Ruthless Vow E-Book

Willow Fox

• Herausgeber: Slow Burn Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When your son is kidnapped by the mafia, but you never told your one-night stand that it resulted in twins...

You'd do anything to protect your child, including breaking into the mafia's compound to save your son.

--

Men say I’m bred with Russian, that I should be bratva.
I have a reputation as being the most vicious and ruthless Italian in the world. They’re not wrong.

I murdered my boss and stole his throne.

He made me the beast that I am, and I made him pay the price.

But there’s a girl that I want beside me while I rule the city.

The only problem, she’s Russian and the little sister of my enemy. She’s innocent, naive, and has no idea what I intend to do to her family.

We’re at war with the bratva…

They’ve threatened our women, children, and attempted to burn our homes to the ground. They’ve come after our organization, stolen our shipments, and forced our hand.

The dons and our most trusted men must come together to destroy the bratva.

This secret baby, steamy slow-burn romantic suspense is the fifth book in the Mafia Marriages series. While it is a standalone, it features the mafia men of the previous books and will be enjoyed even more if you’ve read the entire series.

Leseprobe

RUTHLESS VOW

MAFIA MARRIAGES BOOK FIVE

WILLOW FOX

Copyright © 2022 by Willow Fox

All rights reserved.

Edited by Marla VanHoy

Cover Design by MiblArt

Published by Slow Burn Publishing LLC

V2

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Willow Fox

ABOUT THE BOOK

Ruthless Vow

Mafia Marriages Book 5

Men say I’m bred with Russian, that I should be bratva.

I have a reputation as being the most vicious and ruthless Italian in the world. They’re not wrong.

I murdered my boss and stole his throne.

He made me the beast that I am, and I made him pay the price.

But there’s a girl that I want beside me while I rule the city.

The only problem, she’s Russian and the little sister of my enemy. She’s innocent, naive, and has no idea what I intend to do to her family.

We’re at war with the bratva…

They’ve threatened our women, children, and attempted to burn our homes to the ground. They’ve come after our organization, stolen our shipments, and forced our hand.

The dons and our most trusted men must come together to destroy the Bratva.

This secret baby, steamy slow-burn romantic suspense is the fifth book in the Mafia Marriages series. While it is a standalone, it features the mafia men of the previous books and will be enjoyed even more if you’ve read the entire series.

1

Antonio

“We have a mess that needs your expertise,” Don Moretti says. His steel gaze says more than his words.

“Say no more.”

He wants me to take care of the problem and erase any evidence.

Usually, that involves murder or cleaning up the scene. And I must make sure it doesn’t tie back to the Moretti family. More specifically, Roberto, the don of the family.

I don’t proclaim to be a monster. I’ve done terrible deeds, murdered men, ripped children away from their families.

He hands me a slip of paper, folded. I open the page, already suspecting the location, but he’s cautious about voicing the command or order aloud.

Scribbled on the inside is an address.

Anyone could be listening.

No one is to be trusted.

The address listed is the docks downtown.

“Take Ardian with you,” Don Moretti says.

I nod an affirmative and head out of his office, leaving the door open on my way out. I breeze through the complex, searching for Ardian. He’s not at his post at the east entrance. Gian is there instead, Ardian’s boss, a capo.

“Looking for someone?” Gian asks.

Does he know my orders at the docks? It’s not a secret that we move products in and out of ports, but I don’t usually frequent the dock.

Ardian, however, does. That is, I assume, why Roberto suggested that Ardian accompany me. It’s not because I need the extra muscle. It’s because he needs me.

“Ardian,” I say, not further elaborating on my orders.

“He’s around back, cleaning up the muck.”

That’s code for detailing one of Moretti’s rides. Someone was offed in the backseat.

I head for the garage. It’s heated and comfortable for a winter’s day. The vacuum blares across the distance, the hum high-pitched and deafening.

Ardian isn’t using the vacuum. The back doors of the SUV are wide open, and Ardian is bent forward, spraying the leather interior.

Monte, another soldier, is cleaning the trunk, scrubbing the suds in with a coarse brush and then vacuuming the interior.

I turn off the vacuum, startling Ardian and Monte.

“What’s up?” Ardian asks, only noticing my presence when the high-pitched hum of the vacuum’s motor is silenced.

“I’ve got a job for you,” I say.

“Dirtier than this?” Ardian grins. He doesn’t let being part of the clean-up crew bother him. There’s a smear of fresh blood on the leather seats. The windows have already been cleaned, but the back seat’s headrest is disgusting. There are still bits of matter clinging to the leather upholstery.

“Let’s hope not,” I say.

“Sorry, Monte,” Ardian says and steps back from the SUV. “I guess you’re stuck finishing the rest of the backseat. Try not to be jealous.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Monte says.

I grab the keys for another SUV off the wall and open the garage. A cold gust of wind whips through the garage. The heat inside doesn’t offer enough warmth for a bone-chilling winter’s day.

“You guys are assholes,” Monte mutters.

It’s not like we have a choice. There’s never much of a choice when it comes to the don giving orders.

I sit behind the driver’s side and hit the gas, hightailing it out of the garage, and before I can shut the door, Monte is already hitting the button, closing it to keep warm.

Ardian laughs beside me as he pulls the seatbelt across his lap and snaps the buckle into place. I drive through the open gates and out onto the main road.

“Where are we heading?” Ardian asks.

“The docks,” I say. Ardian handles shipments weekly from the docks. He’s familiar with the routine. “Boss mentioned there’s a big mess. Know anything about it?”

“Yeah, our last shipment was late. Don Moretti mentioned that the contents might be spoiled.”

Contents? I exhale a sharp breath.

“What kind of content are we talking about?” I ask. We dabble in guns, weapons, ammunition. Those types of commodities don’t spoil. “Drugs?” I can’t imagine a shipment a few days late went bad.

“You don’t know…” Ardian says, staring at me, his eyes wide. “Shit. I can’t believe you’re just finding out. And from me.” The grin spreads across his face like he wants to hold this new knowledge over my head.

“Spill it, asshole.” I glare at him for a brief second before returning my attention to the road.

“You’ve heard of the black market,” Ardian says.

My stomach tenses. “Yes, is Roberto smuggling humans for organ transplants?” I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s stolen the market share on harvesting organs. He is involved in plenty of shady business ventures.

“Well, yes, but that’s not what this shipment entails.”

“Out with it, Ardian!” I’m tired of his antics. What the hell will we be dealing with when we reach the docks?

“Fine,” he says and slouches in the passenger seat. “Roberto Moretti owns The Cradle.”

The Cradle is the biggest and most prestigious adoption agency in New York City.

“For fuck’s sake.” I slam on my brakes just as the traffic light hits red. I should have blown through the light. My focus is shot to hell. It’s no secret that Roberto is involved in plenty of illegal affairs, but stealing kids is one thing I can’t comprehend.

Sure, I’ve nabbed a child for Roberto Moretti on occasion, but it was because the infant’s father was part of the Moretti family, and the mother ran off and stole the child.

At least that’s the story I was told.

I’m sure it was true, and this is just something else, more sinister.

I shouldn’t care.

I’ve never cared before.

But the thought of cleaning up children’s bodies doesn’t sit well with me.

A man like Roberto Moretti has to be stopped, and I’m just the man for the job.

* * *

I’ll never forget the stench of death. The way the fumes permeate every ounce of skin and clothing.

My shirt and pants will have to be burned.

Not because of the traces of remains and blood that caked to the material, but from the stench.

Fourteen children, more than half newborns, were tossed into the harbor. With it, two women had been kidnapped and smuggled along with the children. They, too, had died from dehydration and starvation.

How long had they been locked inside a cargo container?

Where had they traveled from?

We scrub the container down, the interior metal glistening from the thorough wash, leaving no trace of evidence behind.

“How often do you have to clean the cargo containers?” I ask Ardian.

“This happens every couple of months. Usually, Otello helps, but he’s out sick.”

“Too much vodka?” I quip. Otello can pound it back better than the rest of us, but even he has his limits. The man will ruin his liver, but probably not before ending up dead from the Russians, specifically the Barinov family.

Just as we finish the last of the cleaning, the boss calls.

“When you’re finished, I need you across town for a job,” Don Moretti says.

I shouldn’t care. Their blood isn’t on my hands. I didn’t murder these children, but the fleeting images of their lifeless bodies and their helplessness burn through me.

“Another container mess?” I seethe.

How could something like this happen?

Why wasn’t there food and water with the shipment? What about the weather? It’s frigid this time of year. Could they have died of hypothermia before starving to death?

Roberto clears his throat. “No, I need you to head straight to Manhattan Academy.”

“The preschool?” I ask.

Is he upset that he lost fourteen children, so he now wants us to start stealing kids from school? He’s insane if he thinks we can get away with snatching kids at school.

It will never work.

Besides, Ardian and I will need a shower and a change of clothes before we step foot around another person.

“Yes, Mikhail Barinov’s nephew attends Manhattan Academy. I want him brought to our complex.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

It’s not my job to ask why. And it’s not just any kid. He wants us to fucking kidnap the bratva leader’s nephew? Surely, he’s not going to sell the kid. Probably just use him as collateral to get what he wants.

What the fuck does he want that involves using an innocent kid?

We’ve been battling with the bratva for years, but it’s never been an all-out war. Does Roberto know what the fuck he’s getting us involved in?

He’s my boss. Questioning his authority or his commands is a surefire way to end up like those other kids, dead.

“Do you have a photograph of the kid?” I ask. How am I supposed to know Mikhail’s nephew from any other kid at the preschool?

“I just texted it to you,” Roberto says. “The kid’s name is Liam Barinov.”

I glance at my phone. The boy has blond hair and blue eyes. He doesn’t look the slightest like Mikhail, but it’s his nephew, not his son.

In the photograph, the boy is wearing a blue and white striped shirt and khaki pants. He has a wide grin, oblivious to the horrors of the world.

And he has his mother’s eyes.

I would know. I slept with her.

Aleksandra Barinov, Mikhail’s little sister, is one hundred percent off-limits.

She’s the kind of spice that I enjoy a taste of now and again. And her brother has no idea that we fucked.

Neither does Roberto Moretti, my boss.

The past is best left kept in the past, locked away. It was a long time ago when I was young and foolish, falling into her bed, or rather her shower. We were on vacation and what happens out of the country stays out of the country.

She gave me one wild, insane night with enough fantasies to last a lifetime.

Was it five years ago? Or maybe six when we hooked up?

I can’t remember. I still hear her sweet moans late at night when I’m fast asleep.

Aleksandra can’t notice me because I’m a dead man if she does.

The entire Russian Bratva will be after me, and I’ll never be safe.

* * *

There’s not much time, but we shower and change at a nearby gym that we own, burn our old clothes before arriving at Manhattan Academy. Thankfully, I left my coat in the SUV when we cleaned out the container, or I’d have been forced to burn the leather jacket.

“You ever do one of these jobs?” I ask, staring out the window before slipping on my gloves and stepping out of the vehicle.

“First time,” he admits. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets.

We’re not kidnappers. I sure as hell don’t know the first thing about snatching a kid, other than don’t get caught.

The air is frigid, the sun buried behind the thicket of clouds.

It feels like snow.

Ardian is right beside me, shivering. He is underdressed for the weather. Me, I’m just trying not to bring up breakfast. I’m grateful that I haven’t eaten anything for lunch. Cleaning up dead bodies and blood, I can stomach. But looking into the eyes of a little kid who’s alive and knowing what the fuck to do if he screams, that has me untethered.

I have no intention of harming the boy. And Roberto isn’t stupid enough to kill the kid, just put fear into his uncle.

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. There’s a church bell that rings in the distance, mixed with the wind.

When I’m on the clean-up crew, I don’t worry about planning and preparing. It’s just a matter of not being noticed.

There’s an elegance to being invisible, but having to sneak in and kidnap a child, that involves patience and precision. I don’t have candy or a puppy on hand, something to lure the child into the back of our SUV. And that’s assuming he’s willing to accompany us.

Which means I’ll have to do something more drastic.

If Aleksandra ever discovers what I’m involved in, she’ll never forgive me. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to forgive myself.

When did Don Moretti decide it was okay to kidnap children? Bratva or not, he’s just a kid. The boy can’t help who his family is. From the looks of the picture, he’s, at most, four years old.

Do I want to snatch the boy for Roberto? No, but what other choice do I have? I’ve always followed orders and done what I was told.

Roberto isn’t just my boss. He’s practically my father, having raised me as his son.

Ardian and I canvas the surrounding area around the preschool. There is no surveillance equipment to identify us, making the job easier.

The back door of the preschool opens, and a flood of children rush outside onto the playground. They all wear hats and gloves, thick parkas making it challenging to identify the little boy I’m supposed to nab.

I approach the gate and unclasp the latch. There’s no lock.

Don’t they worry about the children slipping out and running off?

Maybe that’s not their biggest concern.

I am.

Men like me, snatching children.

There are worse men. Men who like little boys, and that vile thought is enough to make my stomach flop. Roberto has never proven to be one of those disgusting creatures.

“Liam!” the teacher calls to the boy hanging upside down on the monkey bars. His hat has fallen off, and he throws his gloves to the ground with it.

The teacher, wearing a long, black, button-down coat, hurries across the playground to Liam and bends down, handing him back his hat and gloves.

Liam flips around and jumps down. A bright blue winter hat quickly covers his thick head of golden hair. His hat matches his coat.

“That’s the boy,” I say to Ardian as he stands beside me. We’re not the least bit inconspicuous, but no one pays us any attention.

Maybe they should notice two men standing around a preschool, watching the children play on the playground. But this is a friendly neighborhood where nothing ever happens. It’s quiet, tranquil.

Peaceful.

Not for very long.

2

Aleksandra

“What do you mean, Liam’s gone missing?” I wrap my turquoise scarf around my neck as I slip on my coat and hurry to the car.

Nikita, one of my brother’s guards, is on my toes, following me outside. He snatches the keys from my hands and unlocks the door, indicating that he’s driving.

He’s a pompous ass, but at least he’s a fast driver. “Where to?” he asks.

“Liam and Sophia’s preschool,” I say.

Nikita drives the twins to preschool all week. He knows the quickest route. I hang up the call, and we’re already outside the compound, hightailing it through the city.

Before Nikita has time to shut off the engine, I jump out of the car and rush inside, searching for Liam’s teacher.

Sophia is in tears, her face bright red, matching her sweater dress.

“We’ve contacted the authorities. They should be here any minute.”

The police.

I exhale a heavy breath. It’s no secret that I’m tied to the Russian Bratva. My brother runs the most prominent and most ruthless organization in New York.

I’d have preferred to keep the police out of this mess, but I want my son back, no matter the cost.

I pick up Sophia in my arms, and her sobs begin to settle. Even if she saw something, she’s not capable of speaking right now.

Nikita hurries inside after parking the vehicle. “Who is in charge?” he commands with authority when he speaks.

“I am,” a woman with dark brown hair says. “I’m Director Kira Collins,” she says, introducing herself.

“Do you have footage, surveillance of the outside perimeter?” Nikita asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Kira says. “We don’t know what happened. One minute, we have a report that Liam was outside on the jungle gym, and the next minute, he was gone.”

“No one saw him leave with anyone?” I ask.

Liam knows not to leave with a stranger. He’s smarter than that, and while he doesn’t understand what his uncle does for a living, he has enough common sense not to wander off.

“I did,” Sophia whispers, wiping away the last remnants of tears.

“Who did Liam go with?” I ask.

Sophia shakes her head. “He was big. Tall and scary,” she whispers. Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes me tighter.

I rub her back and breathe only a slight sigh of relief when the authorities come barreling in through the main entrance.

They’re here to help. At least that’s what I keep reminding myself, but Nikita doesn’t seem happy to see them, and Mikhail will be even more upset that they’ve been brought in to investigate Liam’s disappearance.

He’ll blame me, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m responsible.

* * *

There are no leads. Two men were seen outside the preschool, but no one could identify them. The best description came from my daughter, “big, tall, and scary,” which describes more than half of the men in New York City.

Is it the Moretti family that came after my son?

Could Antonio have realized Liam was his son?

No, I haven’t spoken with Antonio in years. His name isn’t on the birth certificate. I never told a soul the name of the biological father. It’s not possible that he figured it out.

Besides, if Antonio discovered I was keeping Liam a secret, he’d have taken Sophia too. After all, they are fraternal twins.

Staying at the preschool is useless. I answer the police officer’s questions and provide my address and phone number, which happens to be the compound’s location. Mikhail isn’t going to be pleased to have cops showing up at the door. But my children are the priority, whether Mikhail realizes it or not.

Nikita drives me back to the compound.

Sophia is crying in the backseat the entire way home.

My eyes are misty. I’m trying to hold myself together, but I’m struggling. There were no witnesses, but there had to be surveillance footage somewhere in that neighborhood. There were plenty of homes. Didn’t someone have a doorbell camera or security camera outside their property? If it was facing the preschool or nearby, maybe we could track down the abductor.

What do they want with my son?

Could it be for ransom?

My phone has been in my hands, while I fiddle with the screen, but no one is calling. It’s eerily silent.

“We’ll find Liam,” Nikita says, assuring me that my son will be fine.

But I don’t believe him. He works for my brother, a monster. I should have left the family when the twins were born, or sooner, when I was pregnant. Staying has put my children in danger.

“How?” I rasp, glancing at Nikita. He means well, and I’m sure he’s trying to comfort me, reassure me that my son will be fine, but if it’s men who took Liam for revenge on Mikhail, then I’m doomed.

Mikhail doesn’t give a damn about my son or me. He’d sooner let Liam die than pay any type of ransom. And I doubt anyone is looking for a payday.

This has to be a revenge scheme to get back at Mikhail. Since my brother doesn’t have any kids or a wife, whoever it is probably assumed they’d hit him where it hurts.

His biological family.

Except he values the bratva more than his blood.

His family are his men, like Nikita, Dmitri, Yuri, and Luka, his most trusted men.

I fall well below the bottom, far beneath the bratva. He lets me live under his roof, provides for me, but he’s not the least bit selfless in his actions. I’m expected to take a husband. It’s assumed that I’ll marry a man of his choosing. But I’ve pushed off any marriage, telling Mikhail I will marry the father of my children when he comes back from the war.

It’s all a lie.

And whether Mikhail has seen through the lies or not, I’m not sure. He hasn’t forced my hand, and I’ve been grateful.

Nikita answers his phone while he drives. I only hear bits and pieces. None of it makes much sense until he hangs up.

“We have some ideas about who might be behind the abduction,” Nikita says. He glances in the rearview mirror at Sophia.

Is he being cautious about what’s said in front of my daughter? Does he not wish to scare her any further? That can’t be good.

He lowers his voice. “There’s been chatter.”

“Do you have a name?” I can’t take the silence. Not knowing is worse than anything I could ever experience. I need to do something, to take matters into my own hands if necessary. “Please,” I rasp, about ready to beg.

Nikita shoots me a look. “It’s just chatter. Men talk.”

“What is it?” I’m desperate and will take any glimpse of hope, no matter how slight or insignificant it may seem to someone else.

“The Morettis were seen dumping in the harbor.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Dumping what?” I ask.

Could it be Liam? Would Moretti’s men have gone after my son and then killed him to dump him in the harbor? It doesn’t make sense to me, but men like Moretti and Mikhail don’t act rationally. They’re impulsive and dangerous.

“Bodies. Children’s bodies,” Nikita whispers, careful not to let my daughter overhear his words. “But this was before Liam’s abduction.”

I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but the only thing that comes out is a choked sob. I should be flooded with ease, but I’m not. The fact that Moretti murdered children has me both angry and shattered inside.

If he is responsible for Liam’s disappearance, all hope is lost.

* * *

We arrive back at the compound, and I usher my baby girl, Sophia, inside. I want her protected from the Morettis and safely tucked away where no one can get to her.

Nikita locks the main entrance behind me, securing the deadbolt and a half dozen other locks to follow.

Mikhail’s heavy footsteps thump against the wooden floorboards. “I hear my nephew has gone missing,” Mikhail says to Nikita. It’s as though I’m not even in the room.

I help Sophia out of her coat, winter boots, hat, and gloves, putting everything in the nearby hall closet.

“Go into the playroom. I’ll be in there shortly,” I say to Sophia. I don’t want her overhearing the conversation between Nikita and Mikhail. She’s witnessed enough as it is today.

I spin around on my heels the minute that Sophia has disappeared down the hallway and into the playroom. “He hasn’t just gone missing, Mikhail. He’s been kidnapped. My son didn’t just wander off, away from the preschool on an adventure. Someone came onto the property and snatched my boy. What are you going to do to get him back?” I ask.

Mikhail exhales a heavy breath. He’s somber and silent for a long, drawn-out moment. “I’m sure wherever he is, he will be returned safely,” he says dismissively.

“I’m not so sure of that, sir,” Nikita says. At least he dares to stand up to Mikhail.

It’s rare for one of Mikhail’s men to speak up in such a way to the boss. Nikita is a Kryshas, an enforcer. He’s not an underboss or a Sovetnik.

Mikhail glares at Nikita to shut his mouth. “What makes you think differently?” Mikhail asks. He tilts his head slightly, waiting for an answer. A slew of tattoos covers his arms, chest, and up to his neck. The largest, most prominent, is a snake.

Mikhail is not the least bit a calm or patient man. And the longer it takes for Nikita to answer, the redder Mikhail’s face becomes.

“Men talk, sir. I have it on good authority that the Morettis were at the docks this morning, dumping several bodies into the harbor.”

“Do you have evidence?” Mikhail asks, stepping closer to Nikita.

Nikita holds his breath, staring up at his boss. “No, sir. I didn’t witness it myself. Like I said, men talk.”

Mikhail exhales a heavy sigh. “I see. Why does the dumping of several people make you think the Moretti family took my nephew?”

Mikhail pins him with his stare.

Nikita has no choice but to answer. “They were disposing of children, infants, babies, sir. It would only make sense that if a buyer were waiting for a child, they might not wait for another shipment.”

“And you think it is a mere coincidence that the Morettis went after my nephew?” Mikhail asks. “Because I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Nikita’s voice trembles as he speaks. “Neither do I, sir.” He stares up at Mikhail. The Kryshas might piss himself out of fear.

“If it’s true and Roberto Moretti is responsible for abducting my nephew, then we will let hell rain down on the Moretti family,” Mikhail says. “We aren’t waiting until morning. I want to strike their compound tonight, before they have the opportunity to move Liam.”

I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but I’m not the least bit calm or pleased with the fact they’re going to attack the Moretti family. What happens if Liam gets in the way, or worse, they use him as a hostage?

Will he become collateral in an excuse for a war with the Italians?

I can’t trust that Mikhail will protect Liam. Even if the boy is his nephew, he’s never cared about Liam or Sophia in the past. He’s provided us a place to stay, but it’s only because Papa wrote it into his will that I would be cared for and looked after when he passed.

This feels more like a power play and an opportunity to strike the Moretti family.

Mikhail disappears down the hall. I assume he’s running off to arm his men and command them into battle.

“You have to take me with you,” I plead with Nikita. “Mikhail doesn’t care about Liam. He wants Roberto dead.”

“No offense, but you’re better off here, where you won’t get killed. What good does it do for your children if Roberto or his men shoot you?”

I understand his position, and while he’s probably right, I can’t just sit and wait. I hurry off to the playroom, to check on Sophia.

“Mommy.” Sophia sits on the floor, her stuffed animals around her as she plays school with them.

“I have to go get your brother,” I say, bending down and giving her a hug and kiss.

Her bottom lip trembles.

“It’s okay. I won’t be gone long.” I press a kiss on her cheek. “Be good for me. Stay in here, okay?” I need to know that Sophia will be safe. I can’t bring her with me.

Sophia’s eyes are wide. Her blonde curls bounce as she nods in agreement. “I love you,” she says, throwing her arms around me for a tight squeeze.

“I love you too,” I say and drop a final kiss to her forehead.

I head to the kitchen and snatch a knife. I don’t have access to any other weapons in the compound. Quietly, I grab my coat and am grateful I never removed my boots. I hurry to the garage and slink away in the backseat of Mikhail’s SUV.

I need to rescue Liam and make sure Mikhail doesn’t betray me. While I don’t think he’d sacrifice Liam, I also can’t trust that he won’t put Liam’s safety well below the men who work for him, the bratva.

* * *

I’m silent and stealthy. I hide in the back of the SUV, making sure not to be seen. I don’t want Mikhail handcuffing me or finding another way to incapacitate me.

I wait for the doors of the vehicle to slam shut.

The bratva aren’t the least bit quiet on their approach.

Gunfire erupts from all around, but the vehicle remains untouched.

I’m safe.

But I can’t stay in the confines of the SUV and find my son. I wait until the gunfire becomes more distant and poke my head up, making sure there’s no one nearby.

I unlock the back door and slip out, leaving it ajar. I don’t need to slam it shut. I hurry inside the main entrance where my brother and his men have burst through the open door.

Mikhail brought his army with him, guns blazing.

He isn’t here to talk or negotiate. He’s here to kill.

Liam was an excuse to attack the Morettis. Any reason that Mikhail can get, he’ll take to go to war.

The bratva are bloody savages. They’re barely men, interested in only their selfish interests.

I keep the blade of the kitchen knife close. It’s the only weapon I have, but it’s nothing compared to the guns blasting the men to pieces. I don’t want to come close to one of Moretti’s men. If I’m lucky, I’ll remain invisible as I search their compound for my son.

Gunfire echoes, and men’s shouts in Italian follow down the hallway.

More men are coming. I sneak into the nearest room. It’s dark, black as night. I’m invisible, hidden from view as several of Moretti’s men, armed with guns, hurry toward the firefight.

“Aleksandra,” Antonio says.

His voice startles me.

I lift the knife and glance over my shoulder in the darkened room to realize it’s an office. “What are you doing in here?” he asks. He’s seated at his desk in the dark.

“Why are you in the dark?” I ask.

3

Antonio

One hour after the kidnapping…

The child is behind me, protected until I have the answers that I need, the ones that will satisfy the innate curiosity building within me.

“What do you intend to do with the boy?” I ask, delivering him to Roberto.

I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

He’s a child and not just any child, Aleksandra’s son. It’s not just another job. I know the woman and the family the boy belongs to, and taking him means we’re asking for war. One that we can’t win against the Russians.

“You don’t ask questions,” Roberto says. He glances me over. “You’re nothing more than an errand boy, Antonio. Know your place.”

My brow tightens. After what I’ve seen today, I question everything I know about Roberto. “You always told me that my mother left me on your doorstep. That wasn’t true, was it?”

Why hasn’t the truth dawned on me sooner?

Is that why Roberto kept me from the knowledge of him running The Cradle and being the man behind the smuggling of children and newborn babies?

“You’re my son,” Roberto says.

I never questioned the adoption. Roberto Moretti was a father to me growing up, teaching me the ways of the mafia.

He still doesn’t answer my question.

“Did you abduct me from my mother, like we did the boy?” I ask. I need to know if my family abandoned me like I’d been told or if I was stolen.

There’d always been rumors that I was Russian, how easy it is for me to kill and exact revenge. The fact that I’m ruthless and cunning isn’t unnoticed by the mafia. I’ve never quite fit in with the Italians, but I surmised it was because I was adopted.

They are trained to be cold and cruel by the mafia boss himself.

I was taught by the best to be the worst.

Is it all a lie?

“I brought you into my home, Antonio, and raised you as my son. And this is the thanks that I get? Questioning where you came from?” He stands and steps around his desk, coming to face me. “The bratva are ruthless savages. They threaten our shipments and our families. They’re the monsters. Not us.”

He’s talking in circles, avoiding the question. I stare him down, unwilling to so much as blink. “Did you kidnap me?” I bite, needing to know the truth.

“You weren’t dropped off at the doorstep,” Roberto says with a laugh. “Think about it. The place is guarded and locked up. How would anyone get past the fence to deliver an infant to the front door? And why would they?”

My hands ball into fists at my sides. I want to slug the bastard, but he’s my boss and will throw my ungrateful ass in the dungeon. Or worse, murder me.

“Come here, child,” he says to the boy.

The blond-haired little one doesn’t step any closer. He’s tucked behind my legs and reaches for my hand. My fist relaxes as he grips my hand and clutches it like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

“This will start a war,” I warn Roberto. Does he not worry about the consequences of stealing a child from the Barinov family? He could have suggested that we capture any child, but to go after the bratva’s family is ludicrous.

His lips turn upwards just slightly, his eyes crinkling with glee. “Good,” Roberto says. “Let them come. We’ll burn the bratva. Every last one of them.”

I glance at the young boy, practically attached to my hip. “Go outside; stand by the door,” I say.

He doesn’t question my order. He drops my hand and hurries out of the office. I shut the door behind him. What I intend to do, I don’t want any witnesses.

“Don’t you see it?” Roberto asks. A smug grin stretches across his face. “The boy is yours. Aleksandra had your son. He belongs with you.”

“Lies,” I seethe.

He’s got no sidearm, and his backup gun is in the desk drawer behind him.

There’s a blade sheathed attached to my belt, and my gun is holstered at my hip. There’s no silencer attached. The gun will be too loud, bring about too much-unwarranted attention.

I unsheathe the glistening blade, staring into his cold, ruthless eyes.

“I swear, he’s your son.”

My gaze tightens. “Is that supposed to be you begging for your life?”

“I know who your parents are!” Rather than scream for backup or his men, Roberto says the one thing that has me questioning my very existence.

He’s manipulating me, trying to convince me he isn’t the bad guy. He reaches for my gun, grabbing it to use against me.

Roberto must be stopped.

* * *

There’s blood on my hands. It’s not anything new, except the crimson stains who I am.

There’s no relief, no flood of happiness from what I’ve done. Roberto’s men seek a leader, and Mario Moretti is the second in command.

Mario is no better of a man than Roberto.

He is as much at fault for stealing children from their families. While he took orders from Roberto, he helped orchestrate the operation.

How much bloodshed until I can right what’s been done?

How many men must die or fall in line?

I remove my blazer, wipe the remnants of my blood-soaked hands, and open the office door. Roberto’s body needs to be disposed of, but not before his men know what I’ve done.

Who I am.

And who I will become.

“Come with me,” I say, ushering the boy down the hall and into a closet. I yank open the door. “Stay here. Don’t move.” I give orders like he’s a soldier.