Trapped (Sinners of Boston #5)

38. Delilah

THIRTY-EIGHT

DELILAH

I handed Santino my phone.

The screen illuminated a candid photo of Luca and me at Christmas, wearing sullen sneers as someone, probably my aunt, harassed us to smile. I scrolled to another, each image a piece of a puzzle I’d been too scared to solve until now. All of them showed Luca, not as a memory lost to a fire, but as a boy who grew up with me under the Romanovs.

I’d spent hours digging through digital albums, looking for evidence tying the man I knew to the child everyone believed perished in the fire. Slowly, I’d gathered photos from my childhood and a few rare ones where Luca and I were together, his features unmistakably similar to the boy in Santino’s photograph.

“He was never in the fire, Santino. My father told me everything. He went over there and killed his parents but couldn’t go through with it when he got to Luca’s bedroom. He took Luca out of the house that night and gave him to a relative to raise—one of my aunts with two other boys.”

Santino lowered the phone, his jaw slack. “He took my cousin?”

“Yeah, and brought him to Providence.”

“I don’t believe it,” he murmured, grabbing the photo in his wallet. “You’re saying this is the same kid?”

“ Yes .”

His jaw clenched. “Are you fucking with me?”

“It’s him. He even still goes by Luca.”

Santino raked a hand through his hair. “Everybody knows this?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t put it together until you showed me that picture in your wallet.” I sucked in a deep breath as Santino scrolled through the gallery. “Dad never told me anything about Luca, but he always stuck out like a sore thumb. Black hair and olive skin and speaking Russian.”

“He speaks Russian ?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, heart hammering. “They must’ve taught him.”

Santino’s fist tightened on my phone as he got to an image of Luca at seventeen, looking cool and detached, flipping off the camera. “Your father confessed?”

I nodded. “That’s why I went to Providence without you. I had to ask him about Luca. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to give you false hope.”

Santino didn’t say anything. Then he put the phone back in my hands, clasping my shoulder with a biting grip. He looked at me, fire smoldering in his black eyes.

“Take me to him.”

“He works here?”

Santino turned in the car seat, casting a doubtful look at the Eastern European grocery store, an unassuming building sandwiched in between a divorce lawyer and a carpet cleaning service. The strip mall was innocuous.

I nodded. “It’s one of my dad’s money-laundering businesses.”

Santino’s brow furrowed. “What does he do?”

“Besides ring up customers, you mean? I’m not sure. He might handle some of the back-end work, too—accounts, maybe. But he’s always kept a low profile, exactly the way my dad wanted him to. Low enough that your family would never realize he was still alive.”

Santino’s gaze hardened. “So they raised him to think that he was abandoned. Did they brainwash him or something? What have they been forcing him to do?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you more.”

Santino let out a frustrated sigh.

He’d grilled me on the drive to Providence, but most of my answers consisted of I don’t know . He’d been especially curious about why Luca hadn’t escaped in fifteen years of captivity. Again, I had no explanation to give him. I had no idea if Luca had been threatened or was Stockholmed into compliance.

All the answers to Santino’s burning questions were in that store, but Santino couldn’t walk into a Bratva-owned business without getting shot on the way out.

He started to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Alarmed, I grabbed his forearm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He paused, halfway out of the seat. “I need to talk to him. Face to face.”

“Okay, but how are you going to do that?”

He jerked his head toward the store.

“ No . Hell to the no. That’s a really bad idea. He’s not going to be alone. And I guarantee you he has a gun behind the counter.”

“It’ll be fine.”

He opened the car door.

I watched him stroll to the entrance of the grocery store, biting my lip. Then I got out and ran to him. My ballet flats slapped the pavement as I hooked my arm through his. Santino didn’t stop walking, but he slowed down.

We opened the door, and a bell chimed. We turned right into an aisle of canned goods. I grabbed a basket and walked around, filling it with a few items—corkscrew pasta, sour cherries, sausage from the fridge. Santino reached for an item on the top shelf as his attention wandered to the cash register.

Behind it, there was a small kitchen. A tall, stainless steel pot simmered on the stove, and a satellite radio blared sports commentary of a Russian soccer league. Low voices rumbled behind a plastic curtain.

My throat tightened as Santino approached the counter. His palm slapped the bell.

The plastic curtain rippled, and Luca walked through. He looked just like a typical street thug, fade haircut, eyebrow slits, oversized hoodie, and tattoos on his hands and knuckles.

“Ready to check out?” he asked.

Santino nodded.

I waited for a sign of recognition as Santino pushed the basket toward him, but Luca didn’t glance in my direction. Santino’s knuckle rapped the thick plate of plastic glass in front of the register.

“What’s this for?”

Luca hit the keys on the cash register. “Protection. Lots of crime in the area.”

“Oh yeah? Shame.”

Luca finally looked at me, swallowing hard. His hands paused, and his eyes flicked up to meet Santino’s before returning to the register. “Did you find everything you need?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Luca deadpanned. “That’ll be twenty fifty-eight.”

Santino glanced at me. I shook my head slightly, my stomach twisting with nerves. He turned back to Luca, his expression unreadable. He handed over cash, and the register sprang open. A small machine spat out a receipt, and Luca ripped it off, shoving it and Santino’s change into his palm.

Luca bagged the groceries and handed the bag over the counter. “Have a good day.”

Santino took the bag but didn’t move. “Do you know who I am?”

Luca’s pointed glare drifted to me. “I have no idea.”

“Okay, Luca.”

Luca completely ignored Santino, taking his time closing the register. His attention darted to the security camera angled above the counter, then back to Santino.

A man in the back shouted in Russian. “ Are they done? What’s taking so long? ”

Luca tensed. “ They’re asking for directions. ”

Santino leaned in closer. “Luca, what the fuck?”

“You need to go.” Luca pointed toward the door. “Now.”

Santino’s jaw worked. “Do you remember me?”

“Sir, I think you’re confused. I’m just trying to work here. Please leave the premises before I call the authorities.”

I grabbed Santino’s hand.

Reluctantly, he let me lead him outside. As we exited the store, the door closed with a soft jingle. I looked over my shoulder as we reached Santino’s car, but Santino kept his gaze forward.

“He acted like he didn’t recognize me. Something is very wrong. He seemed tense and wary of the cameras, the surveillance…I’ve never noticed that with him before.”

Santino glanced at the store again. “Fifteen years, he’s been in my backyard. Alone . Enduring God-knows-what. Did they torture him?”

“I-I don’t think so.” Part of me wanted to say that my dad wasn’t capable of that, but honestly? I wasn’t sure anymore. “Luca was just a kid when he was taken.”

“I need to figure this out. I can’t leave him in this situation.”

“We won’t.”

I intertwined my fingers with his, and the tension in his jaw softened.

“This will change everything with your father. My boss will want him dead. We have to get him out of town.”

“You’d do that for me?”

He smiled wryly, and a lightness fluttered in my heart. “You don’t want his blood on your hands, principessa. That’s not something you can walk away from. If I have to keep him alive for you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I don’t want you to risk your life for my father.”

His eyes blazed with black fire. “What do you want?”

“You,” I whispered. “Just you.”

He stared at me, the harsh lines of his face softening. He broke into a small but beautiful smile. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against my cheek.

A harsh cough echoed through the quiet.

We looked over. Standing outside the entrance of the grocery store were Luca and several other burly men, each with a gun pointed at us.