Page 24 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
I will not abandon her. Una is no longer that innocent girl. She can look after herself for a little longer.
The sun creeps over the horizon, turning the sky from a dull grey to bright blue. Sunshine creeps through the slanted gaps in the closed shutters and dust particles catch in the beams of light.
I hear movement from the bedroom before Adelina finally opens the door. She’s wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that expose her long legs.
“Do you want coffee?” she asks.
“No. Thank you.”
My phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen. “I have to take a call,” I inform Adelina. Leaving her in the kitchen, I go to the bedroom and close the door behind me. I take a seat on the made bed and answer.
“Sasha. I got your message. Is my sister okay?” Gabriella says in a rush.
“She’s fine, but I need to speak with you. I have to get back to New York. She isn’t safe there, and we cannot hide indefinitely.” The very notion of hiding at all does not sit well with me.
“I just need some time. I’m trying to make a deal with them.”
“They came to New York for her. They threatened Nero’s family. It’s a declaration of war. This has gone beyond your negotiations, Miss Ricci.”
“You agreed to protect her.”
“And I will, but the best defense is always a proactive attack.”
“I can’t risk going on the offensive now. The situation is tenuous. I’m going to make them another offer.”
“You’re going to offer yourself instead of Adelina.” I know the mafia, the way they work. They’re all about bloodlines, breeding, and power exchanges. If they want a Ricci bride, then they won’t settle for less, but Adelina isn’t the only Ricci available to wed. She’s just the one the old man was more willing to barter.
There’s a long pause. “Just…keep my sister out of their hands until I contact you.”
I hang up.
Ah, poor Gabriella. Backed into a corner with nowhere to go. She’s playing games she can’t hope to win, attempting to act in her father’s stead. I admire her spirit, but she’s hopelessly outmatched, and I don’t have time to wait around for her to attempt to fix this.
Una needs me. Adelina needs me. There’s only one way to fulfill both obligations.
Kill Enrique Bianchi. As long as they know it was me, there will be no political fallout for the Ricci’s. I’ll do what Gabriella Ricci is too scared to order.
7
Adelina
You’re going to offer yourself instead of Adelina.
The words sink into the pit of my stomach like lead. I hear the creak of Sasha’s weight lifting from the bed, and I carefully step back from the door, trying to move away quickly and silently.
When Sasha comes out and rounds the corner, I’m sitting on the sofa, a book in hand. The words blur in front of me, indistinguishable over the thoughts circling around my head. Offer yourself.
She can’t. I imagine my sister married to that awful man, smiling in her broken servitude, adhering to his rule. No, she can’t. I won’t let her. A burning resentment against my father singes the deepest parts of me. I don’t understand how he could do this to us and then simply go into hiding. He should fix this, not allow Gabi to sacrifice herself.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that Sasha is staring at me. His gaze threatens to burn a hole in the side of my face, but I dare not look up.
“I know you heard that,” he says.
“Heard what?”
“You walk like an elephant.”
My gaze snaps to his, and I glare. “You’re just going to let Gabi offer herself up?”
His broad chest rises and falls on a deep breath. “Your sister isn’t my problem. She contracted me to protect you, not her.”
I frown. “Wait. My father didn’t hire you?” Whatever slight imitation of an expression was on his face vanishes. “I want to speak to him.”
“If you wish to speak to Gabriella, that can be arranged.”
“What? Fine. Let me speak to her.” I hold my hand out for the phone, and he straightens away from the wall, walking straight past me to the kitchen.
“I’ll arrange it.”
“You literally just spoke to her!”
“Yes.”
“So call her back,” I shout after him.
He ignores me and starts banging around, pulling out various pots and pans from the kitchen cabinets.
“Sasha.” Still nothing. I get up and go into the kitchen where his back is to me as he turns on the stove. “Sasha.”
Still, he ignores me, and my temper spikes. Anger and frustration at his blatant inability—or refusal—to give a shit bubble over into a red-hot torrent. Stepping forward, I grab his arm with the intention of forcing his attention. The second I do, my back hits the wall, and his hand grips my neck with unimaginable force. Those unsettling eyes are completely void. Blank. His grip is like a vice around my windpipe, and I start to panic. He’s going to kill me. My nails rake over his forearm, digging into the skin as my legs scramble for purchase.
