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From Italy With Love

Page 88

by Rebecca Joyce

“I’m going to fucking kill you! Dead! You son of a bitch!”

“Scream all you want. I love it when whores fight me.”

Barely opening my eyes, I growled, “Leave her alone, you son of a bitch. I’ll give you want you want. Just leave my sister alone.”

The man himself, Boris Petrovitch, stopped and glared at me. “So, she told you about the mladenec? Tell me where the mladenec is and I will walk away.”

“The what?” My head immediately snapped to my sister’s, my one good eye wide with shock. I didn’t know much Russian, but I fucking knew what mladenec meant.

“He keeps asking for the mladenec, but I don’t know what the word means.”

“He wants the infant. What infant is he talking about, Illyria?” I stated. When she didn’t reply, I asked again, “Illyria? What is he talking about?”

“Enough talking!” Boris roared as he removed his pants. His henchmen moved to stop me as if they thought I had any strength left. “Time to show you how real men treat whores.”

“He will kill you!” my sister screamed as the vile fucker dropped his underwear and started stroking his dick. “Max will fucking kill you!”

I was helpless. I knew what was about to happen. I wasn’t stupid, and when I went to say something, anything, Boris’s men punched and hit me as that fat, vile fucker kneeled on the bed between my sister’s legs.

“Scream loud, you Italian whore. I want my brother to hear you from across the country.”

“Baby?” My gruff voice was barely audible over my grunts as his men continued to pound on me. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise. Just close your eyes and find a happy place. Remember the times with Mom and Dad on the island? How much fun we had? Remember, baby? Remember the island.”

“You will not ignore me!” Boris shouted, punching my sister’s face as I roared, threatened, and tried to free myself from the wall. A click of a gun silenced the room instantly as Ivanovich placed his gun at my head.

Boris chuckled. “He says another word. Kill him.”

Tears ran down my sister’s face in silent streams as my eyes locked with hers across the dimly lit room. The distance between us felt like miles, though it was only a few feet.

“Sally?” she whispered, her voice cracking with desperation and helplessness. There was nothing more I could do. My hands were bound, my body restrained, my voice rendered useless. I had tried everything—screaming, pleading, struggling against my restraints until my wrists were raw and bleeding. This was going to happen, and neither of us could stop it as I was forced to watch that motherfucker abuse and rape my sister. The world seemed to move in slow motion, each second stretching into an eternity of horror. Through it all, she never said a word. Never moved, never cried out, never blinked. Her eyes remained fixed on mine, empty yet somehow still holding onto a thread of the person she used to be. It was as if she had retreated somewhere deep inside herself, somewhere he couldn’t reach, leaving only her shell behind for me to witness.

“You will scream for me if it’s the last thing you do.” The fucker slapped her hard, and my sister’s eyes narrowed.

“Fuck you,” she sneered, then slowly turned her head to look back at me.

Boris hauled off and slapped her again. Harder this time. “You fucking cunt!” he shouted, pumping his dick into her. “Scream!”

And when she uttered the word, “No,” I knew this was it.

He only had one more card to play, and he used it.

“KILL HIM!”

Closing my eyes, her face was all I saw.

My Madigan. My beautiful, precious Madigan. She was smiling at me with that radiant smile that could light up the darkest room, her eyes sparkling with pure joy and love. Her arms were wide open, beckoning me toward her with an urgency that made my heart race.

I ran to her without hesitation, my feet barely touching the ground as I closed the distance between us. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not the world around us, not the troubles we’d faced, not the uncertainties of tomorrow.

Only her.

Only this moment. And when my arms finally wrapped around her, pulling her close against my chest, I felt a profound peace wash over me like warm sunlight breaking through storm clouds. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent as I whispered softly against her ear.

“I love you, baby.”

EPILOGUE

Sinclair