Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
The third was shot yesterday. He was old and begged them in Russian while soiling himself.
In total, eight hackers have been killed since I arrived, and I see each one when I close my eyes at night.
The guards didn’t look worried about the FBI alert, which fills me with worry.
Where are we in Russia that they don’t see the FBI as a threat?
I press my forehead to the bars and close my eyes for a moment.
Enzo. God, how I wish I could hear him grumble something at me.
The pain grows again, stealing my breath.
Two weeks is a long time when every day looks exactly the same as the one before.
My family thinks I’m dead.
The thought sends a sharp pain through my chest, and I grip the bars harder, needing the bite of metal to keep me standing.
When I open my eyes again, I see a guard stop behind the woman who keeps puking. He leans down, says something close to her ear, and she nods quickly, her fingers flying over the keyboard while tears slip silently down her cheeks.
Jesus, I wish I had a gun. I’ve never killed anyone before, but I’d make an exception for the guards in this prison.
Anger creeps into my chest, and I glare at the armed bastards I can see.
I don’t know how or when, but I swear they will pay.
The anger doesn’t last as long as it used to, and soon hopelessness presses against me from every side, heavy and suffocating.
What if I never get out?
What if they kill all the hackers below, and once they have enough money, they put a bullet in my head as well?
A chill sinks deep into my bones.
Oh my God. I’m alive, Enzo. I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive!
Yanking away from the bars, I walk to the bed and sit down. I lower my face into my palms and try to bring up images of my loved ones.
A sob pushes up my throat, but I swallow it down.
God, I’m going to lose my mind!
Chapter 14
Enzo
It’s been a month since the fortress fell.
Thirty excruciatingly long days.
Looking down at my hands, I take in the rough and uneven skin over my knuckles. Some places have healed into thin pink lines, while others are still scabbed from where I keep splitting them open.
The backs of my hands are covered with faded bruises, more yellow than purple now, and the skin around my fingers is cracked.
Across the backs of my hands and up toward my wrists, the burns have healed into tight patches of pink and light brown skin, some smooth and shiny, others raised enough to feel when I drag my thumb over them.
I flex my fingers, and the healing cuts pull tight, the burned skin stretching with a dull sting.
The suit jacket covers my forearms, which don’t look any better. Scratches run through my tattoos, some shallow and silvering, others still angry and red. Burn scars mark the skin near my wrists and along the underside of my arms, rough patches left behind by heat, smoke, and falling debris.
A few deeper cuts from glass and concrete are still taking their time closing.
I would’ve walked through fire to get to Rosie. I would’ve burned myself to ash to make sure she lived.
Rosie.
Rosie.
Rosie.
Sitting in the pew at the cathedral where we were all baptized, I struggle not to lose my temper as I suck in a shuddering breath. “This is a waste of time,” I growl.
Beside me, Dad shoots me a dark scowl. “This is for everyone else. You’re not the only one who loved Rosie.”
She’s not dead. I refuse to believe it.
Gianna is seated on Dad’s other side, squashed in between him and Riccardo. My sister is fucking pale, her face devoid of any emotion.
I glance to the other row of pews where Rosie’s parents and grandparents take their seats.
Uncle Dario has practically moved into my apartment, and we’ve been relentlessly searching for any kind of trace, but we haven’t been able to find anything.
Rosie gave everyone trackers except herself, once a-fucking-gain putting herself last.
The instant I get her back, I’m putting a tracker in her myself.
Looking over my shoulder, I see business associates who flew in the past week. Constantin, the head of the Romanian mafia, Atanas, who’s in charge of the Bulgarian mafia, Devran, representing the Turkish, and Ryo from the Yakuza.
They’re all here to show their respect. It’s not just about the business ties. Most of them have worked with Rosie in some way.
As I turn my head back, my eyes land on the photo of Rosie, which Adriano puts down beside a table covered with white roses. There’s a big white screen set up for Rosie’s final message.
I look at the photo again, and the moment I lock eyes with Rosie’s, the emptiness staring back at me crushes the shards that are left of my heart.