Page 52 of A Bride for the Mafia King

I try to calm the pounding of my heart, but I can feel how wild it is. My fear is real. And if he sees it, he’ll use it against me.

He walks to where he has a table erected with various items on it and picks up a long, black-bladed knife, turning it over in his hands. There’s dried blood on the hilt.

“I was going to wait,” he says softly. “Let you two become more entangled. Let you make him grow soft. Maybe even wait until a child was born and pretend to be the doting uncle.” He chuckles darkly. “Then, one day, make the child disappear. Set it up so that Tolya would find them here, two rounds in their chest just like my father.”

He looks at me again, eyes bright and manic.

“But now… after seeing the way he looks at you? The way he worships you like you’re his salvation?”

He runs the tip of the knife along the edge of the table, scraping a harsh line into the wood. The sound of it grinds in my ears.

“I realized I don’t need to wait. Killing you is enough. Taking you, here, now, when all of it is fresh. When he has just let his guard down. Well it’s perfect, it’s the wound that’ll never heal.”

He moves toward me, tilting the blade toward my face. “Does Tolya know you’re pregnant?”

I don’t answer. Just glare at him refusing to answer.

He grips my chin, squeezing hard. Glaring down at me. “Does. He. Know.”

My voice comes out low and tight. “No.”

His smile is vicious as he releases me, stepping back as he gloats. “Good. Then he won’t see it coming.”

Chapter Twenty

Tolya

The Warehouse

The warehouse rises ahead of me like a monolith of rust, crouched in the middle of nowhere. It’s just like I remember—except now, every corner of it drips with dread.

I crouch low behind the truck, scanning the perimeter. Nico is merely a dark shape fifty yards behind me on the eastern ridge, rifle up and scope locked on the entry. He’s my only cover as I run across the vast open yard to the side of the building.

My hand tightens around the grip of my pistol. I ease up just enough to peer through a cracked window.

That’s when I catch sight of her. Slumped in a chair, arms bound, head forward like she’s unconscious—or worse, dead. Blood streaked down her temple. Her face is pale, lashes unmoving. There’s a bruise blooming along her cheekbone, ugly and purple.

My chest seizes as she moves, lulling her head to the side. She’s still alive. Focusing hard I can see her chest rise and fall, shallow but steady. I don’t have time to hesitate.

I glance back to the ridge where Nico is hidden and give him a single, sharp gesture: hold your position and cover me.

I move fast. Silent. Into the building.

The back door opens just enough to let me slip in before the rusty hinges start to creak. The air inside is cold and musty. Reeking of oil rot and old blood. I’m careful to move swift but quiet, not wanting to risk the echoes that fill this place with heavy movement.

Luckily, Yaro doesn’t hear me coming. Too distracted. He’s crouched in front of her, checking the ties on her wrists, muttering something under his breath.

I don’t wait. Moving in fast I slam the butt of my pistol into the side of his head. He goes down hard, collapsing beside the chair with a grunt. Dazed. Confused. Trying to push himself upright despite the dizziness.

But I’m already on him. I holster the gun and drop to my knees, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and driving him down into the cracked concrete.

He groans, spitting blood at me, pulling his hands up to shield his face as he tries to roll away.

But I don't let him.

My fist cracks against his cheekbone with a sound like thunder. Again. And again. My vision red.

"You piece of shit," I growl, slamming his head back down with another punch. "You think this makes you a man? Kidnapping my wife?"