“C’mon, Nicky. You have the power to fix everything. Free me so I can save us all from the monster called Sebastiano Bellomo. I know you want it. You know deep inside it’s the only way to truly save yourself and your sister from any future fucked up shit you’ll be manipulated into doing.”
She stared at me, her breath catching, her jaws parting and snapping and clenching.
I pulled at my chains, lifting my body with a growl, doing my best to stand straight. “So what’s it gonna be, Nicky? Are you strong enough to do what has to be done?”
Her gaze wavered as she shook her head, but then she stepped toward me, eying the deadbolt and padlock on the cage door. My heartbeat sped at the springing hope of freedom. After a year of torture and captivity, I’d never thought I’d see the sun or Lina’s face again. Now, as demons haunted Nicky’s approaching eyes, not only could I get out of here alive, but also I could win the war Don Bellomo thought I’d lost.
Shaking, she touched the bars. My heart pulsed in my temples as the moment I’d long anticipated had finally come. “Thank you, Nicky. You’re doing the right thing to save your sister.”
Suddenly, she stopped and shot a glare at me. “Fuck you.”
Icy cold waves of trepidation hit me, as if the remaining of my blood rushed out of my body, when she turned on her heels and headed where she came from.
“No. No! Nicole, come back here. You’re making a mistake. You’re making a fucking mistake!”
CHAPTER 3
Ravenna
One Year Ago
MOB BITCH.
The angry blood red graffiti on my practice door welcomed me back to Highland Park. It wasn’t hard to guess who did it. Someone who wasn’t afraid of the Mob to call it out like that. Someone who was in the Mob, but didn’t like the team I played for on the Safin’s trial.
See, Viktor and his wife belonged to two different families. He was Russian, and she was Italian, just like my parents. But as Viktor had explained to me, his wife wasn’t on good terms with her family when she married him—she was a traitor’s daughter or whatever—so her death and his acquittal wouldn’t instigate retaliation issues.
The graffiti begged to differ. Did that mean The Italians were after me now?
I grabbed my bag and headed back to the car. A call to the Russians was in order. Not that I was afraid of torture or death. Not as long as it was mine. I deserved it. I had blood on my hands, and there hadn’t been a day since my brother died that I didn’t wish for my life to end, too.
Texting Safin, I inserted the key into the ignition. I hesitated for a second before I turned it. What if they set the car to explode? I was only gone for two minutes. It was highly doubtful they’d had enough time to set the explosive device, but made men were more than skilled at performing their criminal activities. Besides, the device could be ignited by a controller they had and not the ignition. Shit.
Swiftly, I grabbed my stuff and the gun in the glove compartment and practically ran away from the car. I should have headed straight home once I arrived in town. If I could, I would avoid any time spent in that house for the rest of my life, but I should have checked on Papa.
Jumping into the next cab, I called him.Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Shit.
I asked the driver to speed as much as he could and called Papa again. “Please, pick up.”
My heart contracted at the long, annoying ringing. Why wouldn’t he pick up the phone? Something wasn’t right. My mind pictured the worst and most vicious scenarios.
“Could you please hurry?” My voice was higher than I intended. Being rude to the poor driver wasn’t going to solve anything.
He swore in Russian before and after he said he was going as fast as he could. I might have taken my mother’s last name lately, but I was as fluent in Russian as I was in English and Italian. I pretended I didn’t understand what he called me, though, because if I didn’t, I’d unfairly pour all the agitation and trepidation swirling inside me now on him. He was impolite but not at fault for what might happen to my family. I was.
I texted Safin, who hadn’t answer me yet, again, praying, as if God would listen to someone like me, Papa was safe. Eyes darting between what seemed to be a never ending road to the house and the dark screen of my phone, I popped in a Prozac.
After five minutes of trying to reach Papa and blowing Safin’s burner with texts, the cab finally reached my house. I threw some money at the driver and sprang out of the cab, his Russian curses trailing behind me.
The phone vibrated in my hand as I almost ripped my bag, grabbing the gun and looking for the keys. Swiftly, I answered. “What took you so long? They’re after me, and I can’t get hold of my father.”
“The Italians aren’t that naive, Doc. If they wanted you dead, they wouldn’t send you a ridiculous message, you’d be dead.”
Son of a bitch. “How reassuring.”
He chuckled. “Relax. I promised you and your father protection, and you’ll have it. But I know you don’t need it, so get your shit together. They’re probably just scaring you because they want something from you. You know the drill by now.”
With that he just hung up. I stabbed the keyhole and barged into the house, anger and anxiety kicking despite the pill. “Papa! Papa, where are you?!”