Page 80 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you suffer.”

His smile fades. “Only if I don’t kill you first.”

I shoot his left foot. He uses the distraction to reach for the gun at his side with his bloody hand, but he’s too slow. I force the barrel of my gun between his lips and tilt his head backwards.

“Are you going to give me a name? Blink once for yes.” I don’t bother giving him an option for no.

He blinks once. I slide the gun out of his mouth slowly and move it back to his temple.

“Boris Petrov. He is my father.” He clenches his jaw against the pain in his extremities.

“Where is my sister?” I demand.

“How the fuck would I⁠—”

I press a little harder on the trigger. Sweat beads on his clammy forehead; it’s unattractive, and my stomach tightens.

“Yelena?” He raises his brows quizzically.

“Yes.” My pulse races. He knows where Ivana is.

I told myself that I would find her, but I didn’t think about the moment when hope would become reality because I didn’t want to jinx it.

He smiles, and terror solidifies inside my gut.

“She is being held captive on a cargo ship owned by my father.”

I guessed as much, but something tells me that he’s saving the best for last.

“Where is this ship?”

“Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.” He’s enjoying this way too much.

I’m the one holding the gun, but he is holding something far more valuable: information.

“More specific.”

“Without access to port equipment, it’s impossible.” He goes to shrug and remembers the blade protruding from his shoulder.

“Let me help you.” I pull the dagger out and hold it in front of his face so that he can see his own blood. “Hmm, maybe I should’ve left it in the wound to stem the flow.”

“All right, I’ll tell you.” He glances down, searching for the document on the floor where he dropped it, now staining red with blood from his hands. “The ship will arrive in Chicago shortly. But your sister isn’t on it.”

No. No. No. The terror spreads slowly through my body, growing as it moves.

“Where is she?”

“When I said the ship was in the Atlantic Ocean, I meant to say your sister.”

Confusion bubbles behind my eyes, making it difficult to think. “What do you mean?”

“I mean my father generously shared his hospitality with her, and she repaid him by trying to steal cargo from his ship.”

“Cargo?” I swallow hard when a mental image flashes behind my eyes, of Ivana trying to set dying human beings free from a metal container while these slimy fuckers drink vodka below deck. “You mean women and children.”

“Well, if you’re being specific, yes.”

I drag the gun down the side of his face and shove it up beneath his chin. “What. Happened. To. My. Sister?”