Just as I’m about to toss Sandro out of my office, Anya leaps up and throws herself into his arms. “It’s you,” she cries.
My eyes meet Sandro’s over her head, fury building in my chest.
What the actual hell?
I know this woman’s history and if Sandro knows her from her “work” he’s not the man I thought he was.
He pats her back awkwardly, then grabs her shoulders and gently moves her away from him.
“Te spas menya,”she says. “You saved me.” She turns back to look at me, her face flush with something other than grief for the first time. “This man. He save us from the Bratva.”
I see the moment Sandro recognizes her and his expression softens. He gives her a hint of a smile and a nod.
My arms are crossed. I’m so confused. “Ah, Anya. Let’s go ahead and call it a day, okay?”
“Yes.” She turns before she leaves and smiles at me, and it’s a genuine smile. It feels like I just witnessed a miracle.
I’m speechless as I stare at Sandro, my mind spinning. “How do you know Anya?”
He glances around the room, sees my bag hanging from the corner hook. “We’ll talk in the car, let’s go.” He grabs my bag and then my hand as he pulls me toward the door.
“Sandro, I can’t just leave,” I protest, trying to pry my hand from his. “I have two more clients.”
“Tell Venessa to cancel them. This is an emergency.” He leads me through the door and down the hall. I’ve given up struggling. His fingers are laced through mine and his grip is too tight. He parks me in front of Venessa’s desk and raises an eyebrow at me.
“Bossy much?” I whisper. Then I release a defeated sigh. “Venessa, I have an emergency. Please reschedule my last two appointments.” Before she can respond, Sandro is dragging me out the front door. There’s a black sports car parked at the curb. He opens the passenger door and bundles me inside.
I’m staring at his profile as he hits the gas. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror every few seconds, his jaw clenched.
His anxiety is contagious. “I need to know how Anya knows you.”
“It’s just like she said. We… liberated her and a few other trafficked women from a Bratva whorehouse.” His large hand has a tight grip on the leather-wrapped steering wheel as he takes a sharp right and accelerates.
I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling conflicted. Relief is the dominant emotion. I’m not naive. I know the mafia trafficks women. But it’s a relief to know he’s not involved in that, anyway. But at the same time, I'm not naïve enough to believe that liberation came without bloodshed.
“Okay, so why are you kidnapping me from my work?”
One side of his mouth quirks up as he shoots me a heated glance. A low “hmm” vibrates in his throat and goes straight to my core. “Maybe it’s one of my fantasies. To barge into your life, throw you over my shoulder and tie you up in my bed to use however I wish.”
I squeeze my thighs together. This is a very inappropriate time to get turned on. “Sandro,” I try to sound stern, but my voice comes out as a squeak. “This is serious.”
He chuckles then his smile disappears. “Yes, it is. I’m afraid Giada has given you up to the Bratva. We’ve learned their plan is to take you to control me. So, I have to protect you until we finish this and get them out of Tampa.”
My gut clenches and I begin to tremble. The Bratva. The people who murdered my mother. “Why me?”
He reaches over and lays a large, tattooed hand on my thigh and squeezes. The warmth soaks through my slacks. His voice is raw and low. “Because you are the one thing I would give up everything for.”
The world seems to stop spinning as I stare at him in disbelief. His face blurs as tears well up. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” I whisper.
I turn away and stare out the window. It’s a lie. If he meant it, he’d give up the one thing keeping us apart. The mafia.
He sighs, understanding. “Everything in my power,angelo mio.The family I was born into isn’t in my power.” His eyes dart to the rearview mirror and his jaw clenches. “Fuck. Have you noticed a black Mercedes following you?”
My heart rate picks up. I turn to look at him and my eyes widen.
“San—” my scream is cut off by the impact of a white SUV slamming into Sandro’s door. A loud bang and screeching metal. Shattering glass. The airbag punches me in the face. The car is on its side, sliding, the scream of metal deafening. It hits a curb and stops. Tips back on its wheels with a severe jolt. I can hear my breathing in my ears. Voices shouting far away.
The airbag has deflated. Smoke fills the car. I slowly turn my neck and see Sandro slumped in the seat unmoving, blood running down his face. “Sandro,” I whimper.Is he just unconscious?Or… no.
