His fingers dig into my thighs hard, holding me in place. “Such a bloodthirsty little thing.”

  “I’m not the innocent girl my father sold, Enrique. I have you to thank for that.” And in the end, he will come to regret that.

  He releases me, and I climb off him, reaching for the door. “Principessa,” he calls, just as one foot touches the tarmac outside.

  I glance back at him.

  A tinge of blood now traces his cheeks, and his breaths are uneven. “You have one week to kill him. If you do not come back to me in seven days, you will not like the consequences.”

  The threat sets my spine on edge, but truthfully, I’m surprised he’s allowing me to walk out of here at all.

  When I stumble back to Lorenzo, he looks pissed. His gaze remains fixed on the two cars, even as I approach. His expression is one of pure rage. I move past him and open the door to my car, climbing into the back. It’s only when I’m inside that I release a long breath. My hands tremble, and my pulse races. The truth is, Enrique terrifies me. The time I spent in his house, the things he did to me…they’re ingrained in my mind like a brand. I know that if Sasha is not dead in seven days, Enrique will come for me and make it his personal goal to make my life nothing but torture. What if I can’t do it?

  Sasha is still suspicious of me, I can tell. There’s no way I can kill him unless he trusts me completely. I couldn’t kill Enrique, and Sasha is far bigger, scarier, and faster. Enrique will lock me in that house like his personal sex doll.

  My chest tightens until I can barely suck in air, and then I start to panic because I can’t breathe. I can practically feel his hands around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, that sick smile on his lips. My head swims and a choked cough works up my throat. I get trapped in a cycle, unable to simply open my mouth and suck in air. The back door opens, and someone gets in the car, but I can’t look at them. Instead, I claw at my throat.

  Suddenly large hands cup my face. “Malyshka, breathe. Breathe.”

  My vision blurs through tears.

  “Look at me,” Sasha instructs.

  I meet his gaze as my entire world seems to tilt and spin, imploding piece by piece. I know this is irrational. I want to take over a mafia, and I can’t even see Enrique without having a panic attack, for God’s sake.

  “In and out. In and out.”

  I watch the deep swells of his chest as he tries to get me to breathe with him. I stare into eyes like the clearest purest water, so bottomless and beautiful in their coldness.

  “Breathe,” he whispers.

  It’s like a plug is suddenly pulled, and air rushes in on a huge gulp. It takes me several moments to breathe rhythmically, and he stares at me the entire time. Realization filters in along with the air, and embarrassment has my cheeks heating. He must think me so weak and pathetic.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod. “What happened? I couldn’t see anything clearly. The headlights were blinding.”

  I close my eyes, unable to look at him in case he sees my deception. “Enrique is alive.” Silence greets me. “He survived.”

  He releases my face, and when I open my eyes, he’s sitting back in his seat, eyes focused on the back of the headrest in front of him. “You tried to kill him and ran from him. Why has he allowed you to leave? Why aren’t you in that car, being dragged back to his house?”

  “He won’t take me against my will. Word would get out that I’m his captive wife. It’s bad for business. My sister could dispute the validity of the marriage.” I lie so easily, a half-lie really. “I have seven days to go to him.”

  A low breath hisses through Sasha’s teeth, and his head drops forward. “Damn it, Adelina.” His fist slams into the door panel, making me jump. His shoulders rise and fall on ragged breaths as he closes his eyes.

  A very real panic grips me, for no other reason than I don’t want him to pull away from me again. Shifting closer, I grip his face the same way he just held mine. His jaw twitches erratically under my palms.

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I need that inert hero complex of his to come out.

  I know Sasha. He hides beneath that layer of icy indifference, but I’ve watched him risk his life for me before. He is far more than just a soldier.

  The car doors open, and Lorenzo and one of his men get in the front. I sit back in my seat and stare out the window as the quaint streets race by outside. I’m in a tailspin and don’t know what to do. I always knew that if I kept pushing, Enrique would click what I was doing and reveal himself. I was just hoping he’d wait a little longer, that Sasha would be one hundred percent in my corner before I had to tackle that demon. This complicates everything, and I now can’t predict which way Sasha will go on this. He may return to New York and leave me to my fate. He’s two sides of a coin with the ability to switch off his alter ego at any point. Which way will he go? Soldier or lover?

  When we pull up outside my family home, Sasha is out of the vehicle before it’s even fully stationary. I let him go, knowing that my presence will probably only make it worse right now. He’s no doubt going to call Una and Nero and let them know that Enrique Bianchi is, in fact, not dead. Nero will once again assume that I’m some weak little girl, and I don’t know why that bothers me so much, probably because he’s right. I married the man to kill him, only to fail just as they all said I would.

  I make my way through the house and head for the kitchen. I need a drink.

  Of course, Gabriella is waiting for me. She has a half-drunk glass of red wine in front of her, and the bottle sits on the counter. With one look at my face, she gets a glass from the cupboard before pouring me a drink.

  She says nothing, and I’m grateful. I don’t have the heart or patience to tell her what happened because I can’t bear to lie to her and pretend that I didn’t know Enrique was alive this whole time. More than that, I think I’m ashamed. I know she’ll judge me because I’ve both seduced and slept with the two men responsible for our father’s death, and I continue to try and manipulate them both knowing that, for my own means. She would be disgusted, as I know I should be, but I’m not. I’m long past that. I have to wonder what is wrong with me.

  “What happened?” she asks after several long minutes.

  I inhale a deep breath, really wishing I could postpone this conversation. “Enrique is alive,” I say.

  Her face washes white, and her lips press into a flat line. “How? You said you killed him.” I don’t miss the accusatory edge in her tone.

  “I… I didn’t exactly hang around to watch him die. I cut him and ran. And then they changed leadership…” Lies upon lies upon lies. I’m not sure if I even know what the truth is anymore.

  “He wanted us to think he was dead.” She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

  I shrug. “It’s Enrique. You know the kind of games he likes to play.” She knows all too well.

  The memory of having to suck his dick in front of Gabriella to save her life flashes through my mind, and I drop my chin to my chest in embarrassment. He has degraded and demoralized us both, and I know she wants him dead as much as I do. Unlike me, though, she doesn’t have another culprit to relieve some of the hatred.

  “He probably did it just to mess with my head.” The lies all fall from my lips so easily, and with each one, I both hate myself and yet care a little less. At this point, my entire life is a falsehood. Guilt has no place anymore.

  “What are we going to do?” We? There is no we in this. There is me, and him, and one winner.

  “I’ll work it out, okay?”

  She grabs my arm when I turn to leave. “Why do you always do that? Act like you’re alone?”

  “I’m fine, Gabi. I just have to work things out in my head.”

  “We have to kill him, Lina. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll come for you.”

  Oh, how I know that all too well. I can feel the figurative clock ticking away right above my head, mocking me.

  “I just…I need some time.”

  She slowly nods and releases me. I find my way out into the gardens where I walk. The darkness seems to swallow everything out here, but I like it. I feel invisible, and I really wish I could be.

  I find a patch of grass between the flower beds and lie down. The stars twinkle above me, and I feel so small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of the world. The problem is, no matter how small I am, I’m limited to my own world, and in it, I’m the underdog.

  I grasp the velvety soft grass beneath my hands, digging my fingers into the ground in the hopes that it will help me feel more rooted.

  Enrique is alive.

  Sasha is alive.

  I’m alive.

  I’m treading water, in a stalemate, and something has to give. In a sudden and shocking epiphany, I realize that I want Enrique dead far more than Sasha. That shouldn’t be the case, but I can’t fight with the evidence before me. Sasha may be a killer, but he isn’t the monster that Enrique is, and my mind struggles to wrap around that concept.

  On a deep breath, I close my eyes and inhale the cool night air deep into my lungs, clearing my mind. Just one breath in, one breath out. One step at a time.

  That’s all I can do.

  11

  Sasha

  My head is unclear, and as always, it’s Adelina’s fault. I should call Una and let her know that Enrique is alive, but I don’t. Something stops me. Perhaps it’s the loss of respect I know she’ll have for Adelina or the fact that she’ll tell me to come back and leave Adelina to her fate.

  I promised myself when I came here that I would remain professional. Like the weakness that she is, she’s eaten away at me, bit by bit until I’m right back where I was. When I opened the car door and saw her gasping for breath, I knew it was pure fear. Enrique Bianchi wants her back. I should walk away and leave her to the path she chose. How many times will I allow Adelina to kick me? I realize as many times as it takes to keep her safe. I just need to figure out how to do that.

  I eventually strip out of my clothes and turn off the lights before slipping beneath the sheets. Tomorrow. I’ll make a decision tomorrow.

  I wake from a light sleep when I hear the door to my room click open. My back remains to the door, and I listen intently as feather-light footsteps seem to navigate every squeaky floorboard with precision. My hand slides under the pillow, fingers brushing the hilt of my gun when I get the slightest hint of perfume: sweet and floral. I’d recognize it anywhere. I remove my hand just as the covers are pulled back slightly, allowing cool air to kiss my spine. The mattress dips, and fingertips caress my shoulder before sliding across my side and over my chest.

  Neither of us speaks, she simply presses her font to my back and rests her forehead against the base of my neck. Warm breaths rush over my skin, and goose bumps rise in response. I hate being touched. It drives my more violent instincts. Except with her. Her touch feels like serenity in the center of chaos, a safe harbor in a hurricane. I have tried to hate her. I have attempted to cast her from my mind, but she is a gaping wound in my chest that simply will not heal, until these moments, when she touches me, when I think that maybe, just maybe, this can be our reality. She’s both my anguish and my medicine.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers against my skin.

  She’s said the words before, but as she clings to me now, I hear the sincerity in her breaking voice.

  “I know. But I can’t do this with you, malyshka. You belong to another,” I say into the darkness, hating the words as they slip from my mouth.

  She doesn’t say anything for long moments, simply placing her palm flush over my heart.

  “A ring does not make me his.”

  I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, and her hand remains on my chest. “What do you want me to say?”

  “That you won’t let him have me.” Her voice breaks. “Please, Sasha. I…” A sob hitches in her throat. “I can’t go back there. The things he’ll do to me…”

  My hand instinctively reaches for her, threading through her hair and pulling her into my shoulder. Images flash through my mind, and my teeth grit as I swallow heavily. “Did he…?” I swallow again, unable to form the words on my tongue, but the twisted self-torturing side of my mind needs to know. “Did he rape you, Adelina?”

  A trembling breath slips past her lips, though she says nothing. She’s physically shaking.

  “Malyshka?” I roll onto my side and gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at me, though I can only make out her silhouette in the darkness.

  “You know he did,” she whispers.

  My fingers slide through her hair, and I pull her close. Pressing my lips to her forehead, I inhale the scent of her shampoo, sweet and fruity. I trust myself not to lose my temper while holding her, but I want to break things. I knew she would sleep with him to get close. I thought she would be semi-willing, but she’s terrified of him. My imagination conjures gruesome scenes until a rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt consumes me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the urge to simply protect her. She made this choice, chose Enrique, even when I begged her not to. I should leave her to her fate, but I know I can’t, and I won’t. I’m not sure why I ever fought this. It was always inevitable.

  “You have my heart, Sasha. You know that. Please, please don’t let him take me,” she begs.

  Her chin tilts up, lips brushing over mine. She slowly unravels me, thread by precious thread, until I’m falling apart. I kiss her back, trying with everything I have to leash my rage and handle her gently. My heart thumps erratically in my chest as her warm breaths caress my lips.

  “I don’t have much of a heart, malyshka, but whatever I possess, I’ve given you already.”

  Her lips collide with mine, harder this time, more desperate. All rational thought is snuffed out by this need that she brings out in me. I both love and resent her because she always seems to pull me back in, no matter how much I try to get out.

  Her hand slides from my chest, nails trailing over my stomach until I’m tensing under her touch. Then her palm slides over my crotch, which is currently rock-solid. On a sharp breath, I grab her wrist and snatch her hand away.

  “No.”

  Her hurt expression stares back at me. “I told you, I can’t do this with you, not now. Not while you’re someone’s wife.”

  “On paper—”

  “Until he’s dead…” Until he’s dead, she could always go back to him, and I won’t cross that line with her again. Not until I know she’s mine. This is all I have left, my only slither of dignity.

  “What would you do if you could walk away from all this?”

  She ducks her chin, gnawing her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Before any of this, you were studying, living a normal life. You could have that again.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “Could I? It’s like I was living this blinkered lie before. I knew what my father did, but I was never involved. How do you just turn your back on this and go back to normal? Could you live a normal life, Sasha?”

  I sigh. “It’s different. I’ve never known anything outside of this. And…I lack the skills to integrate into normal society.”

  A small smile touches her lips. “You aren’t that bad.”

  I cock a brow, and she rolls her eyes. “I am, malyshka. You are an exception.”

  She nods, swallowing heavily. “If I went back to a normal life, where would that leave us?”

  I hesitate, trying to formulate words. The truth is, Adelina has a shot at something I don’t, and I want that for her.

  “I’ll kill Bianchi,” I vow, avoiding her question entirely.

  “It’s never that simple where he’s concerned.”

  “He will not escape me a second time, malyshka.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers, and I roll onto my back once more and close my eyes. “Sasha?” she whispers after long seconds.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I sleep here?”

  I should tell her to go, but there are always so many things I should do where Adelina’s concerned, yet I don’t. So instead, I wordlessly reach for her, pulling her to my chest. She’s like a drug I know I’ll have to quit, but for now, I’m taking my fill. Her cheek presses to my chest, and for one perfect moment, nothing outside of this exists. She’s not the wife of a mafia boss and the daughter of another. She’s not a girl with a treacherous path ahead of her. I’m not the man harboring dark and deadly secrets, the guy who ruined her life. We’re just us, two beating hearts, our twisted emotions enveloping each other until we’re intertwined like thorny vines.

  When I wake in the morning, she’s gone. I didn’t even hear her leave. My lack of awareness in her presence is both soothing and extremely concerning. It’s as though the soldier I have spent my whole life becoming retreats for her, leaving…a man.

  Just a man.

  I can’t find him.

  I’ve asked every contact, paid off men who work for the Bianchi family, drained every resource I have, but Enrique Bianchi is like a ghost. He popped his head up just long enough, but I couldn’t see clearly just who it was who climbed out of that car. And now, he’s gone, just like before.