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I would have thought that as the plane taxied the runway, Petrovitch would have at least given me a reprieve from his assault, but I was wrong.
So very wrong.
I didn’t remember the plane landing.
Nor did I remember the drive from the airport.
All I knew was one minute I was staring at what I thought my worst nightmare was, then the next, he showed me how much of a nightmare he was.
Sitting in a chair, my hands bound tightly behind me, I tried to slow my beating heart. “Gde nakhoditsya mladenec?”
“What?” I slurred, as a cane swooshed in the air before landing on my bare thighs, making me scream out in pain.
“Where is themladenec?”
Tears ran down my face as I slowly shook my head. “I don’t understand what you are asking. Please. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll sign the company over to you. It’s yours. Just please stop hitting me.”
The men around me laughed as Boris Petrovitch bent forward, his arms resting on his knees. “You think this is about your family’s company? You stupid Italian whore. You are a means to an end. You are nothing to me. Just an annoying blip I plan to snuff out as soon as you give me what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want your husband dead.”
I gulped.
“You want Maxim?”
The second his name left my lips someone struck me hard with the cane on my back, causing me to gasp in pain.
Growing up, my mother and father never punished me. They didn’t believe in corporal punishment. My father would kill anyone who dared hit me. That’s not including what my brothers would do. Not even Max. As angry as I made him, he never, not once, raised his hand to me in anger. So, it was a physical shock to be struck, slapped, punched, beaten as if I was nothing more than an insignificant nobody.
There was no rhyme or reason to his assault.
He hit me if I answered.
He hit me if I didn’t.
There was no leeway, no middle ground.
I was in trouble.
Even I was smart enough to realize that unless Maxim found me quickly, I wasn’t walking away from this man alive.
Beads of cold sweat slide down my forehead as I try to lift my head, gasping for breath.
I hurt everywhere. In fact, I didn’t think there was a spot on my body that wasn’t bruised.
The men who took me were angry. I knew that much. They liked to show me how angry they were with their fist. Speaking in Russian, cursing every chance they got. They showed me exactly what they thought of me. The funny thing was, I didn’t think it was me they wanted because they kept shouting at me for something else.
They wantedmladenec.Whatever the hell that was.
They constantly asked for themladenec.
What the fuck was amladenec?
I didn’t speak Russian.
I barely spoke Italian, and IwasItalian.
