Page 12 of Pistols and Plush Toys

But he wasn’t his father, and he felt bad for this kid.

Brooks didn’t say anything, but another silent tear escaped him, sliding down his cheek.

Nikolai turned away. Fuck, he wanted a drink.

“?????´?,” he muttered under his breath as he headed for the door. If he had to look at those big teary eyes any longer he’d be at risk of doing something stupid like apologizing.

And what kind of kidnapper apologized?

Someone who shouldn’t be kidnapping in the first place.

Nikolai shoved that thought away. He didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t just going to let Mattia Vitale ruin his business and this city in one fell swoop. Their family agreements meant something, and if one of them stepped over the line, there should be consequences.

The kid was scared now, but nothing was going to happen to him here. They’d resolve this whole thing without coming to violence. Someday Brooks would just think back on this like a bad dream.

Nikolai retrieved the key from his pocket and locked the door behind him. There was a solid metal click as the heavy-duty lock engaged.

“We staying on guard duty, boss?”Pyotr asked.

“No.”Nikolai shook his head.“Get eyes on Vitale’s men. We need to know their next move.”

Pyotr nodded and then the two of them strode back toward the front door.

Nikolai pulled out his phone and flicked to one of the photos he’d taken of Brooks. In the stark light of the camera he looked gaunt and heartbreaking. There was pink high on his cheeks and tear tracks down his face. Nikolai scowled at the photo even as he put it through one of the apps to scrub it of metadata.

It was Vitale’s fault, he reminded himself. He’d caused this.

Nikolai opened a fresh text and typed in Mattia Vitale’s number, attaching the photo.

I think I found something of yours,he wrote before hitting send.

Chapter 3: Elliot

By the time the door had been shut and locked, Elliot was all out of tears. He sat there on the bed afraid to move, afraid to make a sound, in case it caused them to come back. The main guy–Nikolai– said they weren’t going to hurt him if he behaved, but how could he believe that?

If this had to do with Mattia’s business, that was serious. Probably more serious than he even knew.

After all, he hadn’t really thought he’d be a target, even after Mattia’s warning. But here he was.

He looked around the barren room. There was no clock to tell the time, but Elliot knew from how long it’d taken to drive here that the wedding had started and that he was missing it.

Mattia was going to be sopissedhe’d gotten himself kidnapped.

Nikolai had been vague about the conflict between him and Mattia, but Elliot could guess whatever he was being bargained for was going to hurt Mattia somehow.

He wished heunderstoodmore. Mattia dealt with antiques, primarily antiques weapons, sourcing them and matching them with buyers. What could Mattia have possibly done that—that had gotten Nikolai angry enough to kidnap Elliot as collateral?

All Elliot knew was that Mattia’s business had been doing particularly well recently, that Mattia had been coming home from work in a good mood, revved up and expecting Elliot to share in his success, for all that Mattia never went into detail.

Mattia in a good mood was infinitely better than Mattia in a bad one. And now… now Elliot was going to be blamed for it going wrong.

In the best outcome, Elliot imagined Mattia would just dump him on his ass and be done with him after this. He’d been fucking up so much recently, but this was another level entirely. Being so stupid and letting himself get kidnapped—there was no way Mattia would want to deal with him after this.

But something in Elliot—something that he didn’t want to look at because it made his chest hurt and his vision grey out—knew that Mattia wouldn’t just dump him and leave. If he lost Mattia money, ruined his business, there would be hell to pay. Mattia didn’t just forgive and forget. He’d want to take his anger out on—

On the person who deserved it.

Fuck. Why had he gotten into that car? He was so fucking stupid, not paying attention to the driver or the man who’d said his name.

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