Yet those slashes on the insides of her upper thighs—dozens of old cuts layered by fresher, redder, angrier looking streaks—unsettled me.
Chancing upon her tonight had been a stroke of luck. The damsel in distress—as they said—could factor big for the Bratva.
Capturing her would certainly work in our favor toward ending any potential blowback from Kirill’s summer slaying of Bastiano Leone.
Da. A bargain could be struck.
I spent a restless night as my brain worked overtime. In fact, I only knew I’d slept at all when the loud buzzer of the doorbell sprang me wide awake.
My mafia princess woke up too.
The second her mouth opened to let loose a scream, I was on her. My hand clapped over her mouth, I straddled her. I tore the case off of a pillow and deftly gagged her with the material stuffed into her mouth and tied behind her head. I used another pillowcase to bind her wrists at the base of her spine. The bolas was still wound around her ankles.
I barely had time to take a piss, brush my teeth, and rake my hands through my hair before I was hauling on clean pants and a shirt that I left flapping open.
“Not a single sound, Lucia, or last night will seem like a five-star vacation to you,” I warned before stepping out of my bedroom.
It was Sunday.
Family day as decreed by Baba Svetlana.
Fuck.
Not even Yury argued against his mother’s order, especially when it came to her cooking. And since Joanna had become part of the Bratva family, Baba deemed Sunday brunch a new tradition that would rotate locations—the club, the penthouse, the mansion, and my place.
Today was my turn.
Blyad. In all the commotion last night—and with Lucia one hell of a distraction—I’d forgotten.
I rushed downstairs while buttoning my shirt. Opening the door to see an entire entourage of soldiers patrolling outside, I was sorely tempted to tell them all to fuck off, but Kirill bounded past me.
Then came Jo, Yury, Baba, Sasha, and Maksim.
Lastly, Grigor.
And Boris the mutt.
I ushered them out of the foyer and into the kitchen like I was a goddamn flight attendant.
I hadn’t prepared anything at all, but then, that wasn’t my job. Baba wouldn’t let me near the stove or close to any food until the repast was finished to her standards.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sasha stared at me as she set a bag on the table.
“Nothing.” My brows pulled inward.
“You buttoned your shirt wrong, and I’m picking up a strong scent of”—she wafted her hand at me—“is that guilt I detect? A walk of shame perhaps? Also, no tie.” She rolled her eyes. “Again with the casual dress and no one told me.”
Maksim’s jaw twitched. “Could not get much more casual than a dress that again barely covers your backside.”
She whirled on him. “Awww. I didn’t know you cared.”
Blyad.
As if I had time for their squabbling. “I’ll go put that tie on then.”
Perfect excuse to make sure my prisoner hadn’t managed to spit the gag out.
“How about some shoes and socks while you’re at it?” Sasha cackled.
I took the stairs quickly, and I felt eyes boring into my back as I did so.
At the landing, I looked down.
Yury stood in the hallway, squinting up at me.
Inside my bedroom, I swore when I saw I’d left my Sig Sauer right there on the nightstand. Blyad.
I spotted the weapon the same time Lucia did.
Jerking to her knees on the bed, she tried to worm her way over, but I got there first.
Then my hand was on her throat.
The barrel of the gun against the side of her face.
“Don’t even think about it, printsessa.”
Huge billows of stalled breath made her tits rise and fall beneath my forearm, and her eyes wheeled wildly.
“You want to know who’s downstairs?” I shoved the firearm into the back of my pants.
She nodded frantically, and I gently pushed her down until she reclined on her back.
“Not your family coming to look for you. Mine. So if you don’t want them to know who you are and what you planned, you would be wise to stay as quiet as a mouse up here.”
Her nostrils flared and a glimmer of tears made a high sheen in her golden-brown irises.
Her weak female ploy would not move me.
I finished dressing, knowing I’d have to feed her and give her a bathroom break soon.
This brunch was the worst timing in the world.
Still, I didn’t know if I wanted my brothers or Yury finding out about this unanticipated hostage yet or that she’d practically fallen into my lap.
With my tie neatly knotted, pistol holstered, I flashed a last warning look at Lucia.
Back downstairs, strain knotted every muscle in my body, and I wasn’t nearly as composed as usual.
My nerves jangled. My fingers tapped.
I grunted like I was a Maksim clone whenever anyone asked me a direct question.
I knew I’d have to bite the bullet and tell everyone what was going on, especially if Kirill’s life was in danger and owing absolute loyalty to Yury, but for once I didn’t know how to broach the subject of my sexy prisoner upstairs.
Boris whined and sniffed around me occasionally.
Every so often Baba stopped stirring the okroshka soup to size me up.
Kirill sat in a chair with vodka at his side, one hand always on Joanna and both eyes always on me.
With food about to be served, the dining room set, and the kitchen filling with delicious smells, a loud thump sounded from upstairs.
Then another thud shuddered through the ceiling as my fists balled.
Kirill wore what looked like a smirk when he raised an eyebrow and asked, “What was that?”
Fuck. “A guest.”
Maksim pulled his cheeks in. “A woman, you mean.”
“It is not like that.”
Yury slowly removed his unlit cigar from between his lips. “What have you done, Arkady?”
“It’s easier if I show you.” Against my better judgement, I trudged upstairs to find Lucia hobbling around on the landing with the bolas half unstrung around her ankles and her shoulders jerked backward by her restrained wrists.
“Come.” I yanked on her arm, and she almost fell off her feet.
I picked her up, carried her back into the bedroom, and kicked the door shut. After setting her down, I removed the bolas from around her legs, the pillowcase from her wrists and glared at her.
Then I yanked the gag free.
“Because you couldn’t fucking sit still, you have to answer for your presence here, and I can’t promise your safety.”
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
Lucia’s mouth popped open.
I shut it for her with a finger beneath her jaw. “Maybe I should just let them do away with you. Save myself all the trouble you undoubtedly come with.”
Though she only came up to my chin in her bare feet, she tilted up on her toes as her eyes snapped brightly. “Do that, and you’ll face the wrath of Don Marco Leone, my father.”
Considering it was her—a young weak female—who’d initiated the ill-conceived attack on Kirill and not her father, I put little stock in her threat.
“Go to the bathroom and try to make yourself presentable.” I stuffed her clothes from last night into her arms.