“Ah, Andi.”
My eyes widened in horror. It was my father, my real father.
“Did you have to screw him so hard he blacked out?”
Sergio jumped to his feet just in time to get shot through the shoulder by my father. He crumpled to the floor.
I yelled. The gun pressed harder against my back.
My father moved over Sergio and whispered, “Well done, Andi. I knew you could do it.”
What? What the hell was he talking about? I opened my mouth to yell when I was hit in the back of the head.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sergio
BLOOD FILLED MY MOUTH. THE METALLIC taste made me want to puke; instead, I spit out as much as I could and tried to take in my surroundings.
Well, at least I wasn’t in a warehouse — or worse, dead.
I was in a living room, my sad ass tied to a chair right in front of a baby grand piano.
Heavy black curtains decorated each of the large bay windows.
An expensive leather sectional was in the middle of the room; a bookcase covered one end, while a large desk sat in the other.
One door.
One exit. One entry.
Well, there went my escape plan unless I wanted to jump out the window, but I wasn’t sure if I was up high or if I was on the bottom floor of whoever’s house I was in.
I assumed it was Petrov’s.
Memories of what had taken place came flooding back. I flinched in pain as I remembered being shot in the shoulder. I glanced to my right. It was bandaged. Ah, so they wanted to keep me alive before they killed me. Fantastic.
Andi! I tried to jump to my feet, but they were tied too.
It was fuzzy, but Petrov had said something about her… doing a good job? Or was it something else? I blinked, straining to remember what he’d said.
She would never double-cross me.
Or would she?
No. I had to trust my instincts, and my instincts said she was good; besides, she was being held at gunpoint. If she was bad, they would have pulled the gun away.
Or was there a gun?
Again, I couldn’t tell; the memory was too fuzzy.
She’d been standing in front of another man…
Her face broken.
But I couldn’t recall a gun.
“Shit,” I mumbled.
“Ah, he’s awake.” Petrov walked in, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it onto the couch. It was covered in blood, which made me wonder what else he had in his house of horrors.
“Petrov.” I grinned. “Care to explain why you have me tied to a chair?”
He shrugged. “Think about such things hard enough, and you’ll come up with a solution.”
I glared.
He was a large man, who one could surmise quite enjoyed his food and vodka, if his gut was any indication. He was at least six four with a girth that made me cringe. His black suit fit him to perfection.
With a sigh, he pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it. Puffs of smoke filled the air, making me want to gag.
“She betrayed you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt that.”
He shrugged. “Believe what you want, but know this. She’s been working for me the entire time, and now I have a greater prize than my own daughter.”
I burst out laughing. Even though my entire world felt like it was crumbling, I had to save face. “I’m not a boss. I mean nothing to the families. I mean nothing to the FBI.”
“See?” He nodded. “That is where you are wrong.” He puffed again on his cigar and set it on a dish then pulled a small syringe from his pocket. “You are blood, and blood always fights for blood. You will draw out one, if not all, of the leaders. I shall finish what my idiot son and Director Smith started. I will destroy the heads of the families. I will take over what should have been mine in the first place, Italian scum,” he spat.
“Save the dramatics,” I hissed.
“You have control of seven of our docks in Seattle. Seven.” He ground his teeth. “You’ve infiltrated every single major harbor in the United States. How can I run drugs if the Italians are constantly trouncing all over my territory?”
“Well, here’s a thought.” I leaned forward as much as I could. “Go back to Russia. This is our home, our right. We’ve been here a hell of a lot longer than you and have a shitload more money. Just try to take out the families — cut off one head… two more will appear. Besides, killing me would be doing them a favor. Believe me.”
“Oh yes.” He nodded. “Double agent. You’ve been a bad man, haven’t you?”
I was really tired of this conversation.
“It matters not.” He flicked the syringe with his forefinger. “I won’t have to kill them. You’ll do that for me.”
“Oh, I will?”
His grin was malicious. “Truth serum is often misused.”
I squirmed in my seat, my eyes frantic for a weapon I could use to kill him. I stalled instead. “I imagine you’re going to tell me why.”
“Of course.” He chuckled, taking two steps closer to me. “It rarely works when asked direct questions, but the power of suggestion? Oh now, that is a different beast entirely. I inject this…” He held up the needle. “…and I tell you so many falsehoods you forget your own damn name. I imagine if you’re weak enough, I could even convince you that your cousin Nixon was Satan himself.”
“Doubt it.” I jerked at my hand restraints.