Page 14 of Cashmere Cruelty

I scratch.

Ibite.

That last part makes my captor scream, which is strangely satisfying. By the time I’ve got a black bag over my head and cuffs around my wrists, I’m pretty sure I’ve done more damage to him than he’s done to me.

And then I hear him curse.

“Blyat’,” he spits, manhandling me into a corner of the van.

My blood turns to ice.

“Stai bene?” another voice calls from the driver’s seat. I’m no linguist, but I’m fairly certain that’s an entirely different language than the one my first kidnapper just spoke.

He must realize it a split second after I do, because he quickly corrects himself. “You okay?”

English.That, I can work with. “The bitch just bit me,” Shithead #1 growls.

“Hey!” I snap. “Language, asshole.”

Not the smartest thing to say. Again: hindsight. Mine is sorely lacking.

Pain sparks across my cheek. A loudcrack!echoes through the moving van. “Shut the fuck up,curva.”

For Nugget’s sake, I do. Then the man snatches something from my hands.

The paternity test. I didn’t realize I was still holding it. I must’ve done it subconsciously when he grabbed me.

“Like your boss said,” Shithead #1 gloats, “it’s a match. This is Matvey Groza’s kid.”

Fuck.I try to calm myself.Deep breaths, April. So this is a mob hit. So what? You’ve handled worse. Remember Carolina Torres’s quinceañera? You saw that cake topple. You can handle this.

“Of course it’s a match,” Shithead #2 bristles. “Myboss doesn’t make mistakes. We put a tracker on Groza’s records as soon as he crossed the ocean. Your boss could learn a thing or two.”

The air is tense. I can tell. Whoever these two are, something tells me they’re not from the same circles. That they haven’t been working together for long.

Good.I can use that.

For a while, I remain silent. I listen to the sound of asphalt under the wheels: a bump, then two. We’re exiting the hospital compound. Any moment now, we’ll have to make a turn.

Left, I pray to whoever’s listening.Make a left. Take the Expressway. Then, once you’re stuck in traffic?—

They go right.

Sonofabitch.

I slump against my corner. Of course my rotten luck would make an appearance now. Back in school, I used to get teased about it all the time.April Flowers brings May showers, the kids would chant, running around me in a circle under the rain.

Because it would rain, without fail, every time I decided to come on a field trip.

I learned to stay home quickly after that.

But now, I don’t have that option. Now, if I ever want to see home again, I need to make my own luck.

I keep track of the route. I’ve driven to this hospital and back for months: I know every shortcut, every road, every crossing. It doesn’t take long before I recognize the bustle of Times Square.

The traffic packs us in. The driver curses. Horns blare all around me, in full NYC rush style.

Now or never, April.

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