Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
But the surprise on Nicole’s face makes me stop walking. “What’s wrong?”
“Mads—” She says, choking on my name, and the fear in her tone sets all my alarms screaming.
I turn around as a big man comes forward. He’s huge, wearing a matching track suit, shaped like a refrigerator, and probably weighs as much as one too. The blade of a knife glitters in the sunlight, the steel long and sharp, the tip angled at my throat.
My hands come up reflexively.
“Madeline Rossi,” he says. He’s got an accent I don’t recognize at first. “You must come with me now.”
“Who are you?” I say, panicking. “You can have my wallet. I don’t need it. Here, take whatever you want.” I start to shove my bag at him.
The guy ignores it. Gray eyes flash out from under a heavy brow. The knife moves up toward my face. “No more talking. Come with me, girl, or I will start cutting.”
Nicole’s hands fly to her face and she releases a low groan of terror. I can’t move, my feet are numb, and my knees tremble. His accent is Russian, definitely Russian, and I think of that room filled with dangerous mobsters. I think of Jasha and the cold, calculating fury in his light eyes.
“No,” I say, jerking away. I turn and shove Nicole. “Run!”
She barely makes it a step before the big Russian grabs me by the back of the neck like I’m a little puppy dog and presses the knife to my side. “Don’t struggle,” he growls and he yanks me from the CVS entrance toward the curb. A black van’s parked nearby, the back doors open.
I’m going to die.
If I get into that van, I’m finished. I don’t know where this Russian will take me, but they’ll cut my throat and bleed me out just to hurt Renzo.
In some other life, under some other circumstances, I might not have the strength to do much more than go along.
But I’m pregnant, and I’m not worried about myself.
“No,” I say, throwing my elbow out. It’s a weak, glancing shot, but it knocks the knife away long enough for me to twist out of his grip. He curses and comes toward me, and that’s when Nicole throws her phone at his head, cursing as she does it. She throws her wallet, her keys, her lipstick. The Russian’s ignoring her and coming toward me, but I stagger away, making space as a half-empty pack of wet wipes comes whizzing past my face.
I turn and start to run. My heart’s hammering into my throat. I want Nicole to stop trying to distract the guy and start trying to save herself, but a small travel tube of hand sanitizer skitters past on the ground. I make it three steps, reach the corner, and come to a grinding halt.
Dante’s storming toward me. He’s got a gun out and aimed at me—
No, aimed behind me.
“Drop down, you Russian fuck,” he snaps.
I obey him, even though the command isn’t directed at me. I get down on the ground, kneeling and covering my head.
The gun goes off. It’s insanely loud. An explosion, another, another. Sparks flash on the side of the van as it peels away, the door left open. It slams into a parked car and takes off. The van careens around a corner, leaving the smell of burned rubber in the air.
The Russian’s lying on the ground next to the curb.
He’s not moving. Blood pools around his chest.
“Are you okay?” Dante’s at my side. The gun’s gone and his face is serious now. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I say, my voice shaky. “I’m not hurt.”
“Alright, get up. We have to move.”
“What was that? Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been following you since you married Renzo. Now come on, someone must’ve called the cops already.” He hurries over to the dead Russian, takes the guy’s pulse, and seems to come to a split-second decision. He lifts the heavy body, straining with each step, and starts to drag him away down the block.
“What about my friend?” I ask, breathing rapidly. The Russian’s eyes are closed and he’s not moving.
“She’s fine.” Dante drags the body to the corner and a car pulls up driven by a young guy I don’t recognize. He jumps out, runs around, and helps Dante get the body into the trunk. They slam it shut. “Get in.”
I can’t move. There’s a corpse in the back of that car. In the distance, sirens wail.
“Dante,” I say, groaning as he walks over. “What’s happening?”
“They just started a war. Come on, get in before the cops get here.” He pulls me to my feet and yanks me from the CVS. I look over my shoulder and Nicole’s standing near the entrance, looking shell-shocked, pale and terrified.
Dante throws me into the back seat, gets in behind me, and the young soldier peels out as the sirens get louder.