Page 65 of Till Death Do Us Part

I shake my head, unable to find the words as I bite my tongue. The taste of copper hits my tongue, warm and bitter. He laughs, the sound brittle, before he continues, “There are very few ways a Capo can leave his post. Usually none of them are good. But with you, Darius had an ace up his sleeve. A power up, if you will. The bastard daughter of the Bratva.”

I tighten my hands into fists at my back, ignoring the way the metal cuts into my skin. My breaths come out heavy as he confirms what I thought that night at the casino. Aleksandr isn’t a normal man who stumbled into this world. But still, nothing adds up.

“My father was more than happy to let your family leave, knowing one day you’d be back in our clutches and we’d have the ultimate power over the Russians with you. But that isn’t what happened, is it?” He looks at me expectantly, his brow raised as he waits for my response. But I have nothing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Traditore.”

Traitor.My heart thumps against my chest, my vision blurring while blood rushes to my ears. My skin becomes clammy, my legs shaking as understanding pours through me.

“For sixteen years, your father worked behind our backs, colluding with the Bratva—yourrealfather. The moment you stepped into that church, the Russians came. Because of him. What happens to traitors, Pippa?”

Shaking my head, I fight the tears that threaten to spill over my lashes.

“Answer me,” he blares, rushing over to me and fisting my hair before pulling my head back.

“They die.” The words slip out in a whisper, my voice cracking. My cheeks dampen, tears spilling down my face as my heart shatters under the weight of them. Why would Papá do that? Why would he risk himself?

“Do you know how easy it was to kill him?” he asks, shrugging as if taking the life of my father was nothing more than a day at the office for him—which I suppose it wasn’t. But to hear the admission said so callously and without an ounce of remorse is truly devastating. “A simple shot to the abdomen.”

“I was there,” I grit through clenched teeth, blinking ferociously to stem the flow of tears, as my blood heats again, anger blanketing me at the sight of the man before me.

“Oh, so you were.” He laughs again, letting go of my hair and stepping back. He rubs his hands together, sighing almost comically when he’s finished. “I would have killed you too, you know?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because we’re married, Pippa. And you owe me a child.” He stands, hands running over the lapels of his black jacket before he turns away and starts towards the staircase.

“You could find any woman to impregnate,” I shout after him, my voice hoarse under the slew of emotions. “Why me?”

“While your whore of a mother comes from an Italian family, Russian blood runs through those veins of yours, making you the heir to the Bratva. Half Italian, half Russian. You’re the most powerful person in this world, Pippa, making me the most powerful person the moment you birth a child of mine.”

Deafening silence follows the retreat of Antonio and his men. When the door closes behind them, trapping me in this room, my arms bound to the chair, I finally let the tears fall. My mind whirls around, confusing me more as Antonio’s words take root inside of me.

He was manic as he spoke, but his tone rang true anyway. I’d like to say he was lying, that the words from his mouth were pure fiction. But the more I sit on them, the more I believe them to be fact.

But that doesn’t stop the questions. Questions I can no longer get answers to, because I refused to hear my papá when he begged me to listen. Instead, I ran away. I hid like a child, scared of the truth.

Why would the Russians let me go, let me live with an Italian family if my real father knew of me? Why did we move to London and work with the Russians—risking his life—if it was always expected that I’d marry Antonio and tie our two families together?

What part does Leonardo play in all this, and where the hell is he?

Why do the Bratva keep trying to take me out if I’m one of them?

Question after question infiltrates my mind as I thrash against my bindings. A trickle of warm liquid runs over my hands, a sting of pain following the metal cutting into my skin. My gun stares at me from the floor, my one chance of freedom beyond my reach. But still, I have to try.

I press my heels into the floor, pushing myself backwards until my weight topples and the chair falls to the floor. My head bounces off the concrete, white spots spreading across my vision, while my arms remain trapped at my back.

The wood splinters on impact, the chair breaking into pieces. A dull ache starts at my temples when I move to stand on shaky legs.

Blinking a few times, I try clear my vision before looking over the room. There is nothing bar the broken chair, the one Antonio sat on, and my gun on the floor. None of which is helpful while my arms are locked behind me painfully.

“Be brave, my sweet girl. Only you can save yourself when they come,” I mutter the words, repeating the mantra over and over again. Papá didn’t raise me to quit, and he certainly didn’t raise me to take what the world gives without a fight first.

They’ll come back, and when they do, I’ll be ready for them.

LEONARDO

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