I arch an eyebrow at my baby sister. “Because a normal guy would piss himself the moment he meets our family. Can you imagine an accountant lounging in our living room and BS-ing with Dad, Alexei, and Uncle Sergei?”
“I think Uncle Sergei is awesome. He wouldn’t do anything to your accountant.”
“He brought a grenade launcher to dinner last week.”
“Well, there’s that.” She shrugs. “Maybe you should try dating someone from Bratva. Whoever it is, he’ll know what he’s getting into.”
“Yeah, sure. How long do you think the poor guy would live after Dad finds out we’re going out?”
“A week?”
“Forty-eight hours, tops. Dad would never let either of us date one of his men. Or anyone from our social circle.”
I understand our father’s need to keep his daughters away from the seedy part of Roman Petrov’s world—don’t get me started on the patriarchial shit that my younger brother never even has to think about—but the thing Dad doesn’t fully get is that we’re already a part of it. Around-the-clock armed security. Wounded, bleeding men brought into our house to be patched up right on our kitchen island. Constant vigilance against random skirmishes with other criminal organizations. Bodyguards no further than an arm’s length away until a potential threat is resolved. Business meetings and even family gatherings often ending with guns drawn. My sister and I were both born into this madness. That’s our “normal.” Anything else will never feel remotely as such.
“Do you think Dad will make me marry an accountant, as well?” Yulia chirps from the bed.
“Nah. He’ll probably find you a dentist. Or a museum curator.” I grin, looking at her and picturing a dude with glasses and a bow tie coming to pick her up for their date. “Dad would never let the baby of the family go anywhere near a big bad accountant. Those guys can get involved in frauds.”
“Yeah.” She chews her thumbnail. “Um . . . I’m going to ask Dad to let me move out before the next semester.”
I gape at my sister. “Why?”
“I’m not like you, Vasya. All this commotion, people constantly coming and going, the fucking noise all the time . . . I don’t think I can live in this nuthouse anymore.”
“I doubt he’d let you.”
“Why not? There haven’t been any skirmishes with other Families recently. Everybody’s just been minding their own business.”
“Yes, but . . .” I stare at her. In Russian families, it’s common for kids to keep living at home until they finish college and get a job. Especially in families like ours—where extra security is often necessary. “But, it’s not that bad here.”
The slamming of doors somewhere down the hallway reverberates through the house as if purposely contradicting my statement. Yelling and the sound of running feet mix with the droning of the lawn mower drifting through the open window. Male laughter and good-natured Russian insults clamor for attention in the backyard—Alexei and our cousin Sasha are competing in knife-throwing again. I wonder which one of them will end up getting stitched up in the kitchen today. The stench of smoke seems to be dissipating, but it’s still hanging in the air. Mom is going to lose it if it settles into her new drapes. High-pitched female voices are ringing somewhere inside the mansion, spewing Russian curses back and forth. Dad’s office is just below my room, and I can hear him roaring at someone over the phone. Probably Uncle Sergei; he’s the only one who can make my dad lose his shit in under a minute.
Just another regular day in the Petrov household.
“I stand corrected. Our home is the oasis of peace and tranquility.” Yulia laughs from her spot on the bed. “So, are you really going to cease your cyber adventures?”
“Yeah,” I mumble and bite my lower lip. I should have sent more moola to that kids’ choir while I had the chance.
When I first started hacking my way into random businesses, I quickly found that most of their digital safeguards were a joke. To me, corporate firewalls didn’t present any challenge whatsoever. So, I did some digging and picked the top ten private security companies. I’ve been working solely with their systems ever since, creating back doors into their networks, just like Grandpa Felix showed me. It’s not about espionage or financial fraud, simply a question of flexing my computing muscles and breaching the most stringent virtual environments on the planet. I’d get in, then retreat, erasing every trace I’d ever been there. Except for small things. I can’t seem to overcome a stupid need to leave behind a tiny clue. A changed code to the service elevator. Reformatted bullet points on the website from basic dots to little stars. Increasing the paychecks of the lowest-paid employees by a dollar. Or, in the case of the big-ass security conglomerate with offices around the globe, manipulating their accounting systems to send small donations to obscure charities and underprivileged places.
Maybe I could hit the “big brawny beast” one last time. A goodbye kiss to my hacking career.
Yes. I’ll wait a couple of weeks, just in case. If Dad doesn’t return my laptop by then, I’ll find another dive internet café and do it from there.
It’ll be less than thirty minutes of work, now that I know their system like the back of my hand.
Nothing can go wrong.
Chapter 3
Present day
Sicily
I stare at the blond guy behind the wheel. He’s settled back in his seat, an elbow casually draped through the open window while he steers his souped-up ride over roads that see more sheep crossings than vehicle traffic. Meanwhile, dickhead one is flanking me in the back seat, the pissed-off vibes rolling off him in droves, and dickhead number two is obnoxiously gloating after calling shotgun. I can’t believe these bastards dragged me to damn Sicily!
How long is the flight to Italy? Mom and Dad probably already know that something’s happened and are looking for me. God, I hope they find me soon.
“I need your name,” blondie—my kidnappers called him Guido—says.
Yup, they have no idea who I am. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
“And I need you to let me go,” I mumble. “What do you want from me?”
“Me, personally? Nothing. You’ll have to discuss the rest with my brother.”
“And where is said brother?”
He ignores me for a moment while easing the car to a stop. Then, he pivots toward the back and lifts his phone, snapping a shot of my face before I can even protest.
“He should be home in a few hours,” Guido finally responds. His eyes bounce between the two goons with half a brain between them. “Take her to the basement. Give her food and water.”
Vinny exits the car, pulling me out after him. I cry out, trying to shrug him off without much luck. Hank grabs my other arm, and both proceed to tow me toward the entrance of the huge sandstone villa. The only thing I manage to catch before I’m hauled inside is that the house is located on a hillside, overlooking the sea.
The interior screams opulence, but it’s that understated luxury that’s hard to miss. Not gaudy and in-your-face flashy, but homey—comfort etched into every room and amenity we pass. The ceilings are high, crisscrossed with thick wooden beams. The stucco detailing on the walls reminds me of photos from Architectural Digest or other interior design magazines. Sunlight streams through the massive French windows that open to the shimmering waters beyond, bathing the pale wood furniture. My steps falter for a moment, and I can’t help but draw in a deep breath, taking in the view.
“Move!” Vinny barks, tugging me away from the beautiful sight and to the left of the main doors, toward stairs that must lead to the lower level.
I dig my heels into the floor, trying to resist or at least slow the brute down. Pain shoots through my wrists when he yanks on the handcuffs’ chain again, making me cry out as he nearly drags me down the steps to the sturdy-looking wooden door at the bottom.
“Stop whimpering.” He opens the door and pushes me inside the spacious but dim, cool room. A slight earthy scent hangs in the air.
I fall to my knees and manage to brace my palms on the frigid tiled floor, barely avoiding hitting my face on the surface.
“And because you were a bitch—no food or water!”
I scramble to my feet and rush toward the door, but it snaps shut just before I reach it. The panic I’ve been trying to keep at bay pushes its way through my restraint, sweeping through me like a tempest. I grab the knob, finding it locked.
“Let me out!” I bang on the barrier with my fists. “You sleazy motherfuckers! You’re going to pay for this! Let me out!” My hands hurt from the continuous blows on solid wood, and even though I know it’s in vain, I keep doing it.
I’m not certain how long I keep up my assault on that damn basement door. By the time I relent, the scant light coming from the narrow horizontal windows cut high into the walls has changed to a dusky orange. I press my back to the door and let my body slide down to the floor.
Despite being mostly underground, the temperature is relatively comfortable in the room, but my legs are shaking as if I’ve been plunged into the dead of winter. My arms, too. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. Soon enough, my whole body is racked by tremors like I’m running a fever. My bravado is gone, and all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry.
What the hell do these people want from me? To punish me for hacking into their damn company? I don’t even know which one it is. Why not kill me right away? Why drag me all the way here, across the ocean, just to throw me into some basement? Unless “the brother” wants to kill me himself?
