“I wouldn’t know. It was my brother who talked to him,” he says quietly.
I swallow hard as another realization hits. If I’m in Moscow, that means I’m deep inBratvaterritory.
Shit. Shit. Shit. My parents must be losing their minds, not to mention Marcello and Annamaria.
“I need to make a phone call.”
“That can wait. You need your rest.”
“Kirill, give me a fucking phone. Now.”
He grumbles something Russian under his breath, gets up from the bed, and grabs his phone from a chair in the corner. That’s when I notice the pillow and blanket there.
Has he been sleeping in this room? Watching over me? How long have I even been out? I reluctantly shove those questions aside when he hands me his phone. I dial Annamaria’s number first. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hi, Anna.”
“Oh, my God, Stella! Are you alright?”
“I am. I promise you that I am. Please don’t worry. I’m fine.”
Just the sound of my voice seems to make her breathe easier. “Thank God. Mom and our dads have been losing their minds—especially Father. I’ve never heard him yell so much since… Well, since ever. The house is in shambles since you guys were kidnapped. Are you sure you’re alright?”
You guys?Wait… who else is in Russia with me? Still, I don’t ask her. Not now. It’ll only make her panic more.
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” I lie smoothly. “Listen, I can’t stay on the phone long, but I want you to tell Marcello not to do anything stupid. I’ve got this handled. Can you do that for me, sis?”
“Of course,” she says with conviction. “Just please come home safe. I’ve been so worried.”
“I know you have. But don’t worry. The Petrovs are treating me very well. It’s all good. I’ll be home soon enough.”
“Okay… I love you.”
“I love you too.” My voice cracks at the end, hating that my family is suffering because of me. Because of him.
When I hand the phone back to Kirill, his eyes stay fixed on me.
“Who else is here with me?” I ask point-blank.
“Luciano.”
“Lucky? Why?”
“Because he wouldn’t leave Kira behind. He wouldn’t leave you behind.”
“Kira? Who the hell are you talking about?” I ask, irritated and confused.
“Kira is my niece,” Kirill explains patiently. “But you know her as Frankie.”
And just like that, the pieces start falling into place, like a puzzle I’d been too close to see clearly until now.
The bracelet. When we went to Little Russia with that picture of the bracelet, we led them straight to Frankie. I ledthem right to Frankie. Kirill was working me all this time. What a fool I’ve been.
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” he says, his tone almost reassuring.
“I want to talk to my brother,” I cut in coldly.
“Stella—”
