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“Elena,” I whisper, gently plucking Mischa from my breast and holding him up to my chest. “They found her with…”
Vittorio’s face breaks into a slow, sinister smile. “Took you a while to put that together.”
I feel the very real urge to throw up all over his shoes. The only reason I don’t is because I’m holding my son who still seems unsettled. And who can blame him? We might just be sitting in front of Satan himself.
“She was an innocent woman.”
He snorts. “She was another useless obstacle—and besides, you should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” I gawk at him.
“I’m the one who paved the way for you to swoop in with those pretty green eyes and steal away his heart.” He laughs, as if there’s one single thing about any of this shit that’s even remotely funny.
“You weren’t paving the way for me,” I snap. “You were paving the way for yourself. You wanted to marry Bee off to Dmitri so that you could steal some of his limelight one way or another.”
He doesn’t bother replying to that. The car comes to a stop and he swings the door open. “Welcome to your new home.”
I’m quaking with nerves as I step out of the car, making sure I keep a tight grip on Mischa. No matter what happens, I’m not letting anyone get near my son.
The house is surrounded by trees and grass. It has the illusion of being hidden away but I can hear the congestion of traffic from just beyond the trees, which means the highway is not so far from where we are.
Men mill around the property aimlessly, like they don’t know what to do with their hands. I ignore all of them and keep my eyes on Vittorio.
“What do you plan on doing with us?”
“I plan on holding you as ransom.” Vittorio gives me a triumphant wink. “If Dmitri wants his precious wife and son back, he’s going to have to give me everything. Every inch of Egorov Bratva property, signed, sealed, and delivered. And then he’ll have to bend those arrogant knees of his in front of me. I want to watch him beg for your lives. He’ll kiss my feet and plead.”
“He’ll never do that!”
Vittorio shrugs. “It seems that I know your husband better than you do.”
My heart sinks at those words. Hadn’t Dmitri promised me just the other day that he’d do whatever I asked of him, including giving up his Bratva altogether? It wasn’t a bluff; I could see it in his eyes how serious he was.
Which means Vittorio is right: if it comes down to Mischa’s life or mine… Dmitri will do whatever he’s asked.
His lips twist up into an awful grimace. “Having some doubts, little lamb?” He laughs openly at my distress before his face hardens and sours. “Take her up to her room.”
As two men approach to carry out his orders, I back away with my teeth bared. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Don’t be foolish, girl,” Vittorio advises. “If you don’t cooperate, I have no problem using the lash on you.”
“Go ahead!” I cry out. “If Bee could take it, then I can, too!”
He sighs, a whistling sound like midnight breeze through a graveyard. “I know you think that sounds brave,” he says, sauntering down off the first step. “But trust me: that whip burns like the fires of hell.”
“Fuck you.”
His saggy cheeks ripple with anger. “You’re right. I do believe you can take the whip. But I wonder… do you think your little boy feels the same?”
He’s close enough to try reaching out to touch Mischa’s cheek. I beat him to the punch—literally, more or less—and crack Vittorio across the face as hard as I can.
The sound of skin meeting skin echoes out. His men all freeze.
So do I.
So does he.
I might’ve just made a very big mistake.
