Oh, God. No. If they figure it out, I might as well sign my own death warrant.
The man pauses, his dark eyes glaring, and when he presses a button, running the scanner again, it makes the same sound at the back of my neck. The blood instantly drains from my face.
He turns toward the others. “Uniyo shtota yest.”
The second man flings a hand toward me, his tone cold and impatient. “Nu davay, vitishi.”
Terror claws up my throat.What the hell are they saying?
The man with the scanner slips a hand into his pocket, and my heartbeat slams so hard against my ribs, it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out. When he pulls out a small flip knife and snaps it open with a click, the room tilts, my stomach pitching as fear rushes through me so fast it makes my skin go cold.
“Wait.” I scramble back as far as the chair allows. “Please. Don’t.”
Sudden footsteps echo from the hall, getting louder, and the men turn toward the sound as though waiting for whoever is coming to give them an order.
An older man appears in the doorway a moment later, tall and lean, black hair streaked with gray, a soft smile resting on his face as he takes me in. It should look kind, almost welcoming, but there’s something menacing in his eyes that turns my stomach.
Is he their boss?
“It is so good to finally meet you,” he says, his voice accented in Italian, maybe Sicilian.
“Who are you?”
But he ignores me when the Russian men approach.
“We found tracker in her.” The man gestures toward me.
“Inher? What do you mean?”
“In back of neck.” He points to the back of his own.
The old man sighs, shaking his head. “Ah. That is very unfortunate.”
As soon as he says that, my heart races.
He raises a single finger, and two of the men seize my arms, pressing me back against the chair.
“No, please, don’t do this!”
Panic slices through me, and when the third moves forward with the knife, I fight them, kicking, screaming, trying to get their grip off.
But it’s no use. They’re too strong.
The older man pulls a chair across from me, lowering himself with unhurried ease, as though this is entertainment. When the blade lands at the back of my neck, his gaze stays locked on me, a small, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth.
White-hot pain bursts through me as soon as the knife slices into me, spreading like fire beneath my skin. I scream until my voice cracks, the sound almost animalistic.
“There, there,” he says, almost like he’s soothing a child. “You’re fine.”
Blood runs warm down my shoulder, the knife scraping, digging. When they’re through, one shows him a small circular device, the size of a rice grain.
“It seems your husband enjoyed tracking you like you’re his property. You should thank me for fixing that for you.”
When he gets to his feet, stepping nearer, the scent of his woodsy cologne makes my stomach turn. I can’t stop shaking. Tears stream down my face, my breaths coming in short broken gasps. One of the men presses gauze against my neck, so hard it hurts.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I spit out between clenched teeth.
The man’s eyes soften. “Ah, so direct. I like that very much.” He pulls his chair forward until it’s right in front of me. “My name is Elio. But before we talk about what I want, perhaps I should tell you a story.”
