Groaning, I toss the book onto the coffee table, choosing to ignore his polite gesture of asking for my input. All I hear is the bad news. “How much longer? Why can’t we just do this and get it over with? I want to go home.”

Despite my previous vow to not help these people, I’ve now accepted that killing Vincent is my only hope for ever having a chance of freedom. I’m not sure what will happen afterward¸ or how it’ll all be handled, but I do know if I don’t do it, I’ll be dead for sure. And the more I think about, the more getting vengeance on the bastard who murdered my mom and brother appeals to me. I’m not sure if that makes me just as despicable as these people I hate, but if that’s the case, then so fucking be it.

“I want to go home too, girl, but organizing the hit on one of the most powerful Italian bosses in the country doesn’t just happen. There are a lot of factors in play,” he explains casually, almost as if he talks about murdering people every day. Then I remember, he probably does. Just like Ish.

He notices the way I’m looking at him and drops the paper and pen, his intense blue eyes pinning me in my place on the couch. Raze has to be the most perceptive man on the planet.

“I know what you’re thinking, girl. And I thought I made it clear to you the other night. I’m not anything like that monster you were married to. I’ve done a lot of wrong, fucked up things in my life, and I’m sure I’ll do a lot more before I die, but I’ve never once hurt someone who’s innocent to this life, and especially not someone I claimed to love. Not fucking once,” he growls.

I don’t respond right away; the lump lodged in the back of my throat won’t let me. My desire to believe the things he says scares me. I know who he is, what he’s about, and I can only imagine the things he’s done. Yet there’s still this part of me—a big part, if I’m being honest with myself—that wants to trust him.

The night before last, when I had the nightmare about Ish, I was completely caught off guard to find myself wrapped in Raze’s arms when I regained consciousness as he did his best to comfort me. With a warm tenderness I’ve only experienced with Madden, he didn’t push me to talk about the specifics of my nightmare or about my life with Ish. Instead, he stayed with me until I fell back asleep. And when I awoke the next morning, he was still by my side.

I’m still uncertain of what to make of him. He’s a brutish Russian mobster who runs organized crime and kills people for a living one minute, and then a compassionate, gentle giant who consoles his prisoner the next. And I’m not sure which one frightens me more.

Reaching across the small table, I pick up the pad of paper, add a few grocery items to his list, and then set it back down, offering him a feeble smile as an apology. “Thank you for asking me.”

He grunts as he stands, taking the paper and pen with him, but before he returns to his bedroom, he mumbles, “You’re welcome, kotyonok.”

The rest of the day mirrors the three previous ones: me on the couch, doing a whole bunch of nothing, and Raze in his room, working on his laptop and talking on the phone. Sometime in the early evening—or at least that’s my guess, based on the muted sunlight shining through the window—he emerges from his cave carrying a thin rope. My stomach plummets.

“Calm down, girl. My men are about to be here with the delivery,” he explains softly. “Pakhan will expect them to give a full report of what they see, and I’m supposed to be treating you as a prisoner. I promise you as soon as they’re gone I will untie you, but this is something I must do. Otherwise, I’ll be replaced with someone else, and I can assure you no one else in the Bratva will treat you the way I have. Do you understand?”

He lowers himself down to the couch next to me and lifts his eyebrows, awaiting my answer. Instead of giving him a verbal response, I extend my arms in front of me, offering up my wrists.

“Spasibo,” he tips his chin with appreciation. “They will not stay long, and after they’re gone, you can choose dinner.”

Mere minutes after he has bound both my hands and feet, a forceful knock on the door announces their arrival. Instantly, any kindness in his expression is replaced by a cold, hard mask. With vacant eyes, flared nostrils, and a tight jaw, my bipolar captor stalks toward the door to let in his men.

An icy, bitter wind howls outside, but even after the pair of Russians is ushered inside, the chilliness in the room remains. Raze greets them with a kiss on both cheeks, and then they all make their way back outside. He holds up one finger to me once the others are out the door, indicating he’ll be back in one minute.

They each return carrying several boxes, and I begin to wonder just how long we’re going to be here. Even though Raze said he wasn’t sure how much longer he thought we’d have to stay, I assumed a few extra days, maybe a week. By the looks of all this stuff, we may as well be moving in permanently.

Once everything is unloaded, Raze and the older of the two men step into the bedroom and close the door, leaving me alone with the other guy. I’m not sure why they need privacy, seeing as how I can’t understand anything they’re saying anyway. At first, I don’t think much of it, assuming they’ll speak quickly about whatever the business is, and then these other men will be on their way. But after a few minutes, the young Russian begins to move towards me with a wolfish grin spread across his ugly face.

Panic swells inside me with each daunting step he takes, and because of the restraints, I’m unable to do anything but lie here and wait. Dropping to a squat next to the couch, he reaches out and rubs the pad of his thumb over my dry, cracked lips.

“Raze is a lucky fucking bastard. He gets to be locked away with a hot piece of ass, passing the time by burying his dick in every tight little hole you have, while the rest of us are out there doing the real work,” he snarls spitefully as he shoves his thumb into my mouth. “Suck it. Show me what it would be like to have your pretty whore lips wrapped around my cock.”

I’m paralyzed with fear, unable to move until a loud crack echoes through the room, followed by a sharp sting, which blooms across my cheek. Instinctively, I cry out in pain, which results in a slap to the other side of my face.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it, you little bitch,” he spits, yanking my t-shirt up to my neck and exposing my breasts and thin panties. Unzipping his pants, his intent is clearly stamped across his acne-laden forehead as pure evil dances in his wanton gaze. “All of you American girls are little sluts for Russian co—”

He doesn’t finish the last word before he’s jerked up from behind and hurled across the room, slamming into a wall. So lost in what was happening, I didn’t even hear the bedroom door open or the other two men come out, but it’s obvious Raze heard enough.

Pure rage encompasses his entire being as he prowls over to the younger man, who looks more confused than anything as he furrows his brow and says something in Russian. Raze answers him with a punch to the face, followed by a knee to the stomach. The guy crumbles, falling to his knees as he attempts to hold his nose with one hand and lifts the other up in surrender.

Unaccepting of the concession, Raze grabs hold of the arm in the air and twists it behind the man’s back in a manner an arm is not meant to be twisted. The sound of bones shattering mixed with screams of agony makes me nauseous. And even though I’m aware if he hadn’t been interrupted that he would’ve raped me, I can’t take any more.

“Stop!” I scream, tears flooding down my cheeks as I watch Raze kick the man repeatedly in the ribs with his heavy combat boots. Splatters of blood decorate the wall and carpet, and based on his limp body, I’m pretty sure he’s unconscious, if not dead. “Please stop! Raze, you’re scaring me!”