Yes, we did. I made a bargain with the devil, and something tells me no matter how much I want to pretend it didn’t happen, he always collects.
8
Mikhail
Pain spreads through my body like hot water defrosting live flesh. Two guards—Idiot A and Idiot B—drag me out of the basement, each gripping one of my arms. They dislocated my shoulder the other day, and it still hurts like a motherfucker, even if I snapped it back in place since. Something in my back really fucking hurts too. Probably my kidney.
But Antonio has finally come back, and after many failed attempts at getting me to talk, they finally understood what I’m made of. The only way they’ll get something out of me is if they take me where the fuck I asked in the first place.
It’s not that I’m not enjoying the progress of my stunt, because I am, but the bloated fossil sure does like to take his sweet time. I must have gotten here a week ago, and other than seeing sweet Cecilia a few times, nothing much has happened. I’m bored out of my goddamn mind.
When Idiot B opens the door at the top of the stairs, a wave of light hits my face, resurfacing a throbbing headache. My eyes squeeze at the corners as I force them to adjust. Everything is too fucking white—a stark contrast to the gloomy house I grew up in on the East Coast.
As they drag me through the space, I take in the walls, the arched doorways split by the large windows overlooking the gardens and the ocean. There’s not a neighbor in sight. Much like our family, the Ferraras have found their own secluded hiding spot. I wish I saw the look on Antonio’s face when he heard I’d broken in like walking into a mall.
A breeze coming from somewhere ahead skitters through my thick hair, warm and salty, and I indulge myself with a deep, delicious breath. Freedom is so close, I can almost taste it.
I’m taken into a large living area, where the main staircase swirls upward towards the next floor. My lips twitch, knowing who’s up there right now, in her pristine bedroom with silk sheets and garments she has no business wearing when she sleeps. Considering she’s both a prudeanda virgin, I mean.
It’s how she came to me that morning with her sorry-ass guard, wearing nothing but a flimsy nightgown and that fucking gorgeous wavy hair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she wore that on purpose, but sheltered girls like her feel shame throbbing between their legs, not pleasure.
For now, at least.
I wasthisclose to scooping Enzo’s eyes out of his skull for seeing her like that, but then she begged—begged—me for his life, and it brought me back to my senses. As delicious as my enemy’s daughter is, I can’t let myself get off track. She’s nothing more than a piece of the puzzle and a pretty face to look at. So, I let the asshole go, and I won myself a cigarette instead.
“Keep fucking walking,” Idiot A mutters in my ear as I tear my eyes away from that staircase.
We stop in front of what’s probably Antonio’s office door. They let go of my arms and step away before I feel the cold metal of a gun pressed to the back of my head.
“You try anything, you die.”
I almost laugh. I’m not fucking superman—my wrists are cuffed, and so are my ankles. Getting up here sucked. The gun barrel presses a little further into my flesh, and I move my head from side to side.
“Scratching an itch,” I explain. “So, shouldIopen the door, or…?”
Idiot B—or A, I don’t care at this point—grunts, walking past me to knock. Antonio’s gruff voice tells him to come in. And when the door opens, my future father-in-law sits at his mighty desk like a king, his stomach round with Italian meats and cheeses of undoubtedly the highest quality. Next to him stands hisconsigliere, who’s eyeing me with disdain.
The gun hits me in that same spot, harder this time. “Move.”
I straighten, cracking my neck with my eyes closed, basking in the muscle tension relief before entering the office.
“Hm. You never know what a famous criminal’s office looks like. My father’s is so dark. Yours looks like a piece of heaven. All…white.” If my nose wasn’t swollen, I’d scrunch it. I look around the room, pretending to care, before setting my gaze on Antonio’s. “A bit ironic, isn’t it?”
The Don’s eyes—brown and expressive, like Cecilia’s—blink with cold amusement under his short, grizzled hair. I plop down in the chair across from him, loving the look of disgust on his face as I smear his posh furniture with basement grime.
“Unlike the likes of you, we still have faith in our hearts,” Antonio says, touching the cross pendant of his thick gold necklace. “God Almighty listens to our prayers, criminals or not.”
Go figure.
“You sound delusional, but I mean, my fatherisa pessimist, so…” I shrug, crossing my ankle over my knee. Leaning back, I savor the feel of the cushioned chair pressing into my aching muscles. I can’t fucking wait to go home.
“Maybe he’s right to be,” Antonio adds. “I’ve got his progeny down in my basement. What could be worse than that? You look rough, son.” He points a finger at what has to be an ugly fucking scar on the right side of my face by the way it stings.
I nod, mimicking his amusement like we’re in a game of chess and this is the opening. “About that. I don’t appreciate being summoned on a whim. Didn’t have time to wash off the grime.”
A short laugh—followed by a longer one—rumbles from Antonio’s chest. He looks at Cesare, who isn’t finding any of this funny. Instead, theconsigliereis silent, analyzing me like I have a bomb in my mouth.
“Well, we’re here now. So why don’t you tell me what the fuck you want before we slit your throat?” Antonio’s smile drops. “Idon’t appreciate having Russian filth in my house.”
