“You’re awake. I didn’t think you’d be up until morning,” Raze states with surprise as he appears from behind a half-wall carrying a glass of water and a plate piled high with food. His heavy boots eat up the shabby carpet in three long strides, and he takes a seat in the equally worn captain’s chair across from the sofa.
Glancing down at the meal as he leans forward and places it on the wooden coffee table, my stomach growls loudly at the sight of the sandwiches and fruit, reminding me I haven’t eaten in quite some time. His eyes flit from my face, over to the plate, then back over to me, before he furrows his brow with frustration.
“If you wouldn’t have acted like a brat earlier and thrown your dinner against the wall, you wouldn’t be so hungry,” he scolds, picking up half of the sandwich and offering it to me with an outstretched arm.
Without thinking twice, I sit up and accept it, taking a big bite, desperate to pacify the empty feeling inside my stomach. “I don’t like Italian food,” I mumble as I chew.
“Hmph,” he grunts as he takes a sip of the drink then thrusts it across the table toward me. “Let me guess. No Brazilian food either?”
I shake my head as I finish eating the cold cuts and rye bread then lift the glass to my lips, nearly choking as the clear liquid burns a path down my throat and into my chest. I’m not sure why I assumed it was water, but as I struggle not to breathe fire and keep my eyes from watering, I mentally add vodka to the list of things I don’t like. Not that it’ll matter if I never escape this situation alive.
“Where are we?” I ask curiously, ignoring his smirk over my reaction to the drink. “Why did we leave the other place?”
Scooting the plate of fruit over closer to me, he pops a grape in his mouth and leans back in the chair, his face now expressionless. “Word hit that the feds were notified of your disappearance and there’s a nationwide search for your whereabouts, so the first order of business has been postponed temporarily. I’m sure your old family back in Chicago will be their first visit, but since the Bratva has such a large presence in L.A., and we have known business involving the Riccis, I’m guessing they’ll be making their rounds to our properties soon enough. We are somewhere safe now, away from people, and we’ll stay here until I’m told it’s clear to return.”
At first, I’m relieved to hear someone’s looking for me and that I’m not going to have to face this Vincent thing immediately, but then I begin to panic. “But that—that could be a long time. Won’t they keep looking for me? And didn’t you realize someone would come looking for me?”
“We did,” he confirms, “but not so quickly. We thought we had until Monday morning, when you wouldn’t show up for work, to get things rolling with the plan. We knew it’d be tight, but we didn’t count on anyone missing you before that. And whoever it was knew to contact the marshals and not just the local police, because they wouldn’t have started a search for you until you were missing over a day. So that got me curious . . .”
I know the answer before I even ask the question, but I have to hear him say it. “Who? Who reported me missing?”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his thighs, his face stone-like. “Madden Decker, CEO of Decker Enterprises.”
My heart sinks at the sound of his name. Madden. God, he must be worried sick. I was stupid. So fucking stupid to get involved with anyone, knowing something like this would happen eventually. It was inevitable. Only a matter of time.
“How do you know him, girl? Is he a boyfriend?” Raze probes.
Venomous hatred surges through me as I snarl at the burly Russian then gulp down the rest of the vodka from the glass still in front of me. “You’re the fucking mafia. Don’t you people know everything?”
Amused by my outburst, his thin lips curl up in an arrogant smirk. “Usually. But you’ve been off our radar ever since you went into hiding. Believe me, we were just as surprised by the phone call we received Friday afternoon as you were to wake up in my house later that same night. Everything happened fast. We had no intel that you were even in California before the offer was made for you. And from the limited amount of research I’ve been able to do on both you and Mr. Decker, the only link I can find between the two of you is professional.”
I don’t waste any time pondering over the word offer, because my jaded anger quickly morphs into sickening fear, lurching heavy in my gut. Fear for Madden. Fear that I’ve put him in danger. Fear that he’ll end up just like my mom and brother. Carved up and left just to make a statement.
Unconsciously, I close my eyes as I wrap my arms around my waist and dig my fingernails into my sides, rocking back and forth. The familiar pain is oddly soothing. I can’t do this. I can’t do this again. I can’t have another innocent person murdered because of me. I’d rather die myself.
“How do you know him outside of your job? Why would he be looking for you on a Saturday morning?” The accent is heavy again, his deep voice full of warning, booming inside the small room. “Girl, stop playing games, or whatever you’re doing, and answer me now!”
I don’t. I keep swaying on the cushion, submerging my fingertips deeper into the flesh covering my ribs, using the pain to anchor me to reality. My wretched, fucked-up reality.
“If you don’t give me something, I’ll assume he’s just as much a fuck up as his brother is and take care of the whole fucking family,” he threatens with a malicious grin. “Easton’s been a pain in my ass for way too long now anyway.”
The mention of Madden’s brother Easton flips a switch inside my mind’s dark room of a thousand questions. The fog lifts over the missing links to the puzzle, and it’s all suddenly clear. Well, most of it.
Easton is the connection to Emerson, Madden, and the Russians. He is the reason I’m here. Though he may or may not be directly involved, it’s because of his ties to the Kabinovs that Emerson turned me in to them. I remember Madden’s conversations about the money his brother owed the Russians, and how he refused to pay off his gambling debts again. I knew then it was hitting too close to home, but I’d gotten sloppy. Too comfortable in my fake world.
I’m still unsure how they found out I was Bryleigh, but at least I have some answers. Not that it matters much as I sit here in the middle of fucking nowhere. For who knows how long. With a man twice my size, who is a trained killer. Déjà-motherfucking-vu.
“Why don’t you just kill me now?” I ask, not releasing the painful grip I have on myself. “I’m not going to kill Vincent for you, or answer any of your questions. So the worst you can do is kill me. Just do it already.”
Leaping up from the chair, he gets right up in my face, his nose pressed against mine, a wolfish grin playing at his lips. But I don’t flinch. And I don’t back down. He thinks he can scare me, but now that I’ve accepted I’m most likely going to die in the very near future, his attempts are futile. His menacing voice is a waste of breath.
“Are you that stupid, girl? Did you learn nothing when you were married to that piece of shit husband of yours about the way our world works?” Bringing his hand up between our bodies, his strong fingers circle around my neck and squeeze hard enough to make me gasp for air. “I have the ability to make you do things you thought you’d never do, and now your traitor eyes have told me exactly who I need to hurt to make you do them.”