Surprise flickers across his face at my little show of backbone. Then his lips curve into that grin that doesn’t touch his eyes.
“You don’t really think this is about just the money, do you?” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “This is bigger than that. A few million in diamonds?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth dismissively. “Those diamonds are a war chest. They can buy loyalty. Destroy families. Build empires. Wipe the Kozlovs off the map and secure my family’s position.”
As he speaks, he scrutinizes me for any reaction, any tell.
I neutralize my expression, using the same tactic as when students ask inappropriate questions in the bathroom lines.
“You are a piece in that game. Tell me where the diamonds are, and I can move you off the board. You’ll go back to your little suburban world. Your classroom. Students. Your nurse friend.” Dread crawls over my skin when he utters that lastsentence. He knows about my life. About Bree. “Pretend none of this ever happened.”
I avert my gaze, not trusting myself to speak.
Gio sighs in a theatrical display of disappointment that has me tensing as he stands. “I was truly hoping we wouldn’t have to get to the messy part.” He smooths his suit jacket with manicured hands and glances at me almost sadly. “You don’t deserve this. Butcosì è la vita.”
Frigid terror ices my blood. What’s he going to do? Cut off my fingers? Brand me? Break me piece by piece until I reveal everything?
He doesn’t come for me.
Instead, he walks to a steel table set against the far wall.
He unrolls a leather toolkit reminiscent of the kind mechanics use for their most expensive tools, leisurely laying out the contents so I can get a good look.
Blowtorch, pliers, tile nippers, and other heavy steel implements that I’ve never seen before.
My stomach lurches. I press a hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
Gio’s hands move with the delicate care of a surgeon as he arranges his instruments of torture. He doesn’t glance at me or speak.
The silence holds more terror than any threat.
When he finally focuses on me again, his expression gentles, appearing almost compassionate and understanding. Completely at odds with the array of promised pain displayed behind him.
“Unless you force my hand, this isn’t for you.”
Relief floods me, quickly followed by confusion.
If not for me, then who?
“Tell me where the diamonds are, and I’ll only take a few fingers.” His matter-of-fact tone better suits a discussion about the weather. “Don’t, and I’ll start with his eyes.”
The world stops spinning.
His?
My gaze tracks Gio’s to a heavy metal door on the far side of the room, where two men stand guard, their faces covered by black balaclavas and their hands resting on holstered weapons.
The implication that Kolya is behind that door is clear.
I watched him go down fighting amid crashes and grunts of pain. I have no way of knowing if they captured him, too, but I heard multiple vehicles on the drive over.
The world narrows to a single point.
All fear for myself vanishes, burned away by a white-hot, protective rage. I see Kolya’s hands. The hands that broke a man’s wrist for me and cradled me while I came apart. His eyes, dark and fierce and intense, seeing me when no one else ever has.
No. You will not touch him.
The terror shifts to an unnerving calm. I feel like I’m floating somewhere above my body as this scene plays out from a distance.
My heart rate slows. My breathing steadies. The shaking stops. My voice, when it comes, is quiet, level, and utterly out of place in this concrete hell. It’s the same disappointed voice I use when a five-year-old is about to throw a toy.
