"Why?" The question bursts out of me. "Why use these methods to have a woman who doesn't want you? What kind of man forces?—"
"I don't care if you want me." His voice drops to something darker, more dangerous. "Your wants are irrelevant. You were payment for a deal, collateral for an alliance. Francesco understood this. Your husband understands this. Even you understand this, or you wouldn't have run to the Sartoris in the first place."
He's three feet away now.
"I'll take you one way or another, Sophia. You can come quietly, with dignity. Or I can drag you out of here over your friend's body. The choice is yours, but the outcome remains the same."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. Somewhere under this bed is my knife. Somewhere in this city is Lorenzo. But right now, in this moment, I'm alone with a monster who's already killed my best friend.
I need to get him closer. Close enough to strike.
"You're pathetic." The words taste like acid on my tongue. "A real man wouldn't need a gun to handle one woman."
Daniil's eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn't move.
I push harder. "No wonder Francesco thought you needed help. You can't even manage this without waving that thing around like a scared little boy."
His jaw tightens. Still not close enough.
"Lorenzo was right about you." I don't know what Lorenzo said about anyone, but that gets a reaction. His knuckles whiten around the gun. "He said you were all talk. That underneath all that Russian bravado, you're just another weak?—"
He lunges forward, grabbing for my arm.
Now.
My hand flies up, smacking his wrist hard. The gun slips from his fingers, clattering across Marina's hardwood floor.
For one heartbeat, we both freeze. His pale eyes shift, the false civility vanishing like smoke. What stares back at me isn't human anymore—it's pure, undiluted evil.
He didn't expect me to fight.
His hand cracks across my cheek with enough force to snap my head sideways. White stars explode across my vision. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
Before I can recover, his hands are on my shoulders, shoving hard. I hit the mattress, bouncing once before his weight pins me down. Some hundred pounds of muscle crushing the air from my lungs.
No. Not like this.
My nails rake down his face, drawing blood. Four red lines bloom across his cheek.
"Bitch!" He touches his face, fingers coming away red. "I was going to wait until we were in my bedroom. Was going to tie youproperly, like the dog you are." His accent thickens with rage. "But you pushed too far."
One massive hand wraps around my throat, pressing down. Not enough to kill but enough to make breathing difficult. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
His other hand moves to my waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans.
"No!" I thrash beneath him, bucking my hips, trying to throw him off. My free hand claws at his face again, aiming for his eyes.
He jerks his head back, avoiding my fingers, and increases the pressure on my throat. "Keep fighting, zayka. I like it better this way."
The button of my jeans pops open. I grab his wrist with both hands, trying to pry his fingers from my throat, but he's too strong. The zipper slides down.
My knee comes up hard, aiming for his groin, but he shifts his weight, blocking me with his thigh. He yanks at my jeans, the denim catching on my hips.
"Get off me!" The words come out strangled, barely audible through his grip on my throat.
He pulls harder at my jeans, the fabric burning against my skin as he forces them down. I twist violently, using every ounce of strength Lorenzo's training gave me, but Daniil's size advantage is too much.
The jeans slide past my hips.
