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I glance down at my car’s GPS. Ten minutes out as I blow through ninety, and the speedometer creeps closer to a hundred miles an hour. “Wait for me. I’m almost there. Observe and report for now. Let me know if they take her inside. I want to hear about her condition as well–as soon as you find out. Will she need medical attention? Is she conscious?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hanging up, I drum the steering wheel nervously, seeking some form of relief when I feel like I might snap from the tension building inside me. Those fuckers are dead. No one lays a hand on Anya. She’s mine. And I don’t care what I’ve done. She doesn’t deserve what I know they’re planning on doing to her. They took her to hurt me, and it puts my stomach in knots to realize they must have been watching me, waiting, analyzing how they could inflict the most pain. And they’ve done it. All I see is red as I barrel across town, smashing every speed limit. I’ve never wanted to kill someone so badly in my life.
When the warehouse lot finally comes into view, I bring my car down to a more acceptable speed. It won’t do me any good to get spotted before I’ve had a chance to meet up with my men and form a strategy.
My phone pings as I round the corner and spot the Escalade that was supposed to pick Anya up tonight. Glancing down, I see the image of Anya, bound and gagged, as several men lead her into the warehouse nearest us. From the grainy sunset-lit picture, I can only faintly make out her expression. She looks utterly terrified–but at least she’s conscious. This must have happened just minutes ago.
Pulling up behind the Escalade, I throw my Maserati in park and dash the short distance to join Seb and Rocco in the back seat of the SUV.
“Your father’s men are still about ten minutes out,” Rocco states as soon as I close the door behind me.
“We’re not waiting for them,” I state. “That looked like four men–two of which are the Gatti brothers. And Troy’s got a broken wing. We can take them easily with the element of surprise on our side.”
My guards nod in agreement, with no question, no hesitation in their gazes. They trust me, and they are trained professionals. They would follow me into the pits of hell if I asked them.
“My father’s men can join the festivities if they’re still going on when they arrive,” I add, attempting levity to ease my own tension.
Seb smiles darkly. “We’ll be halfway back to town by the time they show up,” he jokes.
I bark a laugh, accepting the two Sig Sauers Rocco passes me. “We move fast, stay low, and stick to the building until I can assess the situation. Then move on my signal,” I say. Short and sweet. Once we get inside, I’m sure all hell will break loose, so I don’t plan what to do from there. “And don’tfuckingshoot my girl,” I add, putting force behind my words.
Slipping silently from the back seat into the growing dusk, I lead my men across the bare expanse of the parking lot, staying low in case someone should see us. We move noiselessly, making it to the warehouse, and I hug the metal siding as Seb and Rocco fall in behind me.
Muffled voices come from within the basic structure, one distinctly female, as we pass by the closed garage door. I can’t help the sense of pride that swells within my chest at the sound of Anya’s defiance. Her words are obscured by the gag, I assume, but her cadence is rebellious. If I had to guess, she just told someone to go fuck themselves.
The resounding snap that follows makes my blood boil, and I creep quickly closer to the warehouse’s side door, where we’ll enter.
“Tie her up,” comes the muffled command as I reach the door, and I recognize Alexia’s voice. The fucking bastard. He’s going to regret messing with my family–if he survives long enough to face my wrath.
Scuffling sounds through the door, and then Anya’s cry, which spurs me into action. Gripping the door handle, I force myself to turn it slowly. First, I have to find the men’s positions. Then we can attack. If we go in guns a-blazing, we’re as likely to kill Anya as we are the Gattis and their men.
32
ANYA
“No one’s coming for you, little ballerina,” Troy taunts as my eyes flitter toward the warehouse door in desperation.
My cheek stings from the fresh blow Alexia used to silence me, and I swallow convulsively around the cloth that gags my mouth. I know no one is coming for me.How could anyone know where I am? That I’m in trouble?I got into their car without a second glance. My aunt and daughter weren’t even there to see me leave. Of course, I’m sure Nicolo is furious with me by now for not being there for his driver to pick up, but that could mean any of a thousand things to him.Why would he automatically assume these psychos have driven me to a warehouse on the outskirts of town with the intention of chopping me into little pieces?
But that doesn’t stop me from searching for any means of escape I can think of. When my eyes land on the table where Alexia and Troy stand, my heart breaks into a sprint. Knife after cruel-looking knife is laid out methodically across its surface. An overwhelming compulsion fills me as I scream, twisting forcefully against the bindings holding me in my chair as I fight to break free. The skin around my wrists stings as the coarse rope chafes my flesh. But the cruel laugh Alexia releases at my fruitless effort burns worst of all.
I’m trapped, completely helpless, as I face my own death. All I can think about is my daughter and Nicolo and how they will never know their connection because the truth of it will die with me. Tears of rage sting the back of my eyes. It’s probably best that Nicolo never knows about Clara. Not when this is what happens to the people he might care about. I’m just his fuck toy and look where it’s gotten me.
Picking up a wickedly curved knife, Alexia turns to face me, holding the blade up so it shines in the light. “Are you ready, Anya?” he asks as though we’re about to start a game of cards.
From the corner of my eye, Troy looks rather pouty over not getting an opportunity to cut me up himself. Though I would imagine Alexia will let him have a turn once he’s sufficiently bored of torturing me. That word holds a new meaning for me now, as I’m faced with true and actual pain at the hands of a madman.
Blood roars in my ears as my heart pounds a mile a minute. My ribs ache with the force of its hammering as Alexia slowly stalks toward me, a vicious grin spreading across his face.
“Where shall we start?” he asks conversationally as he traces the blade down my cheek to my jaw. “Your face? It’s so pretty. I’m sure Nicolo will hate to see it cut up beyond recognition.”
The tip of the blade skims lower, down past my collarbone, to follow the valley between my breasts. I close my eyes and swallow hard, fighting back my nausea as I prepare for the blade’s bite. But with a flick of the wrist, Alexia draws it away from my skin, leaving me unblemished. I dare to open my eyes, and the fury that twists his face makes me wish I hadn’t.
Gripping my hand forcefully, Alexia crushes my palm to the arm of the chair that I’m bound to. “Let’s start with a finger,” he growls, bringing the knife down with conviction.
My lungs burn with the force of the scream that rips from me, and I turn away, unable to endure the sight of my impending dismemberment. And then, pain explodes in my ear as deafening sounds echo through the warehouse.
