“Why this way?” I ask. “Who are you?”
“Because we have some mutual acquaintances, no?” His smile fades. “Think of me as a friend of the family.”
“Friends of the family don’t kill guards and sneak into bedrooms.”
He makes a tsking sound. “Yes, but this isn’t just any family, is it?”
My mind whirls with the question of how I can get myself out of this situation alive. I need to get my hands on a weapon. Maybe if I hit him over the head with something from behind…
“Can I at least get dressed before we talk?” I ask, thinking that if I can be alone for a few minutes, I can find something in the bedroom to use.
Maybe I can make a noise to lure him in here and attack him. Hopefully Alessio has something in his walk-in closet that might be of use.
But the Russian monster looming over me shakes his head. “I’m afraid there isn’t time for that.”
“Why not?”
He laughs again, like this is all child’s play to him—amusing entertainment. “Because your knight in shining armor is on his way here to save you right now, and I’m not in the mood to get shot today.”
Alessio is on his way here? My instant relief at hearing he’s coming for me is tempered by the cold, unflinching stare of the intruder. The last thing I want is for this psycho to harm Alessio in some way. Is the Russian planning an ambush? Oh my God, I need to get ahold of Alessio somehow, to let him know to watch his back.
I swallow hard, keenly aware that my cell phone is sitting on the nightstand by the bed. It’s within reach, but I don’t want to make a move too quickly and risk getting caught. This man coulddo anything to me, and then Alessio would come rushing in here, totally unaware, a lamb for the slaughter.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” the Russian drawls. “I’d hate to have to break your pretty little fingers.”
My breath catches. “I’m not trying anything.”
“I didn’t come here to argue with you, Isla Davenport, most recently of Iowa, professor of creative writing with a focus on Victorian literature and short stories. I came here to give you a message.”
The more he reveals he knows about me, the more my heart rate speeds up. He wants me to know there was no mistake about this visit. He knows exactly who I am. The realization is horrifying, compounded by the fact that I know this man must be a member of the Russian Mafia, as ruthless and deadly as they come.
How the hell did I get myself into this mess?
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, my tone placating, because the last thing I want to do is make this monster angry. “I’ll do whatever you want, I promise. Just, please, don’t hurt anyone else.”
“Very good,” he says. “Now, I want you to listen closely to what I’m about to tell you. I want you to remember it—every fucking word—and then I want you to tell it to Saint Andriani when he comes rushing through that door. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes. I understand.”
I’m still clutching the duvet and sheet in a death grip, my hands trembling. I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life. All I can do is hope that he doesn’t harm me, and that he doesn’t do anything to Alessio either.
“Good.” He leans down so we’re eye to eye. “You tell him that Pakhan knows Andriani soldiers are responsible for getting some of our innocent brothers arrested and shutting down an operation that was very, very profitable. Because the Andrianistook something from us, we have to take from them. Pakhan will be in touch with options.”
I swallow hard, trying to commit everything he just said to memory. “Okay.”
“Repeat it to me,” he commands.
“Y-you want me to tell Alessio that the Andrianis are responsible for getting some of your men arrested.”
“Mmm. And what else?”
“That they shut down one of your businesses that was profitable, and now you’re going to take something from the Andrianis, like they took from you. That Pakhan will be in touch.”
“With options,” he prods.
“With options,” I repeat.
“We won’t be taking no for an answer.” He stares at me, unsmiling, a venomous snake about to strike at any second.
