Maybe this isn’t a safe house at all. Maybe this is actually a torture chamber and the woman in line ahead of me is getting worked over as we speak.
Except Alessio looks every bit as surprised as I am.
His dark brows snap down. “What the fuck?”
He starts to stalk in the direction of the sound, down the hall beyond the living room area, behind one of the closed doors. I have no idea what’s going on, but my curiosity won’t allow me to wait here where it’s probably safest. I set down Cid’s carrier and follow Alessio as more screams ring out, followed by something that sounds a whole lot like an irate Russian woman who’s threatening to stab someone in the eye.
“I thought you said the Russians wouldn’t find us here,” I call after him, feeling my rate of nervousness triple.
“The Russians don’t have a clue about this place,” he calls back grimly. “But my brother does.”
I only have to wonder which brother he means for a grand total of about three seconds, because a door pops open and Scorpion emerges, scratches on his cheek. He doesn’t look at all concerned by the incensed woman in the room behind him, who continues to holler and issue threats.
“Frattore mio,” Scorpion greets Alessio, grinning like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“What the hell is going on?” Alessio demands by way of greeting.
From the room, a distinctly Russian voice cries out, “I will saw off your balls with a butter knife, boil them while you watch, and then feed them to pigs.”
“Charming, isn’t she?” Scorpion asks, unperturbed.
“Scorpion,” Alessio says, his tone filled with warning.
“What?” His brother’s tone is carefully innocent.
More shrieks follow from the room.
Alessio sighs and presses his fingers to his temples like he’s staving off a headache. “Tell me that’s not the Sidorov sister I just heard threatening to castrate you with a butter knife.”
“I would tell you that if I could,” Scorpion hedges, not looking sorry at all. “But I can’t.”
“You brought the sister here?” Alessio demands, his voice booming.
“Yup.”
“To our fucking safe house?”
Scorpion nods again. “Yup.”
Alessio taps the side of his brother’s head. “Is there anything fucking in here? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me is that those Russian bastards blew up our fucking restaurant,” Scorpion says, his face going expressionless. “They’ve been following your woman around, and then they handcuffed her to your bed like she was a criminal.”
I’m drinking all this in as it unfolds, so overwhelmed that I miss part of what he just said. I thought it sounded a whole lot like Scorpion called me Alessio’s woman. Which, of course, I’m not. He must have said something else. Besides, I wouldn’t even want to be referred to that way. I’m my own woman, thank youvery much. Even if the most primitive part of me secretly finds it a little thrilling to be called Alessio’s, I’ll never admit it out loud.
“She’s not my woman,” Alessio growls, shattering any illusion I might have had that he was catching feelings for me.
I don’t want that anyway.
I don’t fit into this insane world of theirs. Of his. I’m a professor. I wasn’t built for a life of crime. For evading police and enemies and hiding in underground Mafia bunkers.
“If you say so,” Scorpion says. “Look, they’ve been fucking with us. They deserve everything that’s coming to them and more.”
He’s talking about the Bratva.
The woman who’s locked in the room begins shouting obscenities, her English blending into Russian, which is just as well because none of the words I can understand are particularly nice.
“We don’t involve women and children,” Alessio is telling his brother. “You know the fucking rules.”
