Aleksandra
I pretend to read, seated by the fireplace. It gives me the best vantage point, with the wall to my back, to see the twins and the door.
The kids are seated on the floor, telling stories, sharing tales of their recent adventures, which happen to all be terrifying encounters with Russian men.
Mikhail is behind the threats, the fears that have been instilled in these kids. And while I’m not happy that Liam had been snatched, I’d have never wished that on anyone else.
The book doesn’t hold my attention, but I keep it propped on my knees, my legs bent as I turn the page every so often. I don’t want anyone to know that I’m listening in on their conversations.
I don’t think the kids would care, but there are a few adults, women I don’t know. Which means I can’t trust them.
I catch a glimpse of Antonio by the door. I stare at the pages in the book, feeling his presence and his attention on me.
He hasn’t stepped into the room or called out to me. I flip the page as I pretend to be interested in the contents.
He disappears down the hallway, and I wait a beat before standing. The twins don’t seem to notice or care that I’ve gotten up from the floor.
I saunter to the door and head out into the hallway, curious about what is happening. Why bring all the Italian mafia families together? Are they intending on waging war with the bratva?
I’d reach out to Mikhail and warn him, but if what Antonio and the children said was true, then he’s behind the vicious attacks.
Antonio rounds the corner, slamming right into me. “What are you doing, Tesorina?”
“Looking for the bathroom,” I say, attempting to come up with a reasonable excuse. No one noticed that I’d left the room.
Am I no longer under house arrest? Or are the guards too busy to keep an eye on me?
“I’ll take you there,” he says, grabbing my arm. He leads me in the opposite direction, across from the living room I had just occupied with the children.
Antonio waits for me to go into the bathroom.
“Okay, I don’t have to go,” I say.
His eyes twinkle. “I know. You were snooping.”
“I wasn’t snooping,” I counter. “What may have looked like snooping was mild curiosity.”
“Let me guess. You want a tour.”
Is he mocking me? “Are you offering to give me one?” I ask.
His jaw is tight, his lips a straight line without any hint of humor. “No,” he says. “If you’d like, I can escort you upstairs to your room, or you can return to the living room with your children.”
“Not much of a choice,” I say and glance at the room with the kids. “Is it true?”
Antonio looks at me like a child who’s stalling for bedtime. He glances at his watch. “Is what true, Tesorina?”
“Mikhail is responsible for traumatizing all the children in there.”
He leans back against the wall, his arms across his chest. “It’s a lot of power for one man to claim responsibility when he works out of New York City,” Antonio says. “But yes, he has affiliated with other bratva organizations to terrorize the Italians, specifically their children.”
I don’t want to believe it, but with what Luka has told me, it all fits together. “Mikhail isn’t at the complex,” I say.
“We already know that. We hit the building early this morning, before dawn.”
I gasp. “Were there any casualties?” While I’m not fond of my brother, there are a few men I still have respect for, like Luka.
“I can’t discuss that with you,” Antonio says.
“Maybe they’re just soldiers to you, but I grew up with those men. They’re my family.”
His gaze tightens as he leans closer. “We took a few men hostage, interrogated them in their own home,” he says and cocks a grin. “But they’re alive. Most of them.”
“Most of them?” I croak.
“We kill only when it’s absolutely necessary. Not for sport,” Antonio says. “Do you have the address for the safe house in Saugerties?”
I stall for a moment. I’m betraying Mikhail and the bratva. If I tell Antonio, I can never go back.
He stares at me, waiting for the address.
“I’ll take you there,” I say.
He snorts at my suggestion. “The hell you will. You’ll stay here with your children. My men don’t need to babysit them.”
“There are plenty of other people around to keep an eye on them,” I suggest. It doesn’t have to be his guards.
“The answer is no.” Antonio is firm with his decision.
“Fine, then you’ll have to find another way to get the address.”
He grabs me by the arm and drags me across the hall, shoving me inside a room. He slams the door behind us, leaving the two of us alone.
It’s a library, with built-in bookshelves towering on two walls and a window ledge turned into a cubby to read.
I don’t peg him for a man who reads. Let alone in a room that feels this inviting and sunny. “This was Roberto’s library?” That doesn’t fit my understanding of the Italian mobster, the monster who ordered my son to be taken and sold.
“No, it was created long before Roberto became don,” Antonio says. “This house, the complex, has been in the family for generations. According to Mario, this used to be a playroom. When Roberto chose not to have children, he converted it into a library. He wanted the window boarded up, and any evidence of what this room was destroyed.”
“But the window is still there, so is the nook,” I say, pointing out the quiet place to read.
“Mario hired contractors to redesign the room, but he always believed that the don would desire an heir.”
“Why would he think that?” I ask. A man who kidnaps children for a living doesn’t strike me as father material.
Antonio steps toward the window. “It’s not unusual for a don to desire a child, to hand the throne onward, but Roberto never forged a relationship with anyone.”
He stares out the window and has me perplexed.
Does Antonio want a relationship? Is he hoping that Liam will take the don position when he’s no longer capable? That’s years away, but the nagging thought still fleets through the back of my mind.
“And you’re different?” I ask.
“I hope I am,” Antonio says. He shifts to meet my stare. “The address for the safe house, Tesorina. I need it.” The gruffness has returned.
Betrayal burns through me as I whisper the address to him.
He hurries out of the library, leaving me alone.
Do I mean anything to Antonio, or did he use me to get the information he wanted?
I stand there transfixed, in a daze.
What have I done?
Did I contribute to Mikhail’s execution?
Antonio isn’t going to be kind or warm to my brother. He’s a mafia don. I can’t expect him to show up, ring the doorbell, and ask to talk like men.
I rush out of the library. If I warn Mikhail, then Antonio is as good as dead. But if I remain silent, my brother will be tortured, or worse, murdered.
There are no winners, and I’ve handed Antonio the treasure map to find my brother.
I have to do something, and sneaking into the back of his vehicle isn’t going to work this time. Perhaps I can call Mikhail, suggest that he surrender before the war escalates and everyone dies.
The bratva doesn’t surrender. I don’t imagine that the mafia does, either, which puts me in a predicament.
Blood is blood. Mikhail might be a monster, but he’s the monster I know, the one I’m most familiar with, and he’s not keeping me against my will.
I should never have told Antonio where Mikhail is hiding.
Antonio is nowhere to be found. There’s a rush of commotion at the opposite end of the hallway. I sneak into a nearby room and search for a phone.
There’s no sign of a landline.
Do they only use cell phones on the property? Antonio snatched mine when he brought me here.
I sneak from one room to the next. Again, no sign of a landline. I can’t leave, and even if I could manage to escape, my children would have to come with me.
Maybe I can steal one of the guards’ phones without them noticing?
“Aleksandra, what are you doing in here?” Mario asks. His eyes narrow as he glances me over, his gaze examining my empty hands.
I haven’t stolen anything. Is that what he is worried about?
“Minding my own business,” I say. “Why do you have a fondness for following me around? Is there any place for me to go? There are dozens of guards and a state-of-the-art security system, by the looks of it. Even if I wanted to leave, I doubt I could get out.”
There’s no sense in telling him the truth. He isn’t likely to hand over his cell phone, and if he’s distracted, maybe I can slip his cellphone from his pocket. I step closer; if I’m going to snatch his phone, I can’t do it from the opposite end of the room.
“It would be best if you’d return to your room upstairs,” Mario says.
Now is my chance. My bottom lip juts out in a pout as I stalk across the room, closing the distance between us. Intentionally, I knock into him with my elbow, distracting him while I snatch his phone.
Mario grabs my wrist and spins me around, his phone in my hand.
“I’ll be taking that,” he says and releases his tight grasp on my wrist, only long enough to grip my arm and drag me out into the hallway. “I have half a mind to toss you into the dungeon.”
I ignore Mario’s threats.
At the opposite end of the hall, is Antonio. I need to get his attention. “Antonio, wait!” I call after him.
He spins around, hearing my voice, and tells the gentleman he’s with to hold on a moment. Antonio closes the distance between us. “What’s going on?” he asks, glancing at Mario for an explanation.
“I found her sneaking around the complex. She tried to steal my phone, sir.”
“And why would you want Mario’s phone?” Antonio’s gaze latches onto mine.
I swallow nervously. Mario’s grip remains strong against my arm. He hasn’t lightened up his hold, even with Antonio standing just inches away from me.
“I need to call the twins’ preschool if they’re not going to be attending classes today,” I say, hoping that I’ve bought my way out of this unpleasantness with a lie.
Antonio doesn’t move from his position. “Nice try. You were going to warn Mikhail that we’re coming, weren’t you?”
He can see right through me, and it scares me. “Please, don’t hurt my brother.”
“Lock her upstairs,” Antonio orders.
“What about the twins, sir?” Mario asks. “What would you like me to do about them?”
“They can stay downstairs with the other children, so long as they’re keeping out of trouble and are not doing Aleksandra’s bidding. The minute you see them trying to lift a cell phone or sneak out of the room, you send them upstairs with her at once.”
My children have no idea what’s going on. They’re young and innocent, and I intend to keep it that way.
But it worries me, leaving them alone, unattended with the other mafia players. Whether they’re dons, wives, or children, I’m not too fond of the thought that I can’t watch over my kids.
Mario drags me up the stairs, escorting me to the third floor, leaving Sophia and Liam in the living room with the other children, oblivious to what’s happening around them.
“Please, I want to be with my children,” I beg Mario.
He rolls his eyes and unlocks the door to my bedroom on the third floor. “Get in,” he orders. “If you behave, Antonio might let you out when he returns.”