up from the handful of Russian words and phrases I’ve learned recently.

  Fucking bitch.

  I glare at his back as he stomps toward the stairs leading out of the darkness. If it’s the last thing I do, Viktor will find out just how much of a bitch I can be.

  The door slams and the click of several locks follow. I’m left with only the dim bulb flickering overhead for light. The stifling humidity of the room has me feeling sticky with sweat, and the metallic taste of blood still lingers on my tongue.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I look around for anything I can use to free myself. This basement is bare of anything over than a few scattered wooden chairs and a stool, plus some coils of rope hanging from the wall. My gaze falls to the remnants of Viktor’s vodka glass littering the floor near my foot. Among the tiny crystals are a few mid-sized slivers, and one huge chunk—what’s left of the bottom corner of the square glass. It’s jagged and angled perfectly for me to cut through my ropes, but only if I can manage to get it off the floor and into my hands.

  I clench my teeth around a hiss of pain as I pull against my wrist bonds, extending one leg to try to reach the glass with my foot. My wrists are rubbed raw, and each movement makes them sting. My stomach muscles spasm so tight I can hardly breathe because of Viktor’s fist, and my head hurts so much I can hardly see straight. I blink and try to focus my vision, ignoring the tiny shards that embed into my calf as I try to use my first and second toes to grip the glass. It takes me several tries and earns me a series of tiny cuts in the tender skin between my toes, but I eventually grip the hunk and slide it toward me by pulling my foot in.

  Once it’s resting between my legs, I take a break, panting and sweating and nearly succumbing to the need for sleep. If I close my eyes again, it’s over. I’ll probably wake up with Viktor standing over me and unknown tortures in the works. I have to get myself out of this. If Diego is alive, he’s coming; I know that without question. Even if he’s only coming to get revenge on Viktor, he wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop him. I swallow past the sensation of coming tears as I realize he probably thinks I left on my own. Maybe he even suspects me of being in league with Viktor. Our history would suggest nothing else to him. But even if he thinks I abandoned him and betrayed him, Diego will come.

  But if my husband is dead, then no one is coming to get me out of this. I’m going to live out what’s rest of my life being raped and beaten to death, and those two horrors are only a whisper of what I know Viktor is capable of. I’m going to have to try to save myself and hope for the best.

  Once I feel strong enough, I grip the glass with my toes again, groaning when another stinging cut sends trickles of blood down my foot. Clenching my lip between my teeth, I slowly begin lifting my leg, thanking God for the years of yoga practice that make me flexible enough to manage it. The tendons of my hips and inner thighs stretch and pull tight, twinging soreness shooting through my middle. I breathe and push through, managing to get my foot within reach of my bound hands. It’s a clumsy feat, trying to transfer the glass from foot to hand, especially when my fingers have started to go numb, but I manage it without dropping my prize.

  I allow myself a few seconds of victory and a smile, before turning the glass so the blunt edge is against my palm. Then, I start sawing at the rope, holding my breath and listening for any sign that Viktor is coming back to pick up where he left off.

  32

  Elena

  It takes Viktor hours to return, and every second feels like an eternity. My body is breaking down, my strength fading as hunger and fatigue set in, exacerbating the pain. I ended up having to use the bucket he splashed me with to pee, which only adds to the humiliation of being stripped down and tied up like an animal.

  But when footsteps pound the floorboards above, I take up what’s left of the rope that bound my wrists and choose a dark corner to hide in. I pinch my lips together to quiet my harsh breaths and squeeze myself into the cramped space beneath the stairs. A beam of light breaks through the dark above me, and Viktor’s shoes click on the rough steps as he descends. I peer through the gaps and watch him walk right over me, tightening my fingers around the rope and waiting for the right time to strike.

  “What the fuck?” he exclaims when he notices I’m not where he left me. He spins in a circle, searching the shadows. “Where are you, dorogoy? Don’t be stupid … there’s no way out of this. Come out like a good girl and I’ll go easy on you.”

  Like hell I will. I grit my teeth and wait for him to walk farther into the basement, his back turned to me. Bare feet make my steps silent as I slink from my hiding place. My mind goes blank and fear melts away as the instinct for survival sets in. It’s him or me, and I damn sure intend to fight like hell to make sure I’m the last one standing.

  “I’m not fucking around, Elena. The longer you make me wait for you, the more pissed off I’ll be when I find you.”

  He crouches to examine where he left me, surrounded by bits of glass and spots of my blood … putting him in the perfect position for me to whip the rope around his throat and press a knee into his back.

  Viktor’s powerful body jerks and convulses as I yank with all my might, the rope biting into his windpipe. His arms flail helplessly, and he falls onto his ass. I press my knee harder into his spine with a snarl, leaning back with all my weight to speed things along.

  Rough, guttural curses spill from his lips, and his fingers claw at the rope. When that doesn’t work, he swings his arms to grab at me over his shoulders. I arch my back to stay out of reach, a primal scream e
mitting from me as I yank harder on the rope.

  He finally goes limp, arms dropping and head slumping forward. I can’t hear the sounds of his breath anymore, so I loosen my grip, leaning in to inspect his face. He’s gone white as a sheet, broken blood vessels showing red and furious beneath his skin.

  With a sigh of relief, I let the rope fall from my hands. I used the last of my strength to subdue Viktor, so I’m unprepared to defend myself when his head jerks up, and a blazing blue eye glares at me from over a beefy shoulder.

  “I warned you,” he growls, his voice rough and tortured. “I fucking warned you, you stupid slut!”

  I backpedal as he turns and crawls toward me, but I’m not fast enough to avoid his reaching hand. His fingers close around my ankle, and my back hits the floor, tiny slivers of glass leaving burning pinpricks along my shoulder blades. Viktor straddles me, both hands wrapping around my throat. The rope burn around his throat is nearly purple, and his breaths are labored, but he’s strong in his fury, squeezing until dark spots crowd my vision.

  He seems to have forgotten his plan not to kill me. Viktor has murder in his eyes, the pupils dilating so that his irises look dead and black. I claw at his hands until I draw blood, my feet slipping over the concrete as I scramble for purchase. Managing to work my knee between his legs, I sharply thrust upward, finding his soft, vulnerable parts.

  Viktor gurgles and lets out a pitiful whimper, rolling from on top of me and cradling his abused balls while gasping for air. Coughing and gagging, I get to my hands and knees, trying to gather the strength to run. The light from the top of the stairs calls to me, offering freedom. I know there are other men in this house, lying in wait. Viktor wouldn’t be stupid enough to isolate himself without protection. But I can’t give up. I can’t just lay here and let him finish me off. If I have to die, I’ll do it fighting.