“Relax, I have no intention of touching you.”
My nostrils flared and I cleared my throat painfully. “What?” I croaked. “Too good to touch me?”
Okay, that was dumb. I blamed the drugs. I forced myself to shift on the bed as the drowsiness began to wane.
“If you want me to touch you, just say the word,” he drawled with a smooth smile. The tightness in my chest loosened, and I released a long breath. “But we’ll wait for the drugs to leave your system.”
I wasn’t fooled by his handsome face. His hair was perfectly styled, and his jaw was freshly shaved. The olive skin accentuated his green eyes. He was dressed sharply, and I wondered if he normally kidnapped women in a custom suit or if this was a special occasion.
“Who are you?” I asked, unable to keep the animosity from my voice. Years of hostility toward any man in the mafia had become part of my DNA. Besides, the Tijuana cartel was responsible for my twin’s murder. That alone was enough to have hate simmering through my veins.
“Giovanni Agosti.” He made an exaggerated bow while flashing me a smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, you’re single.”
He flashed another smile, even as his green eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”
Running out of patience and pissed off that I’d let myself get taken, I ran through what I knew of the men in the mafia. I didn’t recall hearing of Giovanni Agosti, but couldn’t shake off the feeling that I should have.
“Mateo Agosti,” I blurted. “Any relation?”
“My uncle.”
My brows furrowed and I gritted my teeth. “He runs the Italian mafia in Boston,” I remarked. “How is he connected to the Tijuana cartel?”
“He isn’t.” He watched me like a hawk. “I am. Santiago Tijuana’s my uncle.” I nodded but didn’t say anything else, not knowing what to say or ask without exposing how little I knew about the Agosti family and their criminal empire. He chuckled softly. “You aren’t going to ask me for details? After all, it’s a well-kept secret.”
I tilted my chin, watching him pensively. There were so many damn secrets in the underworld; I’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. At the end of the day, it came down to right and wrong, and our choices. Our lineage wasn’t something we had control over.
Finally, I shook my head. “No. I have enough of my own crosses to bear. What do Perez Cortes and your uncle want with me?” I asked instead, studiously observing him.
“You caused my uncle quite the headache. Do you even know how much he would have made from those women?”
“Innocent women.” I gritted my teeth, not seeing the use in denying my involvement. They had me—the jig was up. “Some underage.”
Giovanni sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. “If you would have waited, I’d have taken care of it.”
My heart stilled as I stared at him, my eyebrows shooting to my hairline. “Elaborate,” I demanded.
He waved his hand in dismissal. “It’s a moot point now. My uncle was going to punish you.” He didn’t need to elaborate for me to understand what he meant. Like I said, men were pigs. “Then he was going to hand you over to Perez Cortes for his upcoming auction.”
“Auction?” I repeated flatly, not trusting him enough to reveal what I knew. This auction topic had been thrown around a lot lately, and I was sick and tired of hearing about it. Then there was the whole thing of me being tossed on the chopping block.
“He’s been collecting notable daughters of prominent figures, mafia princesses from families that have fucked him over.” The unspoken word hung in the air. He knew I fucked Cortes over, rescuing innocent girls from his trafficking ring.
My hands curled into fists. I wished I could get my hands on Perez Cortes and wring his neck. Destroy his whole operation from within.
And this was my chance. Possibly my only chance.
I squared my shoulders and looked up to find Giovanni Agosti watching me, his eyes hard, dangerous. But still, something told me he wasn’t anything like his uncle.
“Are you involved in human trafficking?”
“I’m not. There are plenty of women who want to work in that industry, why would I go through the trouble?”
I pulled my arms across my chest and jutted out my chin. He wasn’t wrong, and I had to hand it to him for acknowledging a woman’s right to choose how to live her life. “Now, Giovanni Agosti,” I started with a smug expression. There was no way in hell I’d be going back to Russia to deal with my mother now, and I was done being a puppet. “How would you like me to kill your uncle and, in turn, you deliver me to Perez Cortes?”
“That’s an interesting proposition,” he remarked, his eyes flaring. If he was surprised, he wasn’t letting it show. “Tell me more.”
And that was how the most unlikely of alliances was made.
Chapter 25Liana
Giovanni had parked his Land Rover in front of the Georgetown manor that was bought on the backs of human trafficking victims. Literally.
“Stop smiling,” Giovanni reprimanded.
I rolled my eyes, raising my bound hands. “Relax, freak. This will work.”
His eyes blazed with annoyance. “Not if you’re smiling like you’re happy to be here,” he growled.
“Would you rather I cried?”
“No. But at least act scared so he’s not suspicious.”
My “captor” didn’t seem to have a rich imagination. Giovanni liked my plan but didn’t want me executing it. As if he could ever be the one to do it. First, he had a dick. Second, Santiago was his uncle.
Case closed.
“Just get me in,” I muttered. “I have a knife tucked under my shirt. Once I’m alone with him in the bedroom, you get rid of the guards.”
He shook his head. “I cannot risk him—”
I cut him off with an exasperated breath. “He won’t rape me. I’ll never let it get that far.”
My voice betrayed none of the anxiety I felt inside. I’d gotten good at hiding my emotions. From the looks of it, Giovanni was an expert too. I could practically see his mask slide into place, his face all harsh lines and hard angles.
“Once you end him, take the servants’ stairs. There’s a door underneath that will lead you to the side street. Wait for me there.”
I rolled my eyes again. “You’ve got to learn to say please.”
Without answering, he exited the car, slammed the door, then came around. I bit the inside of my cheek, my heart reeling with so many emotions. Santiago Tijuana was the last man to see my sister alive. He owed me an answer and a life.
Today, we’d settle the score. I only wished I could take my time and make him wail like a pig for days on end.
The passenger door opened, Giovanni’s body hiding me, and I opened my mouth so he could gag me. There’s a first, I thought drily. He was lucky I was desperate to get my hands on his uncle.
“This better work,” he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips while securing the gag.
I blinked, communicating to him that it would. It had to.
Giovanni threw me over his shoulder—the man had some serious caveman energy—then made his way to the gate that surrounded a charming little mansion with a monster inside.
There had been guards all around, but nobody reacted to seeing me manhandled. It would seem this was a regular occurrence.
Showtime.
I started kicking, my muffled protest barely audible as I fought against the man who was delivering me to the cartel that killed my sister. God knew my mother played the video enough times while torturing me.
As my phony captor made his way into the manor, my half-assed attempt to struggle against Giovanni convinced the guards that I wasn’t here of my own free will.
This plan would work.
“Boss’s nephew is here,” one of the guards spoke into his earpiece. “Alert him.”