The Mister

“Come out!” Dante’s voice makes her jump. It’s inches from her ear on the other side of the door. “It will only be worse for you if we have to break the door down.”

Alessia screws her eyes up tight and stifles her sobs. Suddenly there’s a horrific thud, like a sack of grain falling to the floor, followed by loud cursing, and Alessia is jolted backward.

Zot. Zot. Zot.

He’s trying to break down the door. But it holds. Alessia stands and puts her foot against the door, silently cursing that she’s not wearing shoes and socks. Her feet grip the limestone floor, and she presses her full weight against the door in the hope that it might help hold him back.

“When I get in there, I’m going to kill you. You fucking bitch. Do you know how much you cost me? Do you?”

He slams into the door again.

And Alessia knows it’s only a matter of time. She sucks in a sob as her despair takes hold. She never found the courage to tell Maxim she loves him.

* * *

The Jag hurtles down the lane toward the Hideout, and I spot an old BMW encrusted with at least a year’s worth of dirt, and it’s abandoned haphazardly outside the garage.

Fuck. They’re here.

No. No. No.

My fear and rage race into overdrive, threatening to overcome me.

Alessia!

Calm down, mate. Calm the fuck down. Think. Think. Think.

I pull up and park the car hard against the gate. They won’t get out that way. If I go down the entry steps, they’ll see me, and I’ll lose the element of surprise. I fling open the car door and run to the little-used and hidden side gate and down to the scullery-room door. My breath is coming in short, sharp bursts as adrenaline pumps into my bloodstream, doubling my heart rate.

Calm down, mate. Calm down.

The scullery door’s ajar.

Fuck. Maybe this is how they got into the house. I gulp down a steadying breath, my heart hammering, and gently push open the door and creep in. The adrenaline has sharpened my senses. My breathing is deafening.

Quiet. Be fucking quiet.

There’s shouting. Upstairs.

No. No. No.

If they touch one hair of her head, I will murder them. I turn to the gun cabinet high on the wall and unlock it. I’d stashed my shotguns there yesterday before Alessia and I went for a walk on the beach. Trying to remain calm, I concentrate on removing one of the Purdeys as quietly as I can. With smooth and deliberate movements, I lift it out, open up the barrel, and load two cartridges. I put four more into my coat pocket. I have never been so grateful as I am right now that my father taught me how to shoot.

Keep calm. You will only have a chance to save her if you keep calm.

I repeat this mantra in my head. Releasing the safety, I brace the gun against my shoulder and sneak into the main room. There’s no sign of anyone downstairs, but I hear an almighty crash from upstairs, followed by shouting in a foreign tongue.

Alessia screams.

* * *

Alessia shrieks as the door gives way, and she’s flung across the bathroom floor. Dante almost falls into the room. She curls up into a ball, sobbing, as fear paralyzes her body. Her bladder fails, and the telltale wetness seeps down her legs and into her new jeans.

Her fate is sealed.

She’s breathing in short, shallow gasps as her throat constricts. She’s dizzy. Dizzy with fear.

“There you are, you fucking bitch.” He grabs her hair, pulling her head up.

Alessia cries out, and he slaps her hard across her face.

“Do you know how much you’ve cost me, you fucking whore? You’re going to pay every fucking penny back to me with your body.” His face is inches from hers. His eyes dark and feral and full of rage. Alessia gags. His breath is rank, as if something died on his tongue, and his body odor washes over her in a haze of squalor.

He slaps her hard again and drags her to her feet by her hair. The pain is indescribable—as though her scalp is being torn from her head.

“Dante! No! No!” she wails.

“Stop fucking sniveling, you filthy whore, and move!” He shakes her hard and throws her into the bedroom, where Ylli is waiting. She lands on the floor, sprawling out like a starfish. She curls up quickly.

This can’t be happening.

She screws her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable blows.

Just kill me. Just kill me. She wants to die.

“And you’ve pissed yourself. You dirty piçka. I’m going to fuck you up.” Dante swaggers around her and kicks her hard in her belly.

She screams as pain shoots through her body, leaving her gasping for air.

“Step away from her, you fucking piece of shit!” Maxim’s voice bellows through the room.

What?

Alessia opens bleary eyes. He’s here.

Maxim is standing on the threshold, shrouded in his dark coat like an avenging archangel, his eyes flashing a deadly green, and he’s brandishing his double-barreled shotgun.

He’s here. With his gun.

* * *

The evil fucker whirls around to face me. He blanches in shock and jumps back, gaping at me, sweat beading on his pale bald pate. His thin-faced friend also steps back and holds up his hands, his lips twitching. He looks like a fucking rodent, drowning in his oversize parka. The urge to pull the trigger is overwhelming. I have to fight every instinct to stop myself. Baldy is watching me, his eyes focused, weighing me up. Will I shoot? Do I have the balls?

“Don’t fucking tempt me!” I roar. “Keep your hands up or I’ll fucking end you. Step away from the girl. Now!”

He takes another cautious step back, his eyes flying from me to Alessia as he considers his options.

He has none.

Fucker.

“Alessia. Get up. Now. Move!” I bark, as she’s still within his reach. She scrambles to her feet. Her face is red on one side where the cunt must have hit her. I fight the compulsion to blast his head off. “Get behind me,” I say through gritted teeth.

She slips around me, and I hear her panting with fear. “Both of you. On the floor, on your knees!” I shout. “NOW! And not a fucking word from either of you.”

They exchange a quick look.

And I brace my finger on the trigger. “Two barrels. Both primed. I can take you both down. I will blow your fucking balls off.” And I aim for Baldy’s crotch.

His eyebrows shoot up his ashen forehead, and both men sink to their knees.

“Hands behind your heads.”

They do as they’re told. But I have nothing to restrain them with.

Bollocks.

“Alessia, are you okay?”

“Yes.”

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. Shit. I bet it’s Oliver.

“Can you take the phone out of the back pocket of my jeans?” I ask Alessia while keeping my aim on the two gangsters. Deftly, she does. “Answer it.” I can’t see what she’s doing, but after a moment I hear her.

“Hello?” she says, and there’s a pause before she speaks again, in a hushed voice choked with fear. “I am Mister Maxim’s cleaner.”

Jesus. She’s so much more than that.

Baldy spits words at his rat-faced colleague. “Është pastruesja e tij. Nëse me pastruese do të thuash konkubinë.”

“Ajo nuk vlen asgjë. Grueja asht shakull për me bajt,” Ratface replies.

“Shut the fuck up!” I roar at the two of them. “Who is it?” I ask Alessia.

“He says his name is Oliver.”