Page 35 of Relentless Refuge

The Sedan's tires squeal as it follows our every move, but Vic's shots have them ducking for cover. The streets are thankfully empty this time of day, which means no one else is caught in this deadly game of chicken. We scream past a parked police car and I slam on the breaks, sliding so close that we barely stop before our bumper kisses their front fender. The momentum throws Victor forward, and he falls into the car with a thud. There's no time to think with Bratva on our tail. I whip the wheel to the right and head up an alley.

We're sitting ducks in here, vulnerable to whatever they want to do to us. I power on, slamming into potholes and dodging the dumpsters as I push the car to its limits. Victor, on the otherhand, is a different story. He's reloading his gun like this is a Sunday stroll. The Sedan flies into the alleyway, barreling after us.

"Hang on to something!" I yell as I brace myself for the exit onto the street two blocks over. The car bounces, and I drift as I turn to the left into oncoming traffic, which thankfully is light. This one-way street might afford us a little more time to escape.

"Got it!" he shouts as he sticks his head and gun out the window, firing once more at our pursuers.

The sedan's windshield explodes, and I catch a glimpse of the passenger slumping over, but the car doesn't slow down. "Crap… they're still on us!" Victor yells.

"I know that, you idiot!" I respond as a red light a block ahead looms large in my vision. I don't have time to stop or think, I just gun it through the intersection, narrowly missing a truck crossing the intersection. As we clear it, I check the mirrors and see the sedan smashed into the truck, the impact enough to finally put them out of commission.

"Yes!" Victor shouts with his hands held in the air. "That's how you handle those assholes!"

I just breathe a sigh of relief and turn toward home. There's no telling where they have her, but I doubt it's the Chinese restaurant south of Brighton Beach.

"We have to get help. Call Nicolo, have them gather at my place. Tell them we're coming." I bark out the orders even as I formulate a plan for our next steps.

We pull up to my home to find dozens of cars parked out front, and they’re not cars I recognize, except Nicolo’s black sedan. Ileave my badly damaged car at the edge of the property, and Victor and I head across the lawn. Light rain has started to fall again, soaking us by the time we get to the door. Warren opens for us, not saying a word as we pass by. His failure to keep Isabella safe will be addressed later. Right now, I have to tell the men my suspicions, that Isabella is in one of the buildings near the beachfront, close to where we found that sedan.

Nicolo greets me with a glower and determination in his eyes. “We are here, and we are with you.” His bold statement is backed by more than three dozen men, all with shoulders squared and hands clasped in front of themselves. A few of my men mingle with the D’Angelos, but given the full room and how they’ve come in droves, I can see my previous hopes that this would bind the Family together are being realized.

“Men!” I shout, and all of them give me their attention. My chest constricts in anger and concern for my wife but swells with pride in seeing how they back her up. “Our lady has been taken by our enemy. We need to find out where they’re keeping her and hunt the bastards down who took her. She would look to us to find common ground and have each other’s backs. Are you with me?”

The response I get is nothing less than miraculous. A chorus of agreement rings out in conjunction with the chambering of bullets and grunts of restraint. Their queen has been taken, my wife, and together, we will stop at nothing to find her.

“Now, she said earlier this evening that she was going to visit her mother.” My eyes scan their faces, every single one of them betraying her lie.

“Sir,” Nicolo says timidly, “she was coming to meet us, I fear.” His face is just as stern now as it was the second I walked in. “She ordered me to gather the Family.” His hand sweeps aroundthe room in one motion at the collective group. “You see here that only one-tenth of the men prepared to fight to bring her back. Her father would kill them all one by one if they left her, and they have sworn to protect her even if they disagree with her leadership.”

“Good,” I tell him, eyeing the two I know caused all the trouble. “And when she returns?” I raise an eyebrow at them, and the ringleader, Chase I think she called him, meets my gaze.

“When she returns, she is our leader and we will serve her as we served her father before her, and his father before him.” The boy can’t have even met Isabella’s grandfather, but I give him credit. Her “mercy” seems to have taught him a lesson. Except, I see a hint of fire in his eyes I’m not fond of. There’s something there he isn’t telling me.

I narrow my eyes at him and move through the group of men who part slightly to let me pass. “Would you swear with your blood that you will honor her authority, follow her leadership, and respect her orders?” I feel my neck constricting, the thick veins running below the surface pumping blood into my head, thrumming with the tension in my body.

He glances around, his eyes shifty and menacing. “Yeah, what’d I say?” His chest puffs out ever so slightly. He’s lying, right here to my face, in front of his whole Family who are clearly concerned about Isabella’s wellbeing.

“Boys, what do we do with a traitor?” They’re not my blood, but if they have even a shred of loyalty to her, they’ll know what’s good for them.

“They die, sir.” His brother, standing to his left, answers my question, and I watch both of them square their shoulders.

This is going to be trouble.

26

ISABELLA

The large, brooding guard who followed me in here stands over me now, lifting the lid off the dish set before me. My stomach swims, as nervous and jittery as my heart. The Bratva leader stares at me, but his wicked grin never wavers. He is smooth and charming, a snake slithering around the juiciest apple, tempting me to take a bite, and I am not Eve. I’m not about to be deceived by the serpent and fall prey to his death.

“Have a bite,dorogoy…” His voice is thick and commanding, prompting me to lift the spoon and dip it into the thick soup. I’ve already eaten, but the stench coming from the mess on the floor reminds me—and him—that my stomach is now empty and I can at least taste the dish he so hospitably offers me.

“Mmm,” I moan softly, fighting back the urge to throw up again already. The soup is good, but my nerves are shot. And between my nervousness, the fact that he knows I’m carrying an heir to someone’s throne, and my racing thoughts attempting to discern a way for me to escape, I can’t fathom eating this. It will end up with the pasta on the floor covered in bile and mucus.

“Now see? Didn’t I tell you?” His shit-eating grin can go fuck itself for all I care. All I can think about is how to get out of here, not this stupid, wretched soup. My gag reflex triggers, and I cover my mouth with a napkin. The guard backs off but thePakhandoesn’t. “Now, while we eat, I want to talk with you. It seems we have some ground to cover.”

I listen and take miniscule bites—only as large as I can stomach—as he tells me the history of his Family, their territorial disputes, and the attack against his son which Marco led, which was my idea, though he doesn’t know that. This man thinks I don’t understand the bad blood between them. He thinks I’m not smart enough to realize it was at his order that my father was killed. I haven’t breathed a single breath of anger or hostility toward him about that, but he’s taken my reservation as ignorance.

“And so you see, Marco Romano is bad for you,dorogoy…” His little Russian pet name for me is insulting. I am not his “dear” or his “sweetheart”. I am his enemy. A cold-blooded killer will never be my friend, nor someone I will get into bed with. Not when their bullets have been aimed at my Family.

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