trunks, but the hair on the back of my neck had begun to stand up.
I clenched my book hard in my hands, a makeshift weapon if need be.
Slowly, I stepped back. No other sound came from the woods, no shift in the shadows. Yet still...
I took another step back.
Another twig snapped.
Suddenly, a shadow formed from in between the trees. Before I could even comprehend who it was—what it was—a loud roaring noise came from behind me.
I spun to see multiple black vehicles pulling up to the house, ripping up the lawn and destroying the immaculate flowers. Even a fence went down in the hustle.
Men jumped out from the cars, guns at the ready, faces hidden. Shouts were thrown around, not in English, not in Italian—
We were being raided. Either by the government or a fellow syndicate. Whoever, they were here to attack, and I was a good target.
I stepped back, ready to run, trying to figure out the best route.
Something pressed into my head, cold against my skull.
I knew immediately. A gun.
You didn’t grow up in La Cosa Nostra and not know how it felt to have the butt of a gun pressed against your head.
For a moment, I thought it was Thaddeo. My husband had finally grown some balls and decided to kill me. I was almost proud.
But then, a heavily accented voice said, “We do not wish to harm you. Behave and you will live.”
The voice was Russian, and not unkind.
The sound of boots approaching came from my left, and a huge man walked into my view. Buzzcut, brown eyes, hard-lined face, with an expression that almost resembled an angry pit bull. Tattoos stained his upper cheek, pledging his allegiance to his organization.
“Elena Falcone?” he asked, with a lighter accent than the man behind me.
I nodded. The gun did not move.
“Take her to the van.”
Icicles began to form in my blood.
I was not stupid. Clearly, these Russians were here to pose a threat to Thaddeo, to the Falcones. To me. Though, as a woman, my involvement in the mafia never warranted enough attention to make me a threat, I was still property of the Falcones and subjected to punishments meant for them.
I swallowed.
There was no way I was being punished for Thaddeo’s actions—whatever the hell they may have been.
“Thaddeo is upstairs,” I said, catching their attention. “If you bother with me, he will get away.”
Amusement flashed across the pit bull’s face. He gave me a savage smile, the curl of his lips more of a sneer.
“Van. Now.”
The man behind me dropped the gun from my head but snatched both my wrists, pinning them painfully behind my back. My book dropped to the ground with a thump.
As soon as I realized I was imprisoned beneath his grip, my brain flooded with plans.
One, go willingly, and be killed or worse by these Russian gangsters.
Two, manage to get away and go on the run—until they caught me and killed me.
Three, fight back. Probably get killed.
If I went willingly, I might as well be throwing up the white flag. It felt equivalent to just spreading my arms and telling them to have their way with me. I had done that once before; I wasn’t doing it again.
There was no way I was going to escape, and, if I did, I would have seconds—seconds—to dart to the trees. I knew the pathways through the property better than they would; my knowledge of the land was my only advantage.
The last option meant certain death, as well as confronting my lack of strength. I was a tall woman, but my physical prowess allowed me to open jars at best. I might have my neck snapped, but it would be due to my actions—no one else’s.
I picked the second option.
“Let me go!” I slid one arm out in a sudden burst of strength, whipping it backwards. My nails scraped the pit bull’s face, and he pulled back, swearing in Russian.
Pit Bull struck, grabbing my hand and pulling it back behind me. He leaned in close to my face, teeth showing. “Listen you, you little bitch, we’re doing you a huge fucking favor—”
“That’s enough, Roman,” a cool voice called, floating in the wind.
Like a switch had been flicked, the pit bull stepped back, nodding his head in respect. The hands that held me released, and I stumbled forward, unable to stop the momentum I had built.
I didn’t hesitate. I immediately went for the trees, only managing two steps before a rough hand gripped my upper arm and