Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(50)

“No. I’m taking her to my place.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“I said I’m taking her with me.”

There is a strange look in Sergei’s eyes, like he’s ready to defend his precious cargo from anyone who’d come close. Roman is going to lose it when he hears about this.

“Whatever. Get her into the car, blow the truck, and let’s get out of here.”

I call Dimitri on my way to the car, and tell him to get the guys and get lost. I expect Sergei to place the girl in the back seat and sit up front, but instead of doing so, he just tightens his arms around her and gets in the back, cradling her. Shaking my head, I start the car and swerve onto the dirt road leading toward the highway.

“Ready?” I look in the rearview mirror and see Sergei staring down at the girl in his arms. “Jesus, Sergei! Get that fucking remote and blow the fucking truck already.”

His head snaps up, the eyes narrowed, and he smirks at me. The epic boom pierces the night. My eyes widen. Did he have that thing on a timer? The bastard could have blown all three of us to pieces if getting the girl had taken a few minutes longer.

I take my phone and call Bruno Scardoni’s number.

He answers on the second ring. “What?”

“Dearest Father-in-law.” I smile. “The Bratva sends their regards.”

I cut the call and dial Roman next. “It’s done.”

“Everything went as planned?”

“More or less.” I sigh.

“Shit. What did he do? It’s Sergei, I just know it.”

“He wants to take the girl to his place.”

“Perfect. Just perfect. Tell him to . . . you know, I don’t care. Should I send Varya there?”

“Yes. And the doc. The girl is barely alive.”

“Fucking wonderful. I need you here at eight tomorrow morning.”

I throw the phone onto the passenger’s seat and head to Sergei’s place.





Chapter 19





I sit up in bed and watch Mikhail getting ready to head to the pakhan’s place.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.” He bends down to kiss me. “I’ll message you when I’m done.”

“Okay. I’ll go wake Lena up. She will be late.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll get her ready.”

“I want to. And I style her hair better,” I sign and brush his cheek.

When Mikhail leaves, I head into Lena’s room, take out the cute pink pants and shirt with matching pink ruffles from her dresser, then go sit next to her on the bed. It takes me two whole minutes of jiggling her nose until she finally wakes up.

“Bianca, Bianca, five more minutes.”

I sigh, remove a few tangled strands of hair from her face, and lean my back to the wall. We can wait five more minutes.

Sisi arrives just as I’m finishing Lena’s “many braids” hairstyle. Lena runs to grab her backpack and heads toward the door, but then she turns and hurries back to me.

“Bianca, Bianca.” She leans in and kisses me on the cheek, then runs to join Sisi, waving. “See you later, Mommy.”

As I watch her leave, a feeling of warmth spreads inside my chest.





*


I just finished showering when my phone rings somewhere. I tense. No one calls me, ever. No point in calling someone over the phone when they can’t speak. I run out from the bathroom, rush to the living room, and start looking for my phone. Just as I find it under the throw pillow on the couch, it stops ringing so I check the missed calls and see Allegra’s number. Something must have happened if she was calling me. I return the call as I walk back into the bedroom to put some clothes on.

“Bianca,” she says the moment the call connects. “I need you to come here right away. Hurry. It’s Milene.”

The line goes dead, and a feeling of dread collects in my stomach. What happened to Milene? Why didn’t she tell me anything?

I try calling her again, but she doesn’t answer, so I throw on the first clothes I find, take my phone and purse, and run out of the apartment. When I get to the street, I start looking around for a taxi, too distracted by all the possibilities of what could have happened to Milene to notice the car that stops right in front of me.

“Bianca!” I hear my father’s voice coming from the car. “Let’s go.”

He opens the passenger’s door, and without thinking it over, I get inside the car. The sound of doors locking makes my head snap up to glare at my father, who is regarding me with malice in his eyes.

“Cara mia,” he sneers, and backhands me with such force that I black out.





I’m just parking my car in front of Roman’s house when my phone pings with an incoming message. Thinking it must be Bianca, I open the message and my blood goes ice cold. It’s an image of Bianca sitting in an old recliner, hands tied behind her back. She’s looking up, probably at the person who took the photo, her face a mask of anger. A big red bruise covers most of her cheek, her lip is split, and a thin line of blood trails down from the corner of her mouth.

The phone in my hand rings, showing Bruno Scardoni’s number.