Page 7 of Moss

I go back into the bedroom and sit on the bed, wondering what time of day it is, what day it is. I sit down in front of the windows, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on them.

The sun is out, brighter than ever in casting her warm rays over the people. I lose track of time as I watch the bustling city below. The people going about their lives, cars honking at the slow traffic, the people on the sidewalks speed-walking to get to their destination.

And here I am. Trapped. Bound to the Mafia by a debt that isn’t even mine.

I watch all the people on the bustling streets, everything so full of life, while I sit in one of the most fancy prisons. My future is nothing other than being in this penthouse and forced to do whatever Riot wants. I sit here for hours, my eyes growing droopy.

I peer out to the city one last time before my eyes close, wishing to be someone out there. Someone other than Penelope Russo.

*This book is an advance reader copy and is to not be distributed anywhere. [email protected]*

4

Chapter Four

Pain - Three Days Grace

Riot

I’ve been out in the city all day. All I want is a shower and a fucking drink. Some warm pussy wouldn’t hurt either. Maybe, just maybe. I wonder what Penelope has been up to. There were cameras installed after she fell asleep a couple of days ago, but I haven’t had the time to check on her. For her sake, she’d better not have caused any trouble or I’ll be forced to punish her.

I really try not to think about her. I don’t need a distraction plaguing my mind when a war with the Mexican Mafia is about to ensue.

“Брат,” Viktor’s voice pulls me from whatever trance I was in. “Adrian is getting impatient for your answer, he has called me three times today.” Oh God, give me a fucking break.

“Tell him I will get a hold of him by the end of the week. He is nowhere near being in my good graces, he just stole twenty fucking million from us. If anything, he should be on his fucking knees in front of me begging for his life, and if he’s smart enough, he’ll beg for his death when he realizes he’s trapped with the devil himself,” I bite out at him, not meaning to sound so harsh. Viktor grunts back, and I see him typing on his phone in my peripheral.

However, this fucking idiot just dug his own grave with his pestering. Playing with the devil is a stupid game, and only Adrian is ballsy enough to play.

Adrian Diaz, leader of the Mexican Cartel. He’s been trying to expand his empire over to the East Coast, specifically New York. My city. I’ve been doing everything in my power to stop him from getting his claws too far into the city, but I can only do so much.

He’s a bigger thorn in my side than Harold Russo, and by God that man is a huge pain in my ass. Adrian is the biggest sex trafficker in the game. I hate working with him due to that one fact. I don’t fuck around with innocent and helpless girls being used as toys. Even more so when they are sold like objects.

Hypocrite. Says the man with a fucking girl locked in his room.

A war with his Mafia would last months. They are second most powerful in the world, falling just short of us.

I do not want to start a war with him, but if he steps one more toe out of line, I’ll have no choice. Everyone should know not to fuck with me. It’s common knowledge.

My issue is, he sticks his nose where it doesn’t fucking belong. He stole a four million dollar gun shipment from me a few months ago. I decided to let it go with a warning this one time, it’s four million, that’s pocket change to me. He crossed the line when he stole a sixteen million shipment a few days ago, and is trying to act all buddy buddy like his life isn’t about to fucking end.

With his head mantled in my office, and body sent to his family. That should tell them not to fuck with Riot fucking Petrov.

My mask is getting hot as my breath quickens, my anger continuing to rise. I wear this mask everywhere. One of the three people who see my face is Linda, my mother.

My mother is very dear to me, and unlike Viktor and I’s father, she loved us. Our father only wanted to be in contact during training, and even then, he barely talked to us.

Mama always took care of us, even when Father screamed at her for hours on end to stop babying us, hoping we’d toughen up and act like men. I was five, and Viktor was only one. We deserved to be children.

He started to train me when I was seven. My small child body was wrecked after every training session. He paired me with grown men to fight, and made them go hard on me. Tried to toughen me up by paying men to beat up a seven-year-old.

Dad made sure we were never around anyone. Nobody even knew I was alive until I was three and they announced Mama’s pregnancy with Viktor. Even then, I didn’t see anyone, and if we went around people, Father made us wear masks so he didn’t have to face the shame of seeing us.

He thought we were damaged goods. I hit my milestones a lot later than normal babies. He thought I was broken. So he hid me. Viktor died at birth and was dead for three minutes before they got his heart started again. He had delays as well. But look at us now, alive and kicking. That’s all that matters.

As I got older, I felt shame for my own face, so I kept the mask. I just made it my own with the glowing neon green stitched face. Viktor stopped wearing his as soon as Father died.

I killed him when I was twenty-two, freeing my family from his wrath. It was a breath of fresh air.