CHAPTERTHREE
Dario
I wake up in a cold,dark room. My eyes spring open, my body on instant alert. Once a soldier, always a soldier they say. I never really fully sleep.
There’s a sliver of light in the far corner of the room. I’ve obviously been drugged so my depth perception’s off, but it looks like the thin line you’d see at the bottom of a doorway.
I try to remember what happened.
We were cornered. I’d watched as they held my arms back, pricked her neck with a needle to drug her, then probably did the same to me. I don’t remember that, but I feel my body covered in bruises. I didn’t go down without a fight.
Doesn’t matter. Here I fucking am.
I do a quick mental inventory. Broken ribs. Bruises, lacerations. Gunshot wounds are superficial. Hard to see out of one eye. They hit my temple with a bullet, but it was a graze and didn’t penetrate. Stings like a motherfucker but if they knew how to fucking shoot—or were shooting to kill—I’d have been a lot worse off.
I keep my breathing slow and regulated in case they’re monitoring me.
I still don’t know who the fuck they are.
I’ve been here before. Not this exact location, but I’ve been taken hostage before, and I know the most important thing to do is stay calm and observant then fight like hell when given the chance.
And I will get a fucking chance. The blood thrums in my veins knowing how I’ll fight when I can.
Most prisoners are overwhelmed and even paralyzed with fear, and the few that aren’t rarely have the training necessary to fight.
I do.
I feel a warmth at my back and hear slow breathing. I look over my shoulder. Vivia’s passed out against my back. We’re strapped to each other. Doesn’t make sense at first why they’d do that unless they were short on restraints and wanted to make sure neither of us tried to escape with the other.
Clearly, they don’t know the Rossi family code.
I don’t dare wake her up or move.
I plow through the slog in my brain to put facts together.
Fact one. Vivia and Gray were considered suspects by the Rossis for the attempt to assassinate Marialena.
Fact two. Vivia says she didn’t know about it, but I can’t trust what she says. Gloria was the one that pointed the finger, and I trust Gloria more than I trust Vivia.
Fact three. Vivia isn’t innocent. She’s hiding something. She’s clamped her mouth and refused to answer, was tracked down by Gloria and Mario, and there’s no way she was supposed to be without her guard in an underground sex club. Her brothers would lock her up in a chastity belt and move her into a convent first.
Fact four. Gray tried to pin it on her, which means there’s a pretty good chance that he was the one responsible and he tried to get out of it by throwing her under the bus.
Is she innocent? Fucking doubt it.
I narrow my eyes in the darkness. What kind of a douchebag tries to get someone else to take the blame? A fucking pussy, that’s who. I wish he wasn’t dead so I could kill him all over again, the asshole.
Who was really behind it all, though? Whoever’s responsible for us being brought here, for attacking us on the streets of Boston, and for drugging us. Someone pulled out all the stops, knowing that Gray could’ve spilled all. At least that much I can guess.
Why are Vivia and I still alive?
They had their chance to kill us and didn’t. That leaves only one plausible explanation: we’re useful to them for another purpose.
I sift through what I know to make sure I’m not missing anything. We weren’t sure who tried to hurt Marialena at first, but Mario and Gloria did some investigative work. Romeo was livid and nearly lost his shit when someone tried to hurt his baby sister, but the rest of us kept our heads on straight and found out what we could. As far as I know, the Montavios knew shit, but I’d guess that’s changed by now.
There’s no way she acted with their knowledge. I’ve worked alongside the Montavios long enough to know they’re as loyal as the Rossis, and they’d fucking die before they’d betray any one of us.
Vivia’s in a lot of goddamn trouble.