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I lift my head, gulping breaths of air. My eyes lock on Alek, and I gasp, “I’m just a tourist. I’m an American citizen.”
He shrugs. “None of that matters to them.” His features tighten momentarily, but I can’t place the emotion on his face. “Just do as they say.” He shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “My father should already be looking for us.”
I stare at him, confused that he’s so calm.
“Why aren’t you scared?” Maybe he knows something he’s not telling me.
His gaze flicks to the door. “Fearing the inevitable is pointless.”
My voice trembles when I ask, “What is inevitable?”
I don’t want to know.
Not really.
Alek brings his attention back to me. “You’re already panicking. The last thing I need is you having a breakdown.”
His reply makes my fear double in size.
Suddenly the question I’ve been trying to hold back pops from my mouth. “You kidnapped me? Because you thought I was Svetlana?”
If I hadn’t swapped clothes with her, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Alek’s jaw clenches, then he nods.
“Why?”
An impatient look crosses his face. “Like I said, you’re in the middle of a war.”
Resentment toward the man beside me fills my chest, and I turn my eyes to my legs.
We hear footsteps outside the door, then a rattling of keys. When the door swings open, my mouth grows bone dry, and my eyes widen.
Two very scary-looking men come into the small room. They don’t look Russian, though, and neither is old enough to be Svetlana’s father.
Alek lets out a chuckle. “Riccardo Prodi.” I hear him move, and shooting a glance at Alek, I watch as he climbs to his feet. There’s a hate-filled expression on his face that makes him look just as terrifying as our captors. “Does Luca know what you’re up to?”
The man, who I assume is Riccardo Prodi takes a step closer to Alek. “Until the mafia and bratva cut ties, we don’t report to Cotroni.”
Alek lets out another chuckle that sounds more like a warning. “Viktor and Luca will kill you for this.”
Riccardo gestures toward me, and the other man comes to grab my arm.
I’m yanked to my feet and exclaim, “No. Wait.” Panic and terror swirl in my stomach, making me feel queasy.
I give Alek a pleading look, hoping he can stop whatever’s about to happen, but he doesn’t even look in my direction.
I struggle against the hold on my arm while crying for them to wait as they drag me out of the room.
I’m taken down a narrow hallway, where I notice four armed guards before I’m shoved into another room.
Riccardo takes a seat on a chair, and crossing his legs, his eyes slowly sweep over me. He seems to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and wearing a suit, he looks like an ordinary businessman.
The other man still has a biting hold on my arm, and all I can do is tremble, my fear too intense to try and think straight.
“Who are you?” Riccardo asks.
“I’m American.” I have the futile hope that my nationality will keep them from hurting me.
