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CATERINA
When I wake up, it’s with absolutely no sense of where I am.
It takes me a minute to realize that the voice ringing in my ears isn’t actually speaking. It’s just the memory of the last thing I heard before I passed out—we’re here foryou, Caterina—followed by the rippling of that bone-chilling terror that I’d felt as the needle had slid into my neck.
I’ve never had a phobia of needles, but if I survive this, I might have one now. I’ll never be able to forget the sight of it gleaming above me, the liquid beading from the tip right before it punctured my throat. Then I slipped into a cold dark haze that I’m only just now coming out of.
Whatever they drugged me with, it’s slow wearing off. I don’t feel as if I can move at first, and for a moment, I’m terrified that I’m going to be alert but unable to move. That sounds more terrifying than just waking up and discovering where I actually am.
Cold. So much cold.As the sensation starts to return to my limbs, that’s the next thing I notice. Not just a chill, but a bone-deep cold, as if every bit of heat had been leached out of the room.
Slowly, I try to pry my eyes open, doing my best not to move. I don’t know where my kidnappers are, but if they’re nearby, I don’t want to alert them that I’m awake. I want a minute to try to get my bearings, to make a plan.
Growing up in the Family, I never felt particularly in danger. I felt secure that my father would protect me, and my eventual husband, whoever that was. But there was always the knowledge, deep down, that I could be a target. That my position as Vitto Rossi’s daughter made me valuable and that I needed protection. That whoever he married me off to would also need to protect me.
I’d been so concerned these past months with protecting myself from the men I married—first Franco and now my Bratva husband—that I’d forgotten there were other people out there who might have reasons for wanting to catch and hurt Vitto Rossi’s daughter, or theUssuri’s wife. That even if I felt secure that Viktor wouldn’t ever hurt me the way Franco had, that didn’t mean I was safe.
Whoever these men are, they knew about Viktor, so it’s safe to say that they’re probably after me as his wife, not as my father’s daughter. This is a Russian problem, not an Italian one, making the entire situation even more terrifying. The Italian mafia can be cruel, but I’ve heard stories of what happens to women caught by the Russians. For all his flaws, Viktor seems to be the best of them. I don’t think these men are anything like Viktor.
My eyes feel dry, burning, but I manage to get them open and look carefully around through blurry vision as much as I can without moving my head. There’s a shaft of sunlight coming through the window to my left, lighting up a grey sky that tells me it’s still early, which explains the cold despite it being May. My hands are still bound behind me, which sends another panic-fueled dart of terror through me, but I force myself to breathe, slowly and shallowly.
Think, Caterina. Take stock of the situation, and think.
I press my fingers against the surface beneath me—it’s a hard mattress, one that I can feel the springs starting to push through. It feels lumpy, and I don’t dare look down—I’m not sure I want to see the rest of the condition that it’s in. The curtains on the window are mostly closed, except for the small space between them where I can see the sunlight gleaming through, and I think that I see a glimpse of tree branches.
Did they take me out to the woods?I feel another flutter of panic. If we were back in New York, I might be able to figure out where I am, but I don’t know anything about the geography around Moscow. Russia is entirely foreign to me, and the thought of being held captive out somewhere in a Russian forest threatens to overwhelm me with another hopeless wave of fear.
Viktor.I might not know Russia, but my husband does. Will he come for me?
That thought makes me go very still. It hadn’t occurred to me before that he might not, only that there might not be time. But if he’s decided that I’m more trouble than I’m worth as his wife and the future mother of his child, this would be an easy way to get rid of me. He can let them do what they want, and tell Luca whatever he pleases—that he couldn’t get to me in time, that he couldn’t find me, that they wanted something in exchange for me that he couldn’t give. This might be his way out of a marriage that I suspect I might have made as unpleasant for him so far as it’s been for me.
Not entirely unpleasant, though.
The last thing I want to think about right now is the complexities of what Viktor and I have done in bed—or what he’s done to me, rather. I don’t know if it’s enough to overcome the friction between us, the way I’ve refused to bend to his will, or if he’ll choose to simply take a way out that won’t have the same consequences as sending me back to Luca.
Or—there’s another terrifying possibility that I hadn’t yet thought about.
What if this was Viktor?
I still don’t know how the first Mrs. Andreyev died. I don’t know what part, if any, Viktor played in it. And the realization comes rushing in that there’s a very real possibility that after my reaction to seeing his business here, Viktor decided that it was time for his second marriage to come to an end in a very final way.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.I squeeze my eyes tight, forcing myself to think through the fear. I’ve had to do it before, during the worst of the times with Franco, when saving myself meant thinking past my own fear and pain and calming him down.
I’ve been alone before, and I’ve saved myself. I can’t rely on Viktor, whether or not this is his doing. If this isn’t him, I’m still somewhere out in the Russian forest; god knows how far away from him I am. And if it is—then it’s even more imperative that I figure this out for myself.
I hear a shift from behind me and go very still. There’s a scraping over the floor, like a chair being moved, and then a gruff voice speaking in Russian. I can’t understand a word of it, but he sounds angry, his voice clipped and harsh in a way that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
A second voice joins the first, speaking in a deep, rough growl. They don’t bother lowering their voices, either because they don’t realize I’m awake or because they assume I can’t understand them, which is definitely true. And I don’t want them to realize that I’m awake yet.
My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear the beat of it in my ears. I grit my teeth, doing my best to keep my breathing even and my hands from clenching.Be brave, be brave,I tell myself repeatedly, and I wonder, if I survive this, if this will be the most difficult thing I have to face.
I certainly fucking hope so.
I hear footsteps, heavy on the floorboards, coming closer.This is it,I think, and then I feel a hand gripping my shoulder, rolling me onto my back.
“I think she’s awake, boss,” the man hovering above me says in thickly accented English. My vision is still clearing from the drugs, so I can’t make out his features exactly. I can see that he’s heavyset and thick-lipped, his sausage-like fingers digging into the hollow of my shoulder as he rolls me over. “Time for some fun.”
“You know the rules, Andrei,” the man behind him says, his voice equally thick.
