Page 33 of Arranged Marriage By the Bratva

“Exactly right. We are, and she’s carrying our child. I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to her. Yegor, find her.” I’ve said it out loud, but I don’t give a damn. This changes everything. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I get ready to call my contacts at NYPD to have them bring her in just as one of my men brings in Bogdan.

Flummoxed with all the moving parts, I gesture to the men. “Why? What’s he doing here?”

“It’s not what you think it is,” Bogdan grunts, wrestling with my two soldiers who have a solid grip on his arms on both sides.

“And what do I think it is? What the fuck is going on?” Bogdan’s face hangs down towards the floor as I push one of my men in the chest. “Speak up!” I command.

“We scanned Bogdan’s phone, and there’re multiple calls from him to Matteo Gallo over the past few days. He’s in bed with Matteo, and they were plotting together to kill Elena.”

Rage engulfs me as I roll up my sleeves, the icy cold part of me emerging. “Don’t, Nikk, we’re family.”

“Then you should act like it. Hold him.” I deliver a sharp gut punch, Bogdan doubling over as he attempts to wrestle free, but by the time he tries to breathe, I go in again, delivering blow after blow to his stomach. “You bitch! You had that son-of-a-bitch rape my wife. You deserve a fate worse than death. I’m going to end you,” I growl, saliva, dripping from my mouth as the carnal fight in me ascends.

“Nikk, she’s a Mancini,” he groans, sucking in air as I smash my fist into his face, busting his nose so it gushes blood all over the floor. By now, he’s hanging and barely able to stand, but my men, hoist him up as I draw back, swinging a weighty uppercut deep into his belly.

I can’t feel any pain in my hands. I’m fueled by pure rage, and with every pummel to his gut, I’m thinking of what Elena must have felt like with that pig Matteo heaving on top of her.

Bogdan is hanging on by a thread, and my chest is caving in with anger. “You let another man rape my wife! You prick!” I yell out coarsely, Bogdan begging for his life as his head bobbles around.

“I didn’t think you cared. She’s not your wife!” Bogdan wails, his eye swelling up.

“She’s mine!” I pant, sweating profusely, hurting from the open wound of the betrayal. A tooth falls to the ground. He’s going to pay; besides I have to set the example for the rest of the Bratva to understand if you cross me, you’re likely to pay with your life.

A call interrupts and I pause, wheezing as I pull the cell phone from my pocket. It’s slippery from the blood on my hands, but I manage. “Yegor.”

“Boss, she’s on the move, and just like you said, she’s headed to JFK airport. We received word from NYPD. They’ve been tracking Turan’s license plate,” Yegor announces.

“Okay, get all the cars ready. We can’t let Elena leave New York. Once she’s gone to Italy, she’s going to be gone for good,” I remark, not wanting to even think what that would mean.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elena

This is the next step of the plan, and now I’m one step closer to Sicily, and to slitting Matteo’s throat. Being a newbie to New York, it’s all new to me on how to navigate the traffic here. It’s nothing like Italy. It’s crazy maniacs on the road, and all these stops with bright lights, smelly sewer streets, and people trying to get everywhere. The thing is, I’ve come to love it, and I understand why Nikk would want it to be the city the Bratva runs. There’s endless possibilities here. For me, I can’t sleep at night knowing the fate of the Sicilian Mafia is hanging on by a thread. This is not what my father would have wanted.

I’ve already called ahead to my uncle on my father’s side for a place to stay. When I see him, that’s when I can work out a plan. The problem I’m having is I don’t know who is connected to Matteo, and who else I’m going to have to get rid of.

Sharon is a lady of her word, and she came through with my passport in the eleventh hour. I look inside the purse she gave me, and it looks exactly like mine. I’ve got enough money to cover me as well, but when I get back home, there’s a stash of cash available to me.

Shaking my head, I realize it’s a stash that Matteo knows about as well, and he knows enough about me to think I would probably try to come and take it back. God. Why did he have to do what he did?

The pain is like a deep knife wound, and I don’t want to think about how much I hate him right now, but all I’m imagining is his unmarked grave in the Palmero cemetery. He doesn’t even deserve to be buried unless it’s alive and screaming. As I switch lanes, a glimpse of the faded bruises on my wrists from the rope he tied me up with send me into a deeper spiral of twisted hate.

I know it’s only going to take me just over thirty minutes to get to the airport, and it gives me plenty of time to go through customs and wait in the boarding lounge. I have a long list of people to call, and there’s going to be a meeting. Oh yes, Matteo is going to meet his downfall. If he thinks he can overthrow me as Donna without a fight he has another thing coming.

As I hit the Grand Central Parkway, I stay in the same lane, traffic thankfully moving at a reasonable speed. Adjusting my mirror, I feel a stab of pain hit my heart. I’m leaving Nikk behind, and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me when I get to Sicily.

“Why didn’t you believe me?” I demand out loud, thumping the wheel, wishing he would have listened. I was trying to help him. Things were changing between us, and I’m carrying his baby. I think I’ll be able to give it a better life in Sicily once I sort out this mess.

Readjusting my front rear mirror, I take note of a large black van moving erratically across lanes. My mental radar switches on, along with the hairs on the back of my neck.

Am I being followed? Keeping watching on the traffic in front, I conduct a subtle test by switching lanes, and as I do, the car switches with me.

One, two, three, four. The vehicle is a few cars back, and that’s when I notice the others. There are more vehicles that look to be the same car brand. When I look again, the car has crept closer to me, and my heart sinks when I realize who it is.

“Fuck!” I curse, gripping on to the steering wheel, nervous butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He knows New York like the back of his hand so to outrun him in a car chase is going to be difficult, but goddammit, I’m going to try.

Pressing my foot to the gas, I accelerate, swinging left into the left lane, prepared to hit the closest next exit and then get back on track if I need to. It’s a smoggy New York day, so if I can evade him for long enough, I can fade in among the other cars.

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