Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
A dizzy spell makes my head feel woozy, and I shake it to try to clear my mind as I sway on my unstable legs.
“Let me know the instant the private jet lands in New York,” I hear Augusto say.
“Will do, boss,” Raffaele replies.
Just hearing Augusto’s voice makes panic bleed through my soul, and my heartbeat instantly speeds up.
As Augusto walks toward me, his eyes slowly drift up and down my body. “You look like shit. Ready to call your father?”
I shake my head while my quick breaths make my chest feel tight and as if icy shards are stabbing my lungs.
My legs give way beneath me, and I drop down to the cold concrete floor. The movement jars my body, causing more pain to shudder through me.
On the next breath, I can’t get any air in, and my panic spirals out of control.
Feeling like the padded shirt is suffocating the air from me and crushing my chest, I don’t think and begin to frantically struggle to take off my sweater.
When I finally get the fabric over my head, I’m so lightheaded, my vision goes black.
Gripping the padded shirt with my right hand, I can only pull the tight fabric up an inch or so, and not being able to get it off, I let out a strangled sob.
Augusto
What. The. Fuck.
For a few seconds, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, but I don’t have time to try to figure out what the fuck Tanaka is wearing, because he starts struggling to breathe.
“Christ!” I snap as I drop down beside him.
Not wanting him to die on us, I grab hold of the weird-looking shirt, and when I pull the fucking tight and thick fabric over his head, he lets out an agonizing cry that sends chills down my spine. I drop the surprisingly heavy padded shirt on the ground and look at him to see if his breathing is better.
Before the thought can register that the cry sounds like a woman’s, my eyes lock on the sports bra covering feminine swells and hard nipples.
“Jesus Christ,” Raffaele gasps.
“She’s a fucking woman?!” I say, my tone sounding incredulous.
It takes a lot to catch me by surprise, but as my eyes rake over all the bruises on the much smaller torso, now that the padded shirt is off, an emotion I haven’t felt before creeps into my chest. Something akin to remorse, but much, much worse.
What have I done?
Once the shock begins to lessen, I notice Tanaka has passed out, and my eyes return to the sports bra and horrible bruises over her ribs, chest, and shoulders.
“Fuck,” I growl. I have no other words to express how I feel in this moment.
In the Cosa Nostra, we don’t torture women. Ever.
If we’re faced with a female enemy, we usually give them a quick death with a bullet to the head.
Recovering quicker than me, Raffaele says, “Her shoulder is dislocated.” He crouches down on the other side of her. “Should I put it back in place while she’s unconscious?”
I nod and slowly rise to my full height, trying to process the shock as quickly as possible.
Watching Raffaele fix the woman’s shoulder, I wonder who the hell she is and why she didn’t say anything.
Jesus. We’ve been beating a woman for the past couple of days.
I press my hand to my stomach when nausea rolls through my gut.
“Do you think she’s Masato’s daughter? Maybe the fucker didn’t want everyone to know he doesn’t have a son?” Raffaele asks as he stands up.
Before I can answer him, the woman regains consciousness. She lets out a whimper, and the moment she realizes the padded shirt is off and we’re staring at her, she panics.
She tries to drag herself away with her right arm while shaking her head, and then, for the first time, she speaks.
“Please.” The word is weak but filled with terror. “Please.”
When I take a step toward her, she lets out another scared whimper, shaking her head wildly. “Don’t rape me. Please.”
I stop dead in my tracks and quickly say, “We won’t, and if you’d told us sooner that you’re a goddamn woman, we wouldn’t have hurt you.” I crouch down on my haunches to make myself smaller as I meet her terrified eyes. “Who are you?”
Tears begin to spill over her cheeks, and she slumps down onto her back, her breathing shallow and fast. “I’m nobody. Just a shadow.”
Her words are so soft I would’ve missed them if I weren’t looking at her face.
“Are you related to Masato?” I ask.
She shakes her head again, and even though we’ve worked her over pretty hard and she’s clearly out of it, I can see her mind working behind her brown eyes. “I’m just a random woman pretending to be his son.”
“If she’s a body double, it explains why she didn’t answer the questions,” Raffaele comments. “A body double won’t have any information. She was probably terrified we’d just off her if we found out she’s not Ryo Tanaka.”