Hold Me_A mafia romance Read online

  18

  Anna

  I’m aware of the sound of the lock sliding back, but I don’t move. The door lets out that familiar groaning squeal before two figures move into my periphery. I barely register them, or anything really. I’m adrift, floating on a perfectly still endless sea of nothing. There’s no end in sight, so I’m committed to this permanent state, to survival. I become vaguely aware of a man and a woman, both with white-blonde hair. I glance at them, but it’s like looking through a fogged window. I see them, their features, their movements, but I don’t absorb anything. Fingers touch my face, and I’m forced to meet violet eyes. A bolt of familiarity hits me like an electric shock trying to jerk me back to life. Una. It’s like my soul recognizes her and hope tries to raise its head.

  “Hold her down,” she says, and her voice is pure ice.

  The man pushes me down on the bed with far too much strength to fight.

  “Una?” I whimper. She takes a knife from her thigh holster and grabs my wrist, forcing my palm flat against the thin mattress. “Una, please,” I beg, my emotions slowly sharpening back into focus. I glance at the knife, fear filling me. She holds it over my hand, not a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. This is my sister, the kiss of death, the killer that everyone fears, and now I see why.

  “Lie still. This will be over soon,” the man says.

  Una takes a breath and then presses the blade to my pinky finger, pressing down until it bites into the flesh. I scream as I feel it snap through the bone. Blood spills over my skin as pain radiates up my arm. She grabs the blanket, wrapping it around my hand in a bundle.

  “Hold this,” she says, her voice completely flat. I clutch it to my chest, my hands shaking as my vision blurs with tears. It’s not the pain or the loss of my finger. It’s the soul-deep sting of betrayal. It’s the absolute knowledge that I am truly alone, and no one can help me. She picks up my severed finger and walks out of the room without even looking at me. “Get someone to stitch that,” she says before slamming the door.

  The guy stays in the room while a doctor comes in and stitches my hand. I don’t acknowledge either of them. I simply stare at the ceiling, willing myself to stop hoping, to just accept my fate. With acceptance comes peace.

  19

  Rafael

  It’s taken that bastard two weeks to arrange a meeting. I pull the car onto the top level of the parking deck where we’re meeting. My guess is he has the place covered by snipers, but there’s not an awful lot I can do about that. If he kills me, he won’t have access to my port, and if I kill him, I won’t get Anna back. It’s tentative understanding, and I don’t trust the Russian for shit. I turn the lights off and wait. Snow swirls across the open space in manic flurries, disappearing into the darkness of the night sky just as quickly as it appears. After a few minutes, a black SUV pulls up the ramp, circling behind our car and coming to a halt right in front of us.

  I get out of the car, and so do the two guys I brought with me. I left Samuel behind for this one. I can’t risk the possibility of this being a trap and them taking both of us out. Samuel is too important to the survival of the cartel, and despite how it may seem, I do still give a shit what happens to the cartel.

  The car doors open and a figure emerges in front of the headlights. His dark hair is graying, his eyes such a chilling shade of pale blue that he looks like the villain in every movie. An expensive wool coat hangs open over a three-piece suit. He’s both a cliché and nothing like what I expected. Two figures move in on either side of him, and my eyes lock with the startling lilac irises of Una Ivanov. I force my expression to remain impassive, but I’ll admit, I’m shocked. I didn’t expect to see her here. She stares at me for a moment longer before I tear my eyes away and focus on Nicholai.

  I’ve already laid out what I am, and am not, prepared to give him. I didn’t want to get ambushed out in the open because he expects something I’m not prepared to provide. Truthfully, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t give for Anna, but therein lies the problem. Show an enemy your weak spot, and he will exploit it. Though I’m not sure there’s any point in trying to hide it at this point. After all, I’m here, willing to barter things I never would have previously, for her life. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”

  Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody,” he says arrogantly. Here, I am a nobody, and he thinks himself untouchable, surrounded by his army, but in Mexico…he would be eaten alive. That’s the only small condolence I have in allowing him any foothold in my country. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to me. I catch it, frowning down at it. It’s plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is a finger.

  “Is this a joke?” I growl.

  “Of course not. See, it is fresh. Just cut this morning.” Nicholai spreads his hands to the side.

  “This is not proof of life,” I snap, my heart hammering in my chest so hard it’s all I can feel, all I can hear. “This could belong to anyone.” Not to mention that whoever owns it could now be dead.

  “If you look closely you’ll see the faded tattoo of a slave number.” He shrugs. “We used to tattoo their fingers until we realized it would fade. Then we did the wrists.” Bile rises in my throat as I notice the blur of faded ink, the same blur I’ve noticed on Anna’s little finger before. Stepping closer to me, Nicholai grins. “On my honor, it is hers,” he says, placing his hand on his chest. “Una cut it off herself.” My gaze swings to Una, and I grit my teeth as red-hot rage rips over my skin. She cut off her own sister’s finger. What kind of animal is she?

  “You did this?” I ask, holding up the bag to her.

  There’s nothing there, not even a flicker of emotion. “You wanted proof of life. Now you have it,” she says coldly. “Her finger for her freedom seems like a good trade to me.” I glance from Una to Nicholai and back again, trying to comprehend what’s happening. I trusted that Una would protect her sister to a degree, but now…

  “She loves you,” I growl.

  “Love is weakness, Rafael.” She cocks a brow and steps closer to me. “After all, look at you, here, brokering non-advantageous deals, all for my sweet little sister.”

  I dismiss her with a snarl of my lip. She’s a disgrace. Even by my standards, that’s low. The cartel might not have many ethics, but we’d never mutilate our family. “Do we have a deal?” I ask the Russian.

  Nicholai’s head tilts to the side. “We do.”

  “Good. You can use the port immediately. I expect Anna within twenty-four hours.”

  He smirks. “I will be in touch about your delivery.” He turns away, getting back in the car. I expect Una to linger, or at least look at me, but she doesn’t. She simply turns away and gets in the car as if we’ve never met. Is her loyalty really that easily swayed? Or is she playing a role? Role or not, she cut off her sister’s finger. That’s fucked up.

  Two days, and I’ve heard nothing. I sit at the dining table in the Russian house, swigging on a bottle of Russia’s finest vodka. I sent Samuel back to Mexico last night, with half the men. The rest of them remain in the house, but as usual, they avoid my presence. Taking a cigar from my jacket pocket, I place it to my lips and light it. I inhale a deep breath and the smoke dances over my tongue, mixing with the lingering aftertaste of the vodka.

  I sent Samuel away as if this is a done deal, but truthfully, I’m terrified that the Russian will back out, and I’m so close, so fucking close. I tip the vodka back again, and again.

  I jolt awake at the sound of squealing tires right outside the house. I must have passed out. Voices drift down the hallway followed by the front door clicking open. I get up, scrubbing a hand over my face as I make my way into the hallway. Two of Samuel’s guys are standing in the open doorway, guns in hand.

  “What’s happening?”

  Someone shouts from outside before jogging back up to the front door. As the soldier steps into the light cast by the front porch, I see the figure clutched in his
arms. Blonde hair hangs over his arm. Anna. I’m moving towards him and shoving the other men out of the way before I can truly process what’s happening. He hands her to me, and I take her from his arms, clutching her tight to my chest. Her eyes are closed, her head lolling to the side.

  “They dumped her out the front and drove away,” he says in a clipped voice.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Probably drugged.”

  I back away and walk into the living room, laying her on the couch. Pressing my fingers to her throat, I feel for a pulse. Its there: steady and strong beneath my fingertips. I stroke my fingers over her cheek, barely able to believe that she’s real after what feels like an eternity of trying to get her back. Her golden lashes cast a shadow over her cheekbones, and she looks almost peaceful in her deep sleep. I wonder if she’ll be so peaceful when she’s awake? What did they do to her in there? Two months is a long time. I press my lips to her forehead, waiting for the raspberry scent of her shampoo to hit me, but it’s absent.

  “Sir?”

  I glance over my shoulder at the man who brought her in. “We need to move. They know where we are.”

  I frown. They dropped her off here. Nicholai has known exactly where we were this entire time?

  “Pack everything up. We leave immediately.” I look at Anna. “We’re going back to Mexico.” Back where I can keep her safe. I might never let Anna Vasiliev out of my sight ever again.

  20

  Anna

  I can hear voices. Low murmurings coming from somewhere in the room. Warmth dances along my skin—it’s been so long since I felt anything but cold. My body feels weighted down, or perhaps it’s just my mind, unwilling to rise to consciousness and greet whatever awaits me.

  “She’s been out for twenty-four hours. There must be something wrong.” I recognize the deep timbre of that voice.

  “The doc says she’s fine. They probably just dosed her too high.”

  I blink my eyes open and instantly wince against the bright sunlight streaming through a nearby window.

  “Anna?”

  The mattress dips next to me, and I glance at the man now looking at me. Rafael. There’s this little tug in my chest, but it quickly dissipates.

  His face breaks into a smile, relief crossing his features. “You’re okay.” I say nothing and his smile slowly falls. “Aren’t you?”

  Okay. It’s such a non-descript word. Am I okay? I’m alive. “Yes.”

  His brows pull together, and he reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away. I don’t want to be touched. Ever. Pain morphs his features, and there’s that little pull in my chest again as though something is trying to get out, but it can’t because it’s so buried. I know that I once wanted his touch. I know that I loved him, but that feeling…it’s distanced, as though I once read it in a book and can imagine what it’s like, but not actually identify with. I know I should feel something, but I just…can’t.

  I’m in my safe place, and nothing can touch me here. Not even him.

  21

  Rafael

  I walk out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me. As soon as I’m outside, I drop to a crouch, dragging my hands through my hair. I thought when I got her back, this unbearable fucking pain would ease, but it’s worse than ever.

  They didn’t just break her. They destroyed every last vestige of what she was. Rage and heartbreak blend together until I’m fighting back tears and wanting to tear everything apart. When I close my eyes, I can still picture that completely devoid look in her eyes. My Anna is gone. I didn’t get to her fast enough. I didn’t do enough, and I couldn’t save her.

  “Rafe.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I try and pull myself together before I stand and face Samuel.

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  “Honestly? I’ve never been this far from okay.”

  He frowns. “She’ll pull through. She always does.”

  I shake my head. “This is different. It’s like…like she barely recognizes me.”

  “Give it time,” he says quietly. He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me towards the stairs. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.” I do. An entire bottle of the stuff.

  I never could stay away from Anna for long. Sitting in the corner of my room, I watch her sleep as I tip back brandy. She’s on her side, curled into a tight ball, her bandaged hand pulled against her chest. She always used to look so peaceful in sleep like the years of bad memories had been wiped. Now though…she looks tense and haunted, even at rest.

  A small whimper slips from her, and then she flips on her back and lets out a single cry. “No.”

  I’m up and crossing the room in a heartbeat, sitting on the mattress beside her. I stroke my fingers over her face and she settles, leaning into my touch slightly. After a few moments she wakes up, and for a second, just a second, I see my Anna. But then her expression shutters, as though something is pulling her away from me. Her eyes grow cold, and she shifts away.

  “You were having a nightmare,” I say.

  “I’m fine.”

  Fuck, I can’t take this. How am I supposed to fix this? She’s worse than when I first got her from the Sinaloa. Or maybe she’s not, and it’s simply that I didn’t love her then. Her pain didn’t hurt me then. I need to know what’s made her this way.

  I close my eyes, gritting my teeth. “Anna, I need you to tell me what happened to you…in that place.”

  She looks at me blankly. “Why?”

  “So I can help you.”

  “You can’t help me.”

  I fear more than anything that she’s right. “Please. Just…let me try. I need to know.”

  Her gaze pulls from mine, and she focuses on the ceiling. “They tried to get me pregnant,” she says, completely emotionless. Bile rises in my throat, and my fists tighten. “And then Una cut off my finger.” There’s the slightest waver, the tiniest hitch in her voice.

  “I’m sorry.” I drop my chin to my chest, feeling like I’m literally buckling under the weight of everything. “I promised to protect you, and I failed.”

  “You can’t protect me. You can’t save me.” I fucking hate this. I hate the resignation in her voice. I hate that she’s given up. My little warrior has laid down her weapons and surrendered.

  Pushing to my feet, I swipe the bottle of brandy from the side table where I left it. “I love you, avecita.” And then I leave the room because I need a minute.

  22

  Rafael

  Maria walks into my office, her hands clasped in front of her and a grim expression on her face.

  “How is she?” I ask.

  “The same.” Of course. She’s always the same.

  Weeks have passed, and Anna just exists. And it feels as though I slowly cease to exist. Nothing matters anymore, as though all the color has been drained from the world. Everything is bleak and gray, because, without her, I am nothing.

  “I’ll get you some food,” Maria says hopefully.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  On a resigned sigh, she walks out of the room, and I open my office drawer, reaching for the flask of brandy I keep there. This has become my only means of survival—to become as numb as Anna.

  Leaving the office, I walk aimlessly through the house until I find myself in her room, my room. I never sleep in the bed anymore, but I don’t want her anywhere else. She lies on her side, staring blankly through the open balcony doors. She doesn’t even seek out the sun like she once did. She’s just…destroyed. Nothing of her remains. Every day that I come in here and see her like this, I lose a little more of myself.

  I never thought I’d be rendered this weak, but my little warrior has me on my fucking knees, begging her to fight just one more time.

  She won’t though.

  23

  Anna

  I don’t know how much time passes. Weeks? Months? I don’t leave that room. I don’t want to. Maria comes in and forces me to eat and shower. Rafael
comes in every day, though I can see him deteriorating right along with me.

  I know who I was. I know who I am, but I can’t seem to find her.

  It’s like I’m locked inside a glass room, and I can see out, I can hear what’s happening, but I can’t be heard. I can’t be seen. There are two versions of me: the one who lives and loves and laughs. And this: a girl who survives, no matter what the cost. In that place, I was alternating, flipping between the two. Hope kept me coming back. Hope stopped me from going dark altogether, but the second my sister walked out of that room, my severed finger in her hand…well, the switch flipped, and I can’t turn it back.

  I don’t want to feel that level of betrayal. I don’t want to remember all those men, their hands on me, their cold eyes as they fucked me. I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories try to rise, but that darkness is right there, offering me it’s embrace. So I step into it, allowing the numbness to creep over me until there’s nothing but this existence.

  The door clicks open, and Rafael walks in. Shadows linger beneath his eyes, and he’s lost weight. The stubble on his jaw has grown out to a full beard. He’s giving up. I can see it in his eyes. He’s realizing that I’m lost, and he’s drifting right along with me.

  My chest aches, and I frown at the sensation. I close my eyes, and for a second I can almost recall what it felt like to be kissed by him, to be loved. The memories are muddied and blurred, like a dream that you can’t quite remember. I think I want them though.