He mumbled in his sleep and turned on his back. That silly scar stared back at me — I stuck out my tongue — his one imperfection if you could even call it that.
The longer I stared, the sadder I became. Tears soon filled my eyes as a thought occurred. I wouldn't get to stare at the scar much longer, and soon, well hopefully, he'd be able to move on — to live his life — and someone else would be sleeping in my place, staring at that scar, wondering about its story.
It was an eerie feeling.
Knowing that the sheets would be, and should be, warmed by another body, by another soul.
I wished in that moment I had control over what would happen when I was gone, or that I could at least help him.
An idea popped into my head.
A slow smile met the tears streaming down my face. "Oh, Sergio, you're either going to love me more or hate me. But at least you'll be forced to live, and that's the greatest gift I could ever leave you."
I kissed his forehead and went off to find a piece of paper. Ha, the man made fun of my lists; he was going to want to strangle me over this little piece of paper.
It was two hours before I finally made it back into bed. It was quiet around the house, which wasn't all that normal, considering a lot of the men Nixon had left took shifts, meaning the TV was almost always on downstairs.
Frowning, I glanced into the living room.
Empty.
I called down the hall, careful to keep my voice low.
Again nothing.
And then a hand slammed across my mouth. Someone pulled my body back. I was too weak to fight.
The man dragged me up the stairs; once we were back in Sergio's bedroom, he placed a gun against my back and whispered, "Talk and I shoot."
I didn't recognize the voice.
Soon footsteps sounded up the stairs.
Another man burst into our bedroom as Sergio was starting to wake up.
"Ah, Andi."
My eyes widened in horror. It was my father, my real father.
"Did you have to screw him so hard he blacked out?"
Sergio jumped to his feet just in time to get shot through the shoulder by my father. He crumpled to the floor.
I yelled. The gun pressed harder against my back.
My father moved over Sergio and whispered, "Well done, Andi. I knew you could do it."
What? What the hell was he talking about? I opened my mouth to yell when I was hit in the back of the head.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sergio
BLOOD FILLED MY MOUTH. THE METALLIC taste made me want to puke; instead, I spit out as much as I could and tried to take in my surroundings.
Well, at least I wasn't in a warehouse — or worse, dead.
I was in a living room, my sad ass tied to a chair right in front of a baby grand piano.
Heavy black curtains decorated each of the large bay windows.
An expensive leather sectional was in the middle of the room; a bookcase covered one end, while a large desk sat in the other.
One door.
One exit. One entry.
Well, there went my escape plan unless I wanted to jump out the window, but I wasn't sure if I was up high or if I was on the bottom floor of whoever's house I was in.
I assumed it was Petrov's.
Memories of what had taken place came flooding back. I flinched in pain as I remembered being shot in the shoulder. I glanced to my right. It was bandaged. Ah, so they wanted to keep me alive before they killed me. Fantastic.
Andi! I tried to jump to my feet, but they were tied too.
It was fuzzy, but Petrov had said something about her… doing a good job? Or was it something else? I blinked, straining to remember what he'd said.
She would never double-cross me.
Or would she?
No. I had to trust my instincts, and my instincts said she was good; besides, she was being held at gunpoint. If she was bad, they would have pulled the gun away.
Or was there a gun?
Again, I couldn't tell; the memory was too fuzzy.
She'd been standing in front of another man…
Her face broken.
But I couldn't recall a gun.
"Shit," I mumbled.
"Ah, he's awake." Petrov walked in, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing it onto the couch. It was covered in blood, which made me wonder what else he had in his house of horrors.
"Petrov." I grinned. "Care to explain why you have me tied to a chair?"
He shrugged. "Think about such things hard enough, and you'll come up with a solution."
I glared.
He was a large man, who one could surmise quite enjoyed his food and vodka, if his gut was any indication. He was at least six four with a girth that made me cringe. His black suit fit him to perfection.
With a sigh, he pulled out a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it. Puffs of smoke filled the air, making me want to gag.
"She betrayed you."
I rolled my eyes. "I highly doubt that."
He shrugged. "Believe what you want, but know this. She's been working for me the entire time, and now I have a greater prize than my own daughter."