Wordlessly, I stretch my arms towards him, familiar with this game. Seventeen-years-old, and I’m fucking familiar with handcuffs for doing non-existent crimes.
Unless having interests beyond weapons and fighting are a crime, then I’ve done plenty.
Jakob leads me fifty paces down the stone hallway, past twelve other prisoners, who leer in interest as we pass. One hand lightly rests on my shoulder, pointlessly directing me to the singular room where prisoners are ever removed to.
The dining hall, because on this side of the prison, they stick the convicts together for short socialization stretches. I’m convinced we’re entertainment for the guards.Thisis half the reason Papa locks me up. He knows what actually goes on.
As we approach, the shouting from inside makes my skull feel like it’ll vibrate from my neck.
If only.If it did, this would be over.
Jakob’s grim look is back when he uncuffs me and opens the door. The others would shove me into the room like I’m a fighter in a paid match, so Jakob’s unwillingness makes him my preferred guard.
“Sorry, kid,” he murmurs before shutting the door.
No one cares about a teenager being locked inside a room full of criminals who’re at least a decade older. No one cares if I even survive except Anastasia and Dimitri, maybe Vanessa.
In one way, I suppose my stays are doing exactly what Papa wants. They’re making me hardened, turning me into a fighter—a survivor.
It’s the reason for the sun tattoo on my ribs, meant to represent the numerous prison trips. After surviving this one, a fifth will be added to it.
There’s twelve men in the room, five of whom turn their attention towards me.
One step, two, then three, before men come up behind me. The snarl in my ear curls my stomach. It’s all about dominance; they won’t hesitate to beat someone down, which means standing up to them to survive.
“Your boss pissed off the wrong people,” a strange accent whispers in my ear. Italian. That’s interesting. Different for these parts.
A sharp pain stabs through my left shoulder, making me stagger to the side. I refuse to go down, needing to ignore the pain until returned to my cell, to appear unbothered even as my body cries to be checked out.
With a resigned sigh, I turn to the five of them with a fist, slamming it into my attacker’s face.
2
SERAFINA
What the actual fuck?
If getting kidnapped, tied to a chair, and forced to see my brother captured wasn’t bad enough, then everything that came after was a massive nightmare I’m dying to wake up from.
Just when believing everything would be okay, when one of Vanessa’s guys untied Zeno and propelled me to safety, him getting shotfor meshouldn’t have happened.
Lev.His name is Lev. That’s what Vanessa shouted seconds before he yanked me out of the way, taking the offending bullet himself. It wasn’t long before realizing if he didn’t move me aside, the bullet would have gone through my head. The trajectory of the weapon and the height difference would have led to fatal consequences.
My insides screech at me to stop, to process, but the stranger working with Vanessa Volkov, my recently discovered half-sister, who saved my life and got injured doing so, needs me more.
His injury is nearly laughable in a cruel, ironic way, because everyone around me gets hurt.
Always a burden. Never helpful.
Madre gave up being a Cosa Nostra wife to raise me, and her life forever changed.
Zeno gives up so many of his resources—and his patience—for me.
Even Nero, his best friend and my honorary brother, gives me endless spare hours of his time, ensuring to be around when Zeno can’t.
Today, Vanessa nearly gave up her organization to save me and Zeno. Lev gave up his health.
I hate this more than anything, but since ensuring Lev got safely to the car was all I can do, my determination drove me to do it to the best of my abilities.
