Page 104 of I Would Beg For You

“Da, Tovarisch. Find wife. Bring wife home.”

I cut the call and stand there in wonder. Who’d have thought getting revenge on a figlio di puttana and wanting him to suffer would open up a vein of help from the most unlikely of places?

“Change of plans,” I tell my brothers and Marco and start back toward the house. “What do we know about the Albanians?” I ask Antonio inside.

He frowns. “Not much. Why?”

“Because they could be the ones who have Naomi.”

Billings needed money for his father to pay back his debts. Billings Senior approached Joel Smith first to have a Governor in his pocket, second to marry off his son to Naomi and get her trust fund money. Thad was protected by crooked cops in New York, and just now, a crew of low-lives worked with two Westchester County police officers to kidnap Naomi.

It’s all too much of a coincidence. And the missing link we couldn’t find before? It seems to be the Albanians.

Rumor has it that a while ago, they were starting to encroach on the Eastern Europeans’ territories, probably seeing them as the easiest to get a foothold in. Nobody messes with the Bratva, not even the most established families of New York.

Guess these fuckers are looking for a new stronghold?

What they don’t know? They’ve messed with the wrong person.

“Marco, you and Victor head to Newark. Find whatever you can about the Albanians from Gatling.”

Marco is a master interrogator. I can count on him. And the very sight of gigantic Victor can be enough to make a man shit his pants.

“Luciano, you’re with me. Let’s go see what Don Giorgio can tell us about these cazzos. I know they’re mainly located in the Bronx, which borders his territory.”

Fucking Albanians. I’m going to find Naomi first, then I’m going to bring them down.

But there’s still a more important loose end to tuck away. I place a call to Reeves on the way to the car.

“Joel Smith is behind all this. I need you to find him for me.”

Chapter 32 Naomi

It smells strange, thisplace I wake up in. Musty, damp. It makes me sneeze.

Damn, I couldn’t contain it. Sounds erupt from somewhere close. When I focus, I can see a door in this windowless room. I’m on a makeshift cot, still only in the nightdress I wore back at the hotel. Beyond the door, I can hear chairs scraping, then the lock being undone.

It’s a lot of metallic groans and a click or two—that’s not a normal door.

I knew I was a prisoner here, but these ominous grindings reinforce the idea, sending dread down my spine in a rush of cold. Goose bumps erupt all over my skin.

The big door creaks open—I can’t help but think it sounds like a vault’s door—and a man steps into the opening. He’s big and tall, wears a tattered sports jacket over a black T-shirt and sweatpants, expensive sneakers on his feet. A ray of light hits the thick gold chains dangling from his massive neck, and I have to avert my eyes.

He snarls as he steps into the room.

Everything inside me knows he’s coming in to harm me. I scream, but it comes out short and sharp as I backtrack onto the cot, trying to huddle into myself.

He grabs my hair in a fist and tugs, hard. “You don’t look away from me, bitch.”

A small moan escapes me as he spits on the ground next to me. I know I have to do everything to not antagonize him.

“Please,” I mumble.

He laughs. “No one here to protect you. What are you going to do, heh?”

His grip lightens on my hair, my relief turning to fear when he starts rubbing the locks between his fingers. Bile touches the back of my throat when he grazes my cheek with his knuckles.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So ripe.”

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