Ruthless Vow (Vegas Vicious #2)

16. Nicole

16

Nicole

We head northwest, through open desert dotted by the occasional creosote bush or Joshua tree. After about thirty minutes, I can see the outline of mountains in the distance, rising from the flat terrain.

We exit US-95 onto a road that winds up into the Spring Mountains, through steep canyons, pine trees rising around us as we ascend. The pine forest grows thicker. We pass no houses. The area is remote, isolated, secluded.

Perfect for my aunt’s purposes.

Finally, through the dense trees, in the shadow of a massive rock formation, I see a house. It’s rustic, with a wood exterior and a huge deck.

Several men, dressed in black and carrying machine guns patrol the deck.

The iron gates open at our approach and close behind us, as if triggered by some magic spell.

I’ve never been here before, didn’t even know the place existed, but I suspect my aunt bought this place with money she’s made over the last decade, money she hadn’t shared with my father. He’d wanted a part of her windfall and when she refused, he’d griped about her behind her back to me, saying that Bianca had hooked her wagon to a powerful Russian family that ran Chicago, that she was neck deep in helping to import cocaine from Columbia, which is how she’d made her small fortune while he toiled away at his restaurant, day in and day out.

There were times I wondered why my aunt needed my father at all. It wasn’t like he had the funds to shore up her ambitions to reclaim our family’s name. In fact, she was definitely the one shoring him up.

Danila leads me inside. Two men guard the outside of the front door. Two more guard the inside. My aunt is nothing if not careful. I follow him into a salon. Huge windows offer views of the endless evergreens outside. A stone fireplace extends up one wall, all the way to the high, vaulted ceiling. Two sprawling, tan leather sofas face each other across a hand-carved wooden coffee table. I move to one of the windows and look out.

The view is gorgeous. And it only accentuates the fact that this place is isolated as hell. I don’t see another roof or chimney or any hint of other structures. There isn’t another house for miles.

“Wait here,” Danila says.

His Russian accent…

I wonder if he’s associated with that infamous Chicago crime family.

It makes total sense now that I think about it. I’d thought the mercenaries my aunt sent to the yacht were randos she’d hired off of the dark web. But now, I think that maybe they weren’t. Maybe they’re people she has worked with for a very long time.

I sit down on the edge of a leather sofa, my back stiff. It doesn’t take very long before my aunt enters the room.

Bianca is a beautiful woman—at fifty-two, she looks nearly twenty years younger thanks to a renowned dermatologist and a gifted stylist. She has long raven hair that she wears in a thick braid over one shoulder. She’s clad in a black pantsuit that even my inexperienced eye recognizes as designer. Diamond rings glitter on her fingers. Her wrists are stacked with gold bracelets—Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels. I recognize the brands because I researched them for Salvatore at Christmas last year. He ordered a half dozen for Sabina.

“I’ve been so worried about you.” My aunt greets me as I rise, kissing me on both of my cheeks before taking my face in her hands. I think she’s frowning, but the Botox prevents any noticeable creasing, so I can’t be sure. “Oh, Nicole, honey. You look like hell.”

“That’s totally in line with how I feel right now,” I admit.

“Tell me everything.”

I don’t plan on doing that. Not everything, anyway. But enough. My aunt is a user and an abuser if someone stands between her and what she wants. I need her to believe I am the woman she knows, the woman completely cowed and controlled by her.

Sofia’s life depends on it.

“I…I will,” I tell her. Then I glance at Danila. Even though I don’t intend to tell her anything important about Leo or the Russos, I do need to tell her about the bomber. Someone inside her organization, someone she trusts could be planning to kill her too. And Sofia… “Can I talk to you alone?”

She tips her head and studies me for a moment, then says, “We’re alone.”

I shake my head. “Just the two of us.”

She smiles, a tight, close-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Danila is my right hand. You can speak freely in front of him. I trust him implicitly.”

Like Salvatore trusted me implicitly. Like Leo trusted me.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“In a locked holding cell,” I say.

Her eyes widen as if this information shocks her. “Did Leonardo Russo hold you prisoner?”

“He did.” I suspect she already knows this. She’s playing a game of cat and mouse with me, I just don’t know why.

“Did he hurt you?”

That’s a complicated question with an even more complicated answer. Did he hold me prisoner? Yes. Was it uncomfortable? Sometimes. Did he physically abuse me? No. Did he emotionally abuse me? Yes, but that likely wasn’t his intention.

My conflicted feelings toward Leo are my problem, not his.

Even now, I can feel his hands on me. As if he’s branded me. As if his marks are on me, inked into my skin. A reminder of what he’d done to me. Done with me.

I hate him for getting this deeply into my head. Hate myself for letting him.

“He didn’t hurt me much,” I tell my aunt, because if I say he didn’t hurt me at all, it will arouse her suspicions. “I was drugged. When I came to, I was cuffed, my hands suspended from an overhead chain.”

She strides over and grabs my wrist, pushing the sleeve up. “No marks,” she says, her gaze boring into me.

“No. They faded,” I lie. There never were any marks thanks to the padded cuffs. “After the first day I was held in a windowless cell. I think they were trying to break me with silence, boredom, and threats.”

She nods and lets go of my wrist.

“And then I got away,” I say.

“How?”

“Leo let a young kid to watch me. Barely out of his teens. He forgot to lock the cell after he brought me a meal.” Bianca’s eyes narrow. I take a breath and continue. “I don’t know if it was a mistake or if they told him to pretend to forget. But I made certain I wasn’t followed. And I am assuming Danila did the same.” Sticking as close as possible to the truth makes the lie believable.

Bianca relaxes and steps back.

“Did you tell him about me?” she asks.

“No. Nothing.” And that carries the ring of truth because it is the truth.

Bianca studies me for a moment longer, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts.

I play the weakling card. “I’m just so tired. I would kill for a shower and a few hours’ sleep. Can we talk after that?”

After an endless silence, she nods. “Go, get some rest. We’ll deal with all of this later.”

“Thank you. And…Aunt Bianca?”

“Yes?”

“When can I see Sofia?”

She stares at me for a long time, saying nothing. I know that stare so well. It’s meant to make me feel small, weak, worthless. But at some point in the past few days, it lost its power over me. I am not weak or worthless.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” my aunt says.

There it is, that impossible surge of hope, showing up like a single bar of cellular reception in the wilderness. And just like that bar, it’ll disappear in a puff taking all hope with it.

Bianca has made promises to me dozens of times before. I’m not inclined to trust her now. But I can’t let her know that.

“Thank you,” I say. “I…uh, I’m sorry, Bianca. About what happened on the yacht… I’m sorry I failed you.”

I’m not sorry. Not even a tiny bit. The day I failed to kill Leo, I would have said those words and meant them with everything I am. Now, not so much. Leo didn’t kill my father. He didn’t deserve to die by my hand that day.

But if I hope to ever see Sofia again, I need to say exactly what my aunt expects to hear.

“It’s over.” Bianca gives me a tight smile. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore. I’ve decided that your part in all of this is over.”

I want to ask her what she means, but she turns her back to me and walks from the room.

Danila leads me to one of the upstairs guest rooms where I make use of an expansive, marble bathroom and have a long, searing hot shower. And then I crawl into a canopied king-sized bed, my entire body aching, my mind racing.

I wake to find the door to my room locked from the outside, which doesn’t surprise me at all, knowing my aunt. The clock on the bedside table tells me it’s after noon. I slept for a very long time but I don’t feel refreshed.

A tray on the dresser holds a carafe with coffee that’s still almost hot, some fruit, a sandwich, and a basket of small muffins and croissants. There’s a fresh change of clothes stacked on the chair in the corner. A shapeless dress, beige with a hint of gray. Was it only days ago that I wore clothing like this as armor, making myself invisible wherever I went?

Now the sight of the dress makes me want to tear it to shreds. This dress belongs on the woman my father and aunt crafted me to be. It doesn’t belong on me .

I don’t fully know who I am or who I want to be. Not yet. Figuring that out will take time. But I definitely know I don’t want to be a disposable game piece, forced to obey someone else’s whims, to squeeze myself into a mold they created.

I eat, taking my time, knowing my aunt will leaved me locked in this room until she’s ready to let me out. And she’ll be in no rush. She’ll want me to sit and stew and obsess over my many failings. She’ll expect me to spend the hours chastising myself, working myself into a frenzy of self-loathing.

The girl I used to be might have done that. Probably would have.

When exactly did I stop being that girl? Was it when Salvatore gave me ever increasing responsibilities, trusting me, relying on me? Was it when he showed me what a father should be? Or when he died and I mourned him and missed him? Was it when I decided against shooting Leo? Or when he kissed me that first time? Maybe it was when I made the choice to send the pet I love to stay with Luca in order to keep him healthy and safe. Or when I decided to trust Leo with a portion of the truth, telling him about Sofia even though I didn’t tell him about Bianca. Or maybe it was a slow progression, baby steps over months and years.

All I know is that Salvatore was right. I am not stupid. I am smart and capable. I am not weak or a failure. I am strong.

And I will stay strong.

Leo was right, too.

I am not the mouse I pretended to be.

I am a wolf.

The bathroom is stocked with toiletries. The first thing I do is take out my contacts—they can’t be worn for more than six or seven days—and replace them with a fresh pair from the backpack I retrieved. I wash my face, brush my hair, and secure it in an elastic at the nape of my neck. I study my reflection, seeing no change in myself other than the haunted look in my eyes and the flyaway chunks of hair that are too short to be contained.

No, that’s not true.

I’m standing tall, not slouching.

And for the first time in… well, maybe in forever, I like the reflection looking back at me. I like my piercing gaze and my full brows, my sharp chin and cheekbones.

I lean a little closer to the mirror.

Are my lips fuller than usual? Bruised from Leo’s mouth on mine…

And those marks low on my neck, near my collarbone… Those are from Leo’s lips and teeth.

For a moment, I let myself remember the feel of his body against mine. His hands, his mouth, the sound of his voice. Perfection , he’d said when he looked at me. And he’d meant it, because Leo doesn’t bother to lie.

I close my eyes, locking thoughts of Leo away in a beautiful gold box in the corner of my mind, safe and protected. Then, in a moment of defiance, I take fresh underthings from the pile, but dress in the khaki cargo pants and long-sleeved T-shirt I wore yesterday instead of the shapeless sack my aunt left for me. The mock-neck hides the marks Leo left on me. A good thing because I won’t be able to explain them to my aunt.

I drag the chair to the window and let my mind run free as the sun hits my face through the glass.

Hours later, from the position of the sun I’m guessing early evening, the door to my room unlocks. Danila opens the door and says, “Follow me.”

“Where’s my aunt?” I ask, as we head downstairs.

“She’s gone out,” he tells me.

“Where?”

“That’s privileged information.”

It’s a disappointment, but I don’t press. I need to tell her about the bomber, but last night wasn’t the right time given that she refused to speak with me alone. I have no way to judge Danila’s loyalty, so I wasn’t about to make any revelations in front of him.

I finally give him my full attention. “So who exactly are you? I thought you were a temporary hire, a mercenary, but you aren’t, are you? Bianca said you’re her right hand.”

“Currently, yes.”

“What do you do for her?”

“Anything she requires of me.”

That’s a rather broad statement. “Anything? Cooking, cleaning…dog walking? She doesn’t have a dog, but if she did…would you take it out for a walk if she asked you to?”

Danila doesn’t smile. “You’re to come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Miss Moretti wants me to take you to your sister.”

I can’t help but gasp. “You’re taking me to Sofia?”

Last night, my aunt had said I could see my sister tomorrow. I hadn’t believed her. She’d made that promise so many times before, only to let my hopes crash and burn. But this time, she wasn’t lying.

He nods. “Follow me.”

“She isn’t here in the house?” I ask as I follow Danila out the front doors to a waiting limo.

“She’s nearby.” He holds the back-passenger door open for me and I get inside. Instead of joining me in the back, he gets in the front driver’s side. I peer through the partition to the front before it closes, blocking my view.

The car begins to move. We head down the mountain, the forest becoming less dense. I shift anxiously in my seat, eager to see my sister.

Time ticks past.

Sofia is definitely not nearby.

For a while, I ignore the growing gut feeling that something is off, very off about all of this.

My pulse kicks up. I knock on the partition to get more answers, but nothing happens. I’m ignored.

I try the windows, but they don’t budge. The door is locked.

I’m trapped.

I pound on the partition again. “Where are we going? Where are you taking me?”

My thoughts spin, puzzle pieces dancing just beyond my grasp. I snatch at them, random bits not quite fitting together to give me a clear picture. And then they do, snapping into place.

Click. A bomb killed my father.

Click. My aunt blamed Leo—Leo specifically—for my father’s death.

Click. A bomb blew up the motel I was staying in.

Click. No one knew I was there except my aunt and her people.

Click. Someone in my aunt’s organization set those two bombs.

And just like that, the truth is clear. Bianca had known my father would be working late at the restaurant that night. How many times had I wondered why Bianca even needed my father to reclaim her heritage?

She didn’t.

Bianca is the one who killed my father.

Then she tried to kill me because when I didn’t shoot Leo on the yacht, my usefulness ran out. I hadn’t carried out her orders, and I had blown my cover. I would no longer be able to funnel information to her about the Russos.

The note I’d left for her had told her exactly where I was staying, led her straight to the Desert Mirage Motel.

The person in my aunt’s organization who has been setting those bombs is my aunt.

I should have told Leo exactly who I reported to. I should have told him everything. I should have asked Salvatore for help years ago.

Bianca has been holding my sister hostage for more than two fucking years. Why did I not acknowledge what she was capable of?

And Sofia? Is she even still alive?

My rage and pain swell and I throw back my head and scream. Who fucking cares if Danila hears me?

I’d climbed into this limo like a lamb to the slaughter, blinded by the possibility of seeing my sister again. But that isn’t where we’re going.

My aunt has ordered my death.

And Danila is driving me to my grave.