Page 59 of Wicked Sinner

I swallow hard as the men look back at me, and lean back in the chair, trying to project more confidence than I feel. "You know he's going to come for me, right?"

The one who seems to be in charge—a thin man with a scar running from his ear to his jaw—laughs. "Your husband? Yeah, we're counting on it."

I do my best to sneer at him without looking as afraid as I feel. "Then you're stupider than you look."

His laugh dies, and he takes a step toward me. "Watch your mouth, princess. Just because the boss wants you alive doesn't mean you have to be comfortable."

I meet his eyes steadily. "Go ahead. Hit a pregnant woman. I'm sure that'll impress your boss." Inwardly, my emotions are churning, but I think I’m doing a pretty good job of bluffing. If nothing else, a part of me wants to find out just how committed they are to keeping me unhurt.

He raises his hand, but one of the others grabs his arm. "Boss said not to touch her."

The first man shakes him off but steps back. "You think you're tough? We'll see how tough you are after a few hours in here."

They leave me alone then, locking the door behind them, though I can hear them talking in low voices just outside the door.

I immediately start working on the zip ties, twisting my wrists back and forth, trying to stretch the plastic.

It's slow going, and the ties cut into my skin, but I can feel them starting to give. I have no idea what I’ll do after that, though.

I have nothing to cut through the ties holding my ankles to the chair—but with my hands free, maybe I can think of something.

Maybe I could grab one of their weapons.

It’s better than just giving up, at least.

I'm making progress when I hear footsteps approaching. Heavy, measured steps that speak of authority. The door opens, and a man walks in who's clearly the one in charge, from his bearing and the fact that he’s wearing a suit while the others are all in fatigues and cargoes.

He’s not that old, I realize with surprise.

Late thirties, maybe, not much older than Caesar, if at all.

And handsome, which is another surprise—although evil doesn’t always mean ugly.

He has blond hair shaved to a crisp buzzcut, ice-blue eyes, and a strong jaw.

He pauses in front of me, appraising me, and I wonder who he works for—if anyone.

If this really has something to do with Konstantin, or if this man is someone else, some other danger.

"Mrs. Genovese," he says, his accent thicker than his men's. "I apologize for the rough treatment. My name is Matvey Slakov."

The name doesn't mean anything to me, but the way he says it suggests it should. "Am I supposed to know who you are?"

He smiles, but there's no warmth in it. "Perhaps not. But I knew your husband's father very well. Don Genovese and my father were… business partners, you could say."

I lick my lips nervously. "Were?"

"Both dead now, unfortunately. Killed by the same woman, as it happens." His smile turns sharp. "Valentina Abramov. Though she was Valentina Kane then."

That’s not news to me. Caesar confided as much at the gala where I met Valentina. But Matvey doesn’t need to know to what extent I’m aware of the drama surrounding all of this.

I breathe in slowly, trying to maintain the facade of confidence, as if none of this really matters to me. "Why should I care about ancient history? I don’t have anything to do with that."

"Because it's not ancient. It's very much present.

" He pulls up another chair and sits across from me, close enough that I can smell his cologne.

It smells like tobacco and spice, but just a little too thick to be attractive.

"You see, my father and Don Genovese had a plan.

They were going to remove Konstantin Abramov and take control of Miami themselves once his father was dead.

But Valentina discovered the plot, and she made sure both men paid the price. "

He leans back, studying me. “I escaped. I heard they sent men to try to find me, but I made myself scarce. Went to Russia for a while, to lie low, in a place outside Moscow. Very cold. Not at all to my liking, after spending my life here.” He smiles, as if we’re friends having a conversation, and I glare at him.

"What does any of this have to do with me?"

"You're the key to everything, Mrs. Genovese.

Your husband's weakness. His Achilles' heel." Matvey's smile widens. "Caesar thinks he can waltz back into Miami after twenty years and claim his birthright. But he's made enemies, and not just me. He’s arrogant, and reckless, and stubborn. A rebellious teenager in a man’s body. And now that I’ve taken you, his ultimate rebellion against the powers that be here, he’ll come for you. And when he does—” Matvey points a finger to his temple and mimics a gun going off. “I’ll finish off the Genovese line and take everything he has for myself. Including you.”

I frown. “I thought his father was your father’s ally.”

“He was,” Matvey agrees. “But Konstantin took my inheritance. Consumed my father’s assets and interests as the price of his betrayal.

Now I’m left with almost nothing—nothing other than what I had of my own, which can’t compare to the Genovese fortune.

My father and Don Genovese had allies. We’ll rally them and make a bid for power against Konstantin. ”

I laugh at that. I can’t help it. “I don’t know that much about this world, and even I know going up against Konstantin is apparently the stupidest thing you could do.”

“Maybe,” he allows. “But there’s also the possibility that Konstantin will thank me for ridding him of the inconvenient Genovese heir…

especially if I try to make peace with him.

I’ll marry Isabella Torrino, agree to Konstantin’s terms if they’re not too egregious, and play along instead of fighting him at every turn, as Caesar has. ”

“Why on earth would he trust you?” I spit. Matvey laughs.

“Well, for one thing, I had nothing to do with my father’s plotting.

I’m an innocent in all of this.” He smiles at me, faux kindness painted across his face.

“And for another, Konstantin is a diplomat. It’s his greatest weakness as a boss.

He prefers words to violence, peace to war.

If I offer terms, he’ll consider them before shedding blood. ”

“Caesar is the heir. I’m his wife. His pregnant wife.” I glare at him. “I don’t think Konstantin will let that go unanswered.”

“And I think he’ll be glad to be rid of the annoying gnat that is your husband.

” Matvey chuckles. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.

I’m sure your husband will be here soon—my men didn’t make themselves all that hard to follow.

I want him to find you, after all. I’m only annoyed that my first attempt went so poorly. ”

I feel my blood turn cold. “So the attack on my way home was you.”

He nods. “You proved to be quite the little wildcat, Bridget. Impressive. It almost makes me want to keep you for myself… but that would be more trouble than even someone as beautiful as you is worth. I have plans, and I won’t allow you to derail them. I’m not the fool your husband is.”

I swallow hard, trying not to let the fear on my face show. “And what if Caesar kills you and takes me back?”

Matvey laughs. “That’s not going to happen, sweetheart. You can hold onto that little hope all you like, but he’s not going to win this one. I have the advantage. I’m prepared for him to come and get you, remember? I set this up. He’s walking into a trap.”

“He’ll expect it to be a trap.” I lift my chin. “And he’ll fight like hell to get me back.”

Whatever misgivings I have about a future with Caesar, whatever my fears and uncertainties, that isn’t one of them. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to get me back, I know that. I don’t know if he’ll be successful, but I do know he’ll do everything he can.

That’s a hope I can cling to, at least.

Matvey chuckles, standing to his feet. “We’ll see how it plays out, won’t we? For now, get comfortable, Bridget. And think if there’s anything you’d like to say to your husband before he dies.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides out, the door locking behind him and leaving me there.

I blow out a sharp breath, my pulse thudding in my throat. I don’t know how much time I have—how long it will take for Caesar to find me, for it to come down to him or Matvey winning. One way, my baby and I live—the other, we die.

I’m not about to leave it all up to Caesar, no matter how certain I am that he’s going to come for me, and that he’s not going to let Matvey win easily.

I go back to working on the zip ties, and after another twenty minutes, I finally feel the plastic give way on my wrists. I lean forward, keeping an eye on the door while I work on the ties around my ankles. If it opens, I need to get back to looking as if my arms are restrained quickly.

The ties around my ankles are tougher, but I manage to loosen them enough that I think I can slip out if I need to. Now I just have to wait for the right opportunity.

It comes sooner than expected. The scarred man comes back into the room alone, probably to check on me. He's careless, assuming I'm still completely helpless, and he gets too close.

I surge up from the chair, my freed hands going for his gun. I don’t wait to think if it’s a good idea or not—I don’t have a better plan than this, but I can’t do nothing. He's stronger than me, but I have the element of surprise.

The gun is in my hands, and I momentarily hesitate, searching for the safety.

I’ve never shot a gun—I don’t actually know how, other than having watched movies.

The scarred man goes to grab it out of my hands, cursing in a flurry of Russian, and we both grapple for control of the gun, the weapon dangerously out of both of our control.

I shove my knee up, hitting him in the groin hard. The gun clatters to the floor, going off as it’s wrenched out of both of our hands, and I lurch for it, but the scarred man grabs me around the waist, throwing me down to the floor hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

The sound of the gun going off is deafening in the small room, and I hear shouts from outside as the other two men burst in. They see the scarred man holding me down and the lost gun on the floor, and they don't hesitate to draw their own weapons.

In a matter of minutes, as all three men descend on me, I’m forced back into the chair.

This time, they use proper restraints—handcuffs that I won't be able to slip out of. I feel my stomach lurch as they click shut, and tears of frustration prick at the backs of my eyes. I’m right back where I started.

“Good try,” the scarred man snarls, still clearly in pain. “But you’re still going to die.”

He leaves again, and I'm alone with my thoughts and my fear. But underneath the fear is still that sliver of hope. This isn’t over yet.

Caesar will come for me. I know he will. And when he does, Matvey is going to learn exactly what happens when someone threatens what belongs to Caesar Genovese.

I just have to stay alive long enough for him to find me.

The hours crawl by. I’m brought water and a sandwich, my hands cuffed in front of me long enough to let me eat, but I can’t stomach much of it. They handcuff my arms behind me again, once it’s taken away.

I can hear them talking outside, their voices growing more tense as time passes. They're expecting Caesar to show up, but there's no sign of him yet. I find myself straining to hear every sound, hoping for the rumble of engines or the sound of approaching footsteps that might signal rescue.

Matvey returns a little while after my food is taken away, a smirk on his face.

“It’s possible that your husband has decided that rescuing you isn’t worth the risk after all.

Perhaps I’ll have to resort to more convincing measures.

Send him a finger, perhaps. Or a part of your body that he’s more connected to.

” His gaze flicks over me, and I feel my skin crawl.

“He’ll come for me.” My voice is still confident, but I’m starting to worry. Not about Caesar coming to find me, but about what might be taking so long. If there’s more to this than I know, or if someone has stopped him from coming.

"Will he?” Matvey smirks. “Or will he decide that one pregnant woman isn't worth the risk?"

I meet his eyes steadily. I know he’s toying with me, and I’m determined not to let him see me worry. "You don't know him at all."

Matvey studies me for a long moment. "You really believe that, don't you? That he'll risk everything for you."

"I know he will."

"Are you sure?” He looks at me curiously. “Tell me, Bridget—if Caesar had to choose between saving you and keeping his position as head of the Genovese family, which do you think he'd choose?"

The question settles in my stomach like a stone.

Because the truth is, I don't know for sure. I want to believe I know what Caesar would choose, but our relationship is still so new, so complicated by everything that came before. If Konstantin found out about this and gave him the choice between saving me and knowing he’d inherit, that he’d be given the chance to prove everything to himself that he feels he needs to…

would he let me go? The thought makes me feel sick.

But then I remember the look in his eyes when he found me after the first attack. The desperate relief, the way he held me like he couldn't bear to let me go. The way he's been trying so hard to make up for his mistakes, to show me he can be the man I need him to be.

"He'd choose me," I say firmly, and I realize I actually believe it.

Matvey sneers, clearly frustrated by my continued confidence. "We'll know soon enough. Because one way or another, I’ll get a response from him tonight.

As he leaves, I catch a glimpse of the darkening sky through the windows. Night is falling, and somewhere out there, Caesar is looking for me. I feel sure of it, a certainty that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with the connection that's been growing between us.

He'll come for me. And when he does, Matvey Slakov is going to learn that he's made a very dangerous enemy.

I just have to hold on a little longer.