Page 32 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

He shakes his head. “That will come later. Dante, let’s go.” Dante unfolds himself from the stool. The two men march away.

“Wait!” I cry after them, though I can’t turn my head to see anything but the ceiling once they’ve walked past me. “Wait!”

But they don’t stop or reply. They just keep walking, their footsteps growing fainter and fainter, until the loud metallic clang of a door swinging shut and a lock sliding into place sounds.

Then, I am alone.

9

Milaya

I have no idea what time it is, whether it is day or night, when someone comes in and puts a blanket over me. It’s one of the men, the fake cops, though the lamps have been turned down so far that I can’t tell which one. They all look the same anyway. Huge shoulders, angular faces, dark hair. They’ve each come in over the last however-long to look at me for a while, keeping watch from the stool in the corner, then leaving without saying a word. I’ve given up on asking questions. They don’t seem keen on giving me answers, or even replies of any kind.

But they gave me a blanket. Why, I don’t know, and I don’t intend to ask. I’m not sure if I appreciate it more for its warmth or for covering me up to hide my nakedness from their eyes. What a dehumanizing thing it is to be stripped bare and chained in place. My shoulders are crying out for relief, as is the back of my head.

Whoever brings the blanket doesn’t linger. He spreads it over me from behind, not allowing me to see his face, then disappears the way he came without another word.

I manage to wriggle the blanket up and shove one corner underneath me so I have a kind of makeshift pillow. After hours on cold, hard metal, it is an indescribable relief.

No one has touched me since Dante ran his knife down my torso. Even the blanket-bringer was careful not to graze so much as a fingertip against my bare skin. Their leader, Vito, must have given them strict orders. I wonder why they all follow his lead. He is the oldest, I assume. He carries himself that way. Proud. Serious. Stick-up-his-ass kind of guy.

Hours pass. I drift in and out of sleep. I don’t dream, not even once. My brain has just given up on nightmares. What could it invent that is scarier than the things that are actually happening to me?

The sound of the steel door slamming shut wakes me from another restless sleep. Whoever has entered this time must be turning the line to the gas lamps up, because I see the shadows retreat as the lights grow brighter. Then, the stomping of boots over towards me. The man comes to stand at my feet.

I look up at him. In the brighter light, I can make out some of his features. His hair isn’t shaggy and I don’t see any piercings, so it’s not Dante. I can see some color in his eyes—either blue or green, I’m not sure which yet—so it’s not Vito. That means it’s one of the other two.

His eyes stare holes through me. Even though I’m covered by the blanket, I feel as naked as I was before they brought it to me. Something about this man oozes sexuality. His fingers, tapping on the metal table by my feet, are lithe and playful. He doesn’t look quite as hard or menacing as the others, either. There’s a sensual softness to him. Those lips are kissable, touchable, beautiful.

“What’s your name?” I ask quietly.

“I am Leo Bianci,” he answers to my surprise, matching my hushed volume.

Leo Bianci.The name rolls off his tongue gracefully.When he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the light catches his face differently.

I can see now that his eyes are bright blue. I associate the name and the color at once.Leo. Blue eyes.That’s how I am learning to tell these men apart. They all have the same face, albeit with different souls animating them. Leo’s presence feels comforting somehow, like a cat that has chosen to sit by your side for a while, though he may leave at a moment’s notice. Against all reason, I find myself wanting him to stay.

“You all are brothers,” I guess.

He nods. “Yes.”

“And you know my name.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want from me?”

He shakes his head. “Not now.”

“Why won’t you tell me anything?”

He doesn’t say anything this time. Just stares at me more.

What is it about this one that makes me feel more comfortable? When the others are around, I am fearful, trying to cower away from whichever corner of the room they choose to inhabit. But Leo … I want his touch. I want his lips.

Maybe captivity is driving me insane.

“Does anyone know I’m here?”

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