from my own father’s mouth.
His eyes shot wider when he saw me, but just for a moment.
Gagged, I could spit none of the insults I wanted to.
Arkady stationed me across from the only one in the world who was supposed to protect me but had just admitted to profiting from actually selling me to an old . . . geezer!
Papa stared ahead, not meeting my seething gaze, appearing entirely dispassionate.
Arkady stood where we could both see him, his irises as frosty as Russian tundra.
From beneath his suit coat, he palmed his gun, and I knew the weapon was lethal in his hand at any range. From this close, one of us could be dead in an instant.
“Perhaps I should shoot both of you now.” His brusque tone sent chills down my spine.
I believed he’d do it.
“She is worth more alive than dead.” My father spoke the final betrayal.
Sneering, Arkady looked me over again. “In this instance, I tend to agree.”
Fear pumping through my veins, nostrils flaring, I tried to catch my breath.
Arkady aimed the sidearm at my papa.
He began pulling the trigger back with nothing but cool calm. “Call off the fucking Sicilian dogs, Marco, if you want any chance of getting Lucia back in one piece.” Ranging forward, he let the gun trail toward me. “Any vengeance attempted on the Bratva will be played out in punishment on your precious daughter tenfold.”
Listening to his stony order, I believed Arkady completely.
“Do you have any final words for Lucia before you leave and never come back?”
My detestable father ran his gaze over me then admonished me, “Don’t do anything rash.”
My blood boiled as Arkady led him from the room with no further repercussions.
That was it? That was all my papa had to say to me, his last living child, his only daughter?
I hiccupped back a sob, determined not to break . . . not this time.
No I love you or I’ll find a way to get you out of this?
In other words, don’t do anything to risk his precious investment in the future. I was the only future of this family, dammit!
Don’t do anything rash. Like go after my brother’s killer when Papa was too pathetic to even lift a hand.
Humiliated. Bound and gagged. Having listened to all the hurtful details about how my own father had brokered a business deal with me as the selling point . . . I needed to rail at something.
Arkady sauntered back in.
He’d taken the time to remove his jacket and tie, and I saw the gun and holster were missing too.
I steamed with anger, my gaze clashing with his.
“Ssshh,” he murmured when I gave a muffled yell.
Like hell I’d be quiet. As soon as the gag came off, he was getting an earful.
“Your father is gone now.” Moving behind me, Arkady began loosening the gag. “I’m reasonably sure he won’t be back.”
With my mouth finally free, I whipped around.
Unfortunately, the heavy bindings on my arms threw me off balance. I almost tipped backward, but Arkady caught me. He kept me upright.
I craned away from him. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
His face entirely sober, he lifted his hands away. He stepped back, poured a drink, downed it.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
“Are you enjoying degrading me like this?”
He stomped to me, and equal bright fire burned from his irises, the only show that he wasn’t a completely diabolical monster.
Grasping my upper arms, he yanked me up to my tiptoes. “Does your father even know what you do to yourself? Does he know you cut the shit out of your legs because no one has ever seen your true pain before?” His words lashed me like his flogger had. “Does he even care?”
“Do you?” Stunned by everything, I screamed, “Untie me!”
He spun me fast but held me stable again, which made me hate him all the more.
The moment the leather and ball binding uncoiled from my numbed wrists, I turned on him.
I pounded my fists against his hard torso, shouts erupting from my throat. “No. No, no. no!”
I kept hitting him.
He kept taking it.
The ball of fury exploded inside of me. All the hate. All the hurt. All the years of being pushed aside. And now this. This above all else . . . my father will not break me.
“He doesn’t know!” I pushed at Arkady, finding him immovable.
I shoved again, damp strands of hair clinging to the wet sides of my face, and I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “He doesn’t care! You heard him. You