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She went for him again. The smack that followed made her ears ring, and her finger ached where she landed on it.
Through a blurry gaze, she watched him pick up another bullet, back to glaring. “For that little stunt.” He put it into the gun and reached for another. “And because I’m sure you shared your cunt with him.” After he put that bullet in, he spun the chamber before closing it and leaned forward, pressing the barrel against the side of her head. “Which do you think it’ll be?” he asked, back to grinning.
Alina wished she could see Luka from where she lay.
The gun clicked against her head. He removed it, and the last thing she saw was his scowl before a blinding pain chased away her consciousness.
Chapter 32
Alina woke in a burst of pain, as if reliving the moment that had knocked her out. Her eyes failed to focus, and she tried to blink the bleariness away. The first thing she saw was the bullet hole in the wall.
There was no loose grip around her wrist. As her hand rose shakily toward her head, she searched for Luka, even though she knew he wouldn’t be there.
No, he was with his own monster, trapped in a nightmare.
She sat up even as her hand found the bandage wrapped around her head. Touching it made the ache there worse.
“You shouldn’t sit up yet.”
She had already seen Enzo sitting in the only chair in the room, the chair she’d once dragged in front of the dresser. She continued to ignore him as she slid her legs out of bed.
“Stubborn,” Enzo muttered, but he didn’t get up to stop her. “Like my boys.”
Her legs shook as she stood, but she forced them to remain firm. She wore only Luka’s shirt.
“Luka always wanted to be like Giovanni. I never saw it, though.” Enzo crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the chair. “Not stubborn enough. He does what he’s told. He’ll follow orders again.”
The splint on her broken finger made her use her off hand to pull open the dresser drawer.
“He’ll be okay, you know,” Enzo said. He was using his teaching voice, the one that had corrected her stance while she learned to shoot. The one that had also told her that having a weapon she couldn’t control would make things worse, not better.
The revolver he’d given her sat on top of the dresser. She remembered the way the barrel had pressed against her head. Ignoring it, she dragged out a pair of jeans.
“The pakhan hasn’t killed him in all these years. He’ll be okay,” Enzo repeated.
The jeans had always been a little big, which made them easy enough to pull on even with the splint. She stood in front of the dresser, staring at the pile of sheathed knives that should have been wherever Luka was. “He thinks I’m dead,” she said. Then she reached for the first sheath.
Enzo’s breathing huffed out of him as he watched her arm herself. She was glad he wasn’t wearing his typical smile or trying to laugh. Laughter would have been the worst kind of shame.
“Well, that does change things,” he said.
The knives she clipped in her waistband were easy enough. It was the couple with bands that wrapped around her ankles that gave her a little trouble.
“Luka is important to Giovanni,” Enzo said. “They’re talking over what to do now.”
“Do you know where Luka is?” Alina asked him, staring at the revolver again.
Another sigh. Enzo stood. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
She didn’t waste her breath trying to convince him. She still didn’t know the man very well, and she remembered the way he’d pulled a gun on her. None of the mafiosi were simply caring and protective.
Not even Luka. It was a part of him, but he also killed. He was a swift and deadly shadow. One that had been emptied to the point that being told what to do was easiest.
Maybe Enzo was right. Maybe it would be easy for him again.
All she had to do was wait. Like she’d been waiting all her life.
She reached for the revolver. The gun was the reason she was alive. The possibility of it bringing her luck had her tucking it at the small of her back, even if her trigger finger was broken.
