Page 108 of Unlock My Heart

I flop down on the mattress, my hands falling to my throbbing temples. I’ve been shuffled around the Calvani game board yet again. The question is: where will my game piece land this time?

A shallow grave?

Angelo isn’t one for theatrics; if he were going to off me, he wouldn’t go to these lengths to kidnap me and keep me alive.

Hope. She’s still a bitch, but she’s all I’ve got.

You’ve got Fabien, a little voice tells me.

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out for me,” I chide myself.

“You haven’t been in isolation long enough to justify hearing voices; I’d have that checked out,” Maks announces.

Acting like I knew he entered the room all along, I meet his cold eyes with amusement. “Are you speaking from experience? Prisoner of war, by chance?” An educated guess. From what I’ve gathered over the years, no one knows much about this man, other than he’s originally from Eastern Europe and has a military background.

“Let’s go,” he says in a bored tone, but not before something I can’t decipher flashes in his dark eyes.

“Where?” I rise to seated, but refuse to march to my own death. He’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming.

He rifles through a duffel bag, tossing me a black piece of fabric.

The mask has no eye slits nor nose holes, and I frown, tossing it back to him. “Sorry, I’m not into whatever kink this is.”

He flings it at me with more force, and I snatch it from the air. “Put it on, or be drugged for your return trip home. Your choice.”

Hearing that there’s a return trip home has me shoving the blackout mask over my head.

I’m not so gently picked up and thrown over Maks’ shoulder. Without use of my eyesight, it’s a disorienting feeling, but we’re moving, and oww, I’m tossed in what feels like the floorboard of a vehicle.

Not a dumpster, but I’m getting sick and tired of being treated like a piece of trash by this family.

Fabien

The present

“Boss, this peace treaty with you and your brother is tentative at best,” Saint starts.

“And?” I say, jamming a new magazine into my gun.

He clears his throat. “Perhaps you could try not to murder his right-hand man.”

My reply is a noncommittal grunt as I holster my gun.

A blacked-out town car rolls under the bridge, and Saint and I step out of our vehicle.

Maks parks, and I’ve already sprinted over, flinging open the passenger door.

Sienna’s lying on the floorboard with a mask covering her face, and I scoop her into my arms. Shifting her so I have a free hand, I rip off the mask.

She looks at me, blinking rapidly.

“Sienna,” I say softly.

Her eyes focus on mine, and I think she’s moving her arm to wrap it around my neck, but her palm connects with my cheek.

“Good luck,” Maks taunts with the window rolled down.

Saint appears, slamming the passenger door, his gun drawn and now pointed at Maks. “Touch Mrs. Calvani again, and you and I will have a problem.”