reverberated inside her skull, and stars bloomed in her field of vision.
Unconsciousness threatened.
Hold on. Don't succumb. If you pass out, you're dead! Rolling painfully onto her side she curled into a ball, protecting her baby.
A heavy boot connected with her spine. She whimpered
He kicked her again. The thick scars protected her somewhat from the blows,
but she was getting badly bruised. More kicks rained out, colliding with her back, her arms. Stubbornly she clung to her protective posture… and to
consciousness.
A hand clutched her hair again, pulling her head back, and a meaty fist connected solidly with her nose. Blood sprayed and again blackness threatened.
He dropped her, and her wounded skull collided with the floor.
This time, there was no escape. Her last sight as consciousness faded was a
boot descending inexorably towards her unprotected belly…
Christopher stepped into the shadow near the stairs. I'd like to be found quickly.
It was silly, but the potential for more fun pulling his wife into the corner with
him proved irresistible. Not that I need more, of course. We kissed for ages before leaving home. With Katerina, there's no such thing as too much.
He heard her soft voice floating up from the parlor. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.”
Good, she's coming soon. He readied himself to pull her into the shadowy angle of the stairwell. It's a risk, grabbing her without warning, he thought, butIbelieve she's better enough to try it. Where is she? She should be up here by now.
A low male voice filtered up to him, but he couldn't make out the words. It
doesn't sound like Father… perhaps Colonel Turner?
Katerina answered, her words hard and cold .
She would never talk to the colonel in such a sarcastic tone. I still can't makeout what she’s saying… wait… The familiar rolling rhythm of Italian rose.
Oh God, no!
Only one person in all of London could speak Italian to his wife and receive
such a harsh reply.
Christopher hurried to the top of the stairs, horrified by a roar of masculine
fury, a feminine shriek, and then a loud thud. Looking down, he could see his wife falling to the floor, her body tightly curled as her father kicked her over and over with his heavy boots.
“Help!” he shouted but had no idea whether anyone else could hear him.
Despite descending the stairs at reckless speed he was unable to reach them before his father-in-law pulled back Katerina's head to deliver a massive blow to
her unprotected face. As she lost consciousness, he stretched her out, preparing
to stomp on her abdomen, on their baby.
“No!” Christopher roared, shoving the older man in the chest and knocking
him backwards onto the floor.
“Christopher, what on earth?” Julia poked her face out of the parlor.
“Mother, get help, quickly!” he shouted.
“Oh, God.” Julia fled.
Drawn by the noise, the guests poured into the room.
Giovanni rose to his feet, his rugged face a mask of pure rage. He
approached Katerina again, but this time Christopher was ready for him.
Stepping over his wife's prone body, he positioned himself between her and her
father. Cold anger filled him until his blood felt like ice in his veins.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Turner, guarded by her husband, picking her way across the room.
