Carlo breaks off to go report to Nino as Frankie and I take the stairs to the basement.
“Boss?”
I’m not used to the title, so a few moments elapse before I answer. “Yes, Frankie?”
“What makes you think the executor is still alive? Nino was planning on killing you, and you’re his sister.”
“If he’s alive, it’s likely only because there’s another copy of the amended will somewhere that Nino doesn’t have access to yet.”
“Right.”
In the hallway on our way to the cells, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Unknown Caller.
I almost send it straight to voicemail…but a tickle at the base of my spine compels me to answer.
I flip the green icon and hold the phone to my ear.
“Caterina?” the voice asks. “This is Brody Gallagher.”
Chapter 36
Connor
When I was sixteen, Declan left me overnight in the hands of the enemy. Teaching me a lesson, he claimed at the time.
We were supposed to intercept a shipment at the docks. I accompanied three other enforcers and was armed to the teeth. I knew my way around our docks, but I wasn’t prepared to fight twelve guys to our four. We lost all three enforcers, and our enemies kidnapped me for ransom.
Declan had the power and the means to pay them off right away and get me back to the estate. Instead, he left me with them for thirty-six hours. For most of that time, my hands stayed above my head, chained to a rafter.
The physical strain in that situation is real.
First, the numbness and tingling starts, evolving into a painful ache that radiates from deep inside your rotator cuffs. Eventually, the agony reaches your collarbone and works its way down your spine before spreading to every inch of your body. I swear, even my asshole throbbed. My fucking toenails. My earlobes.
When you finally get free, your arms behave like phantom limbs. They’re swollen and explode with a million pinpricksof needlelike pain, pure torture from nerve compression and restored blood flow.
Belinski transferred me from the hardwood bed to a standing position inside the weird building that functions as their office, where he chained my arms over my head.
Thanks for the walk down memory lane, you giant douche.
It hasn’t been thirty-six hours, though. Maybe…two?
Still, I’m no longer a teenager, and I could do without two Russian thugs treating me as a punching bag.
A cut inside my cheek bleeds, trickling a rusty flavor down my throat. One guy just keeps hitting me everywhere. His strikes are so misdirected, he might as well be blindfolded. If this continues, I’ll wind up with more bruises than an overripe banana.
The other guy returns to the torture table, apparently deciding to trade his fist for Belinski’s trusty pipe.
Before he can grab the weapon, his brain explodes like a piñata.
Fucking spectacular.
Brody.
It’s about time, bro.
When Finn bursts through the door, the other Russian spins, and Finn topples him with a bullet to the chest.
