Allison
“You’re late.” Paul’s voice is a low growl. He’s an American, no hint of a Russian accent, though I’ve heard his father barely spoke any English. Only the old tongue. “Everyone is waiting.”
“They’ll wait as long as it takes, won’t they? You’re the great Russian Lion, after all.”
Is that the hint of a smile? No, of course not, Paul Debarcio doesn’t smile. He only stares. “I want you downstairs. I want you walking down that aisle. No more delay.”
“Are you going to drag me yourself? I bet the guests would love that. Why don’t we put on a show for them?”
He takes a step forward. My hands come up to my throat involuntarily, like I’m protecting myself. His voice drops lower. “Don’t test me, Allison. Don’t be like your sister.”
I open my mouth. I can’t find any words. Horror rings through me, crystal clear like a frozen waterfall. I hate this man, hate him with every inch of my body, and I would do anything to kill him with my bare hands if I could.
But he’s a hulking brute.
And he’ll break me, the same as he broke my sister.
Maybe not right away. Not even the Lion could get away with killing two sisters in the same year.
But day by day, week by week, he’ll make sure I don’t live to see the children he forces into my belly grown.
“How did she die?” The words come out whispered, choked.
“You know how.” Another ghost of a smirk. This time, his eyes are twinkling. Knowing, mocking. “Do you want the details? Do you want to know about all the pills your sister swallowed? I can tell you. I can count them all, from her throat down to her stomach.”
“Stop it.”
“Freya wasn’t the saint you like to pretend she was. That girl didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. She snooped, she asked questions, and now that she’s dead, the world’s a better place. If you can’t learn to mind your manners the way Freya never did, you might end up just like her. High on pills, dead in a bathtub.”
“You bastard.” Tears well into my eyes again. I hate myself for this weakness, these emotions, but I can’t handle listening to him talk about my sister like that. Freya was a lot of things-clever, beautiful, outgoing, a bit of a troublemaker, good at heart-but she was not an addict, and the world’s a darker, more terrible place without her in it.
“You can insult me all you want for now, but once you’re my wife, I will not tolerate that sort of behavior. You will learn to bow your head and do as you’re told, or I will happily break your toes and bruise your body until you learn.” He leans in, showing teeth. “Or maybe I’ll shove some pills down your fat gullet, just like Freya.” He holds my gaze for an agonizing second. I want to scream in his face, but I’m petrified. “Get yourself together. It’s pathetic. Be downstairs in ten minutes or I really will drag you down by your fucking hair. I hope our children don’t get your disgusting weakness.”
He turns and strides off. I gasp when he’s gone, leaning up against the wall, my heart hammering into my guts and sweat tingling down my back and under my arms. I cover my mouth with both hands, trying to shove the sobs away, but I can’t stop them.
Paul’s going to kill me.
Just like he killed Freya.
And if I go downstairs, down to where my father’s waiting with the rest of my family, with all the heads of the powerful American Bratva organizations, several senators and congressmen, and more than a few mafia dons and other organized crime bosses, I will be nailing my own coffin shut.
The people down there, they believe him. It’s convenient to close their eyes and trust in the Lion, so long as he keeps making them obscene amounts of money. No, it’s easier to accept that Freya was an addict, and it was her drugs that killed her.
Not her sick husband.
There won’t be any saving me, not from Paul.
Not once he owns me.
Which means I have a choice.
Die, or do something drastic.
The door behind me opens. The same older woman that fetched me from the bathroom steps out, looking pale. She’s got big, blonde hair, fake nails, bright red lips. I think her name’s Cathy, or Nancy, or something like that.
“You okay, hon?” she asks. “We can fix your makeup real fast, okay? Then you can-”
I interrupt her before she can finish. “Which way takes me to an exit?”
She looks confused for only a moment then her eyes go wide. I stare at her, my crying gone, my sobs swallowed now that I’ve made up my mind.
There’s steel inside me. I have to grab on to it.
“I don’t-” She starts, but clears her throat.
“Which way takes me outside?” I ask with all the force I can muster, a harsh whisper.
She pales, but she raises one trembling finger and points to the left.
My expression softens. Poor Cathy/Nancy. If Paul learns she helped me, I’m sure he’ll kill her.
“Thank you,” I say, touching her arm.
“Good luck,” she says, glancing over her shoulder, voice dropping to almost nothing. “There are guards. Be careful.”
I nod, then start running.