Page 39 of Hers to Control

As I prepare to defend myself, a wave of nausea washes over me.Great timing. When the next guy comes at me, I know my movements are slower and more cautious than usual. The men press their advantage, closing in on me. Since I don’t have another option, I fight back with everything I have, trying to hold them off as best as I can. I kick, scratch, and hit. I stick my finger into one guy’s eye socket and yank out a bunch of hair from another one’s head. One guy gets my foot into his junk and topples over.

But it’s not enough.

I’m not able to protect myself. Or my baby.

Each blow I land saps my strength and slows my movements. My panic rises as I struggle to keep them at bay.

A hand clamps over my mouth, stifling any potential cries for help. The thought that Eric might take these assholes by surprise and come back enters my mind, but I refuse to hope for a rescue. He’s gone, abandoning my protection in favor of his duties tola familia. I don’t bother reminding myself that a mere hour earlier, his decision had me thrilled.

I struggle against the vice-like grip holding me in place, suppressing the panic coursing through my veins as best as I can.

The men move swiftly, binding my hands and feet with duct tape. They don’t say much, but the few words are enough to make me want to scream.

Russians.

I knew it before, but having it confirmed still makes panic swell up with a renewed viciousness.

One of them drags me toward the door, my attempts to fight ignored. They shove me into the van parked just outside, and before I can come up with a sensible plan, another guy slams the doors shut and, a moment later, the van lurches forward.

We drive for a long time, the afternoon light eventually replaced by the dim glow of streetlights outside, casting eerie shadows across the two men sitting along the side of the empty cargo van. There is nothing in the back with us except for two narrow benches along the sides. One of them is holding the left side of his face, shooting me death glares with his healthy eye.

The metal floor is uncomfortable beneath me and every once in a while, I struggle against my restraints, the duct tape digging into my skin, but it’s futile. The men remain silent, their masked faces betraying no emotion as I work myself up to sit on the bench across from them.

My shoulder hurts and my mind races. It’s still two against one, not counting the driver, and I’m bound. Even as we keep getting closer to wherever these guys are taking me, fighting ispointless. I hate the feeling of tears pressing against the backs of my eyes.

I have dedicated my entire adult life to preparing my body to fight off attacks, knowing I might end up in a situation like this. But, instead of being ready to take these assholes on, I feel weak and broken. Helpless and afraid for myself and my baby.

Nausea roils in my stomach, and I gag.

I steal a glance out of the window, trying to gauge our location, but the streets blur together in the darkness. Panic threatens to consume me, but I force myself to remain calm. Or at least pretend to be calm.

I need to think, except, right now, I can’t figure out how to get out of this mess. Maybe bargain with the Russians. Yeah, that’s a fucking terrible plan.

Eric

This meeting is not where I want to be right now. Gianna and Riccardo are sitting across from each other in a conference room of Bruno Real Estates. Unlike previous meetings, they have both brought backup people along, undoubtedly because Gianna’s decision to screw a Russian is messing with the power balance in the city.

Which is the reason for this meeting.

“You can see why I might be curious about your plans with the Russian,” Riccardo is saying, his eyes hard as he watches for Gianna’s reaction.

“I can understand your concern, but it isn’t warranted,” Gianna responds. “Mikhail and I are engaged, and we will get married soon, but it won’t change the Bruno Syndicate’s relationship with the Bratva as Mikhail’s family doesn’t approve of the connection.”

It’s not quite the truth, because their engagement has most definitely changed the stalemate between the Russians and us, given that Tsepov senior is on the warpath. Gianna is downplaying the strain her relationship has put on our organization.

Never show anyone your weaknesses, not even your friends.

Riccardo nods. “Very well. I am sure you understand that our agreements hinge on the assumption that your organization doesn’t become too friendly with the Russian elements in the city.”

Gianna nods. “Certo.”

They take each other’s measure for a moment and the tension in the room is thick. Our families may have been allied for generations, but trust is earned and the recent changes in our family mean we will have to reassert ourselves as good business partners. Fortunately, Gianna knows her shit and eventually Riccardo nods.

“Very well then. I expect I’ll be invited to the wedding?”

Gianna smiles. “Of course.”

The thought of the wedding makes me want to cringe. It’ll be a security nightmare, but the idea of raising the topic with Gianna is one uncomfortable conversation I’m happy to delay until it can’t be avoided any longer. She’ll bring it up when she’s ready for it, and that is early enough for me to deal with that shit show.

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