Page 39 of Forsaking All Others

And best of all, Daniil was greedy.

I could work with that.

Petyr brought me breakfast the next morning, instant oatmeal and a plastic bottle of water. He handed me the tray after undoing my bound hands and then sat cross-legged at the end of my bed to watch me eat. I kept silent as I forced myself to swallow the bland gruel, knowing that the boy had something he needed to get off his chest.

“Do you believe in God?” he asked finally.

I cocked my head, surprised by his question. “I’m Italian.”

“So yes?” he pressed.

I nodded, watching as he worried his chapped bottom lip.

“You will go heaven, then, if Daniil and Afansay kill you,” he murmured, a weak peace offering that made me choke down the hard lump of laughter that rose in my throat.

“You are a good Russian boy,” I said instead of agreeing. “You must believe in God too.” When he didn’t answer, I took his silence for confirmation. “Which means, if they kill me, you will go to hell.”

He blinked, mouth dropping open as if he truly hadn’t considered that possibility.

I shrugged. “You might not be the one to put the bullet between my pretty eyes, but you’re a willing accomplice, and God doesn’t like to discriminate.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Petyr muttered petulantly, and I almost felt badly for him. He was just a kid.

“Me either,” I confessed, leaning over to nudge him and smile. “Maybe you can help me with that. There are other people I know who would pay the ransom you want for me. Try to convince the others to let me contact them.”

“They want one million,” he admitted. “This is much money for someone to pay who is not husband.”

“My in-laws might pay it,” I suggested, thinking about Carla. There was no doubt in my mind that my mother-in-law could find a way to help me if she only had an idea of where I was and what had happened to me.

She was the original wolf in sheep’s clothing who had taught me to be the same.

I only needed to manipulate this thug into reaching out to set the ball in motion.

“No one in the Outfit will pay if Dario Ferretti won’t,” he grunted, his chin angled pugnaciously at me.

I shrugged delicately, even though my heart hitched to have my first idea so summarily knocked down. “No, you’re right. Happily, I have many friends outside the Family.”

He grunted suspiciously, his gaze raking my body as if the only reasons to befriend me were linked to my attractiveness and sexuality.

Men.

“It might not surprise you to know,” I said conspiratorially, leaning close with a sly smile. “I am a very good friend. Trust me, there are many people who would pay for my safe return.” I paused, placing a delicate hand on Petyr’s thin arm, the bone pronounced even through his shirt. “Wouldn’t you, if you had the means?”

Petyr’s blush was answer enough.

Despite hoping for it, I was still surprised when Daniil came by with my next meal of—you guessed it—oatmeal and water.

“What’s this you tell Petyr about paying your ransom?” he said without preamble, tossing the tray on the bed so that the lukewarm oats slopped over the side of the bowl.

When he undid my hands, he poked at the bruised flesh with a dark chuckle.

Calmly, I unraveled the plastic spoon from the napkin and tucked it into my meal. “Exactly what I told him, my husband is obviously not willing to play games with you, but I have many friends.”

“Who?”

Though I had planned for this, it made me uncomfortable to put Bratva eyes on my friends. I had to believe that they would want to help me in whatever way they could, even if it bought them Russian scrutiny.

“Hank Horton,” I said. “He’s a member of The Fallen MC Chicago Chapter.”