Page 76 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

A stranger occupies my father’s leather chair, one leg draped carelessly over the other. His tailored suit stretches across broad shoulders, and a Rolex glints at his wrist. The smile he gives me doesn’t reach his ice-blue eyes. “Welcome home, Miss Bennett.” His accent carries traces of Eastern Europe.

Two muffled thuds break the silence behind me. I spin around, my shoes squeaking against the floor. Horror floods through me as I watch Sergei and Ivan collapse like marionettes with cut strings. Their bodies hit the ground with dull thumps.

“No!” The word tears from my throat as two figures dressed in black tactical gear grab my guards by their ankles, dragging them across the floor. Their boots leave scuff marks on the wood.

“Please, face me when I’m speaking to you.” The man’s voice carries an edge of steel beneath its polite veneer.

I turn back slowly, my mouth dry. He’s risen from the chair, his six-foot-plus frame blocking the warm glow of my father’s desk lamp. The shadows stretch his silhouette across the floor, reaching toward me like grasping fingers.

“Where are my parents?” My voice cracks on the question.

His smile widens. “All in good time. You must be Claire,” he says, his accent thick and menacing. “You look just like your brother, but much prettier.”

I take a step back, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. “Who are you? Where are my parents?” I ask again.

His smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too white and too sharp as he once again ignores the question about my parents. “A shame if I have to kill you.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. “Where are my parents?” I demand yet again, my voice cracking despite my efforts to keep it steady.

He waves a hand dismissively. “Relax. They’re safe at home... for now. They’re graciously hosting some of my men at their place. One phone call from me, and they’re gone. So, no tricks.”

Before I can react, he roughly grabs my arm, yanking me toward the door. “Let’s go. Your ride is waiting.”

I stumble as he drags me outside. The bright sunlight assaults my eyes after the dimness of the shop. A dark van is ahead, its engine idling ominously. “Let go of me.” I try to wrench my arm free, but his grip is like iron.

He laughs, a cold, mirthless sound. “Feisty. I can see why Rostova likes you.”

Valerian. My heart constricts at the thought of him. As we near the van, panic surges through me. I can’t let them take me. I have to do something. In a desperate move, I bring my heel down hard on the man’s instep. He grunts in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to wrench free. I sprint down the sidewalk,my lungs burning as I gasp for air. Behind me, I hear shouts and pounding footsteps.

“Someone help,” I scream, looking around wildly for anyone who might intervene, but the street is deserted, as if the entire world has conspired against me. It’s implausible to be like this on a Saturday afternoon, making me think people have witnessed something that already frightened them, like his men taking my parents, and are now hiding in their businesses, ignoring my plight.

A hand grabs the back of my jacket, yanking me backward. I lose my balance, falling hard onto the concrete. Pain explodes in my palms and knees.

The man stands over me, his face contorted with anger. “That was stupid, little girl.”

He reaches down to grab me, but I roll away, scrambling to my feet. My gaze darts around, searching for an escape route, a weapon… anything.

A vehicle rounds the corner, slowing as it approaches. Hope flares for an instant. Maybe they’ll see what’s happening and call for help. As the vehicle gets closer, my heart sinks. It’s the same van the man tried to shove me into earlier. I turn to run, but strong hands grab me from behind.

“Let me go.” I struggle against their grip, kicking and thrashing.

“Boris, help me with this one,” says the man as he grunts when I elbow him in the chest.

A hulking brute appears, clamping his massive hands around my arms. Together, they lift me off the ground.

“No,” I scream, twisting in their grasp. “Someone, help!”

My cries go unanswered as they toss me into the van. I roll, instinctively curling to protect my stomach. The impact jars me, and for a moment, all I can do is lie there, dazed and gasping.

The van door slams shut, plunging me into semi-darkness. The engine roars to life, and we lurch forward. I push myself up, scraping my already abraded palms against the rough metal floor. “Who are you?” I demand, my voice shaking. “What do you want?”

Silence. The man who grabbed me sits across from me, his face hidden in shadow, but I can feel his gaze on me, cold and calculating.

“Answer me,” I shout, anger momentarily overriding my fear. “Are you Matvey?”

A low chuckle sends chills down my spine. “You don’t need that information yet,” he says, his accent thick and menacing.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “What are you going to do with me?”

---