Chapter Twenty-One

Elena

What can I do? Wiping the blood from the back of my hand, I wash the blood down the sink. I don’t care about it. I’ve gathered a collection of fading bruises on my wrists, courtesy of Matteo. I couldn’t feel the rope at the time. He must have dug it in deeper than I thought he did. When I study my body and look at those covering my front and back, I don’t remember how they got there. I didn’t feel them at the time, but I do today. Wincing as I get dressed, I walk out of the bathroom.

No matter what I look like physically, I have to get back to Italy, and there’s no time to waste, because it’s likely Matteo’s already brainwashing the rest of the Sicilian famiglia, attempting to poison them against me. Stopping to think for a moment, I ask myself what my father would do if he were in my position. He wouldn’t give up that’s for sure, and he wouldn’t want me too either.

I have to get my revenge on him, and the only way to do that is to kill him. Think like a Donna, Elena. The throne is yours. What’s your next move going to be?

Nikk has a guard outside my door, but he knows I’m pregnant. If I tell him I’m sick, it can work. If Nikk were going to kill me regarding the pregnancy, he would have already slit my throat or something.

Knocking on the door, I call out to the guard on the other side. “Hello? Hi, I need some help,” I whine, putting on a performance.

“What do you need help with?” he asks flatly, no budging to open the door.

You need him to open the door, Elena. Make it dramatic.

“I’m having serious stomach pains. Please, I need your help. I might need to go to the hospital. Please,” I wheeze, dialing everything up so he opens the door.

I step back when I hear the knob turning and prepare myself mentally. This is where I’m going to put my judo training to good use. When he opens the door, and he sees that I’m standing upright, he reaches for his phone, not his weapon. Interesting tactic, and I’m guessing if I were male, he would have pulled his gun instead.

“You look okay to me?” he mumbles, but he’s too slow.

I let the opening guide my next steps as I size him up. He’s just over six feet tall, and a step slower than he should be for a guard. Sucks to be him. I’m a woman on a mission, and some guard is not going to get in the way of it.

In judo, the bulkier the person, the better it is, since there’s more body weight to leverage, and that’s what’s used, not sheer physical force. It’s why I always won in junior tournaments back home. There’s no room for bravado, only quick, smart movements to bring your opponent to ground.

Immediately, I jump on his back, startling him for a second. He tries to shake me off, but I angle my position, using what’s left of my strength and the anger I have inside for Matteo to fuel me. Closing down his windpipe, he battles, trying to swing me off his back, bouncing me into the walls, trying to scrape me off.

“Wha-what are you doing?”

He smashes me into the wall behind us one last time, and this gives me enough leverage to bring him down to the floor. Gritting my teeth, I wait until I hear the gurgling sound, putting him to sleep. Panting from exertion and exhaustion, I wait for him to go offline, the hallway clear.

Sliding out from under him, I know he won’t stay unconscious, but it buys me enough time to get my keys from our bedroom suite. There’s no guarantees he doesn’t have them on him, so to make sure, I take his keys and the phone in his pocket.

Jogging down the hallway, I check for any more guards, finding none. Sweeping into our bedroom, I scout around for my purse, time ticking quicker than I care for it to, and I can’t spend another half hour trying to look for them.

Fuck. I’m going to have to take this guy’s car. I check the keychain, notice the remote beeper, cut my losses, and run down the hall. Taking a glimpse back, I see the guy is still on the floor, but he’s moaning, clutching at his throat.

Join the club, buddy . I’m going to have to work on my sleeper holds since he got out of that one so quickly. I reach the door, fumbling for a second as I stare at the cars in the dusty parking lot. Nikk has a separate section marked off for staff parking, and my instincts tell me that’s where the guard’s car is probably parked.

I press the car remote, scanning around the marked off area on grass, hoping none of the housekeeping staff are tipped off from the flashing light. I notice a shiny black Jeep’s lights flashing, and run over to it, hoping it’s the right one. The driver’s seat door pops open, and I slide in as fast as possible. Cranking the engine, I reverse, adrenaline pumping through my veins as a plume of dust flies around the back of the Jeep.

I’m uncertain who to call to help me. It can’t be Nikk; he won’t listen to me, and if he knows I’m gone, he’s going to come after me. I’m certain of it, but there’s not a chance in hell, I’m going to let Matteo get away with duping the Cosa Nostra.

A thunder of beats ramp up my heart rate as I multitask, placing the phone up on the dash in the holder that’s there. Gripping the steering wheel, I wrack my brain trying to figure out who would be the best person to help me out of this bind.

Think, Elena. You’re a Donna. I repeat the sentiment a few times in my head, knowing that if I can just find someone who might be able to help me, then I can get out of the country successfully.

Sharon. She’ll help you out for sure. Pressing a few buttons, the Orlov estate gate opens, and I drive as fast as I can with the navigation set to Manhattan, which is where she told me she lives.

All sorts of thoughts run through my head. What if she’s not there? What if she has another place and I’m headed towards the wrong one?

The good news is my instincts have always served me well, and I’ve been right 99% of the time.

Reverting back to my original plan, I focus on the cell phone, pressing the button for Siri’s help. “Siri, find Sharon Ashton’s address, from Bravo Fire Networks please.” A deep crease forms between my eyes as I push the Jeep to its limits, and probably I shouldn’t because this isn’t my country, and although Nikk has the police contacts, I don’t. Not here. Back home, yes, but not in New York.

I’d seen the list of those on his payroll, and it was impressive. Some of them were people that nobody would suspect, but the Bratva had links that run as deep as the city’s dank sewer system, but all of the links were woven in such intricate webs, it would hard for anyone to break it apart.

“Sharon’s address is 850 Argyle Lane, Fifth Avenue, in the Parkour Building. Level 35. Directions?” Siri asks as I gulp down the thick knot taking up residence in my throat.

“Yes, directions please, Siri.”

“At your request.” I watch as Siri tees up the coordinates to the swanky address, and I calculate what steps I have to take in order to deal with Matteo when I touch down.

I need a gun. Or do I have to do it? Can I have one of my cousins join me? A million ideas cascade through my brain as the suburbs of New York quickly morph into traffic. It’s a relief that’s quick moving, but this isn’t the way I wanted to experience my first time driving in New York.

I do the best I can, finding undercover parking, and by a stroke of luck, I find enough money in the center console to pay the man at the toll booth. He lets me through, and I park, my breathing quickening as I head over to the concierge. I’m sure I look like a bedraggled mess to her, but this is a matter of life and death.

The surly-faced security guard doesn’t look as if he’s going to help me, but I take my chances anyway.

“Excuse me. I know this isn’t probably the way you do things here, but can you please contact Sharon Ashton and tell her Elena Orlov is here to meet her?

“Did you say Orlov?” he asks, his face changing as I watch him punching in details to his computer.

“Yes,” I confirm, my mouth dry.

“Let me call her. It shouldn’t be a problem, and then I’ll escort you to the elevator.” Oh, the Orlovs branding is all over New York City. “Yes. I’ve got a woman here by the name of Elena Orlov. Are you okay if I send her up? Uh-huh. Sure. Thanks.”

The man regards me for a second, and we stare in a stand-off. Please don’t ask me for ID. Please, please, please. Right now, he’s the gatekeeper standing in the way of me getting to Italy.

After a long beat, he sighs, signaling me over to the elevator of the fancy building. “Go on up.”

“Thanks.” I head over to the elevator, reaching Sharon’s floor soon enough. Frantic, I bang on her door, desperate to get in and see if she can help me.

I’m running out of time. She opens it with a concerned look on her face. “Elena, come in, come in,” she ushers. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Immediately I burst into tears, covering my face. “No, I’m not okay. I’m in trouble, and I need help,” I sob.

“Alright, let’s work it out. Sit down. Let me get you some water.” Through the tears, I see Sharon owns a very plush, decadent New York apartment, and the views are majestic, but there’s no time to take them in.

She returns with water, and I gulp it down, enjoying the thirst-quenching liquid. “It’s too long a story, but let me summarize. I found a mole in the charity from the Orlov’s side, and I told a person who’s been part of our famiglia for decades. He double-crossed me, and tried to rape me, and make it look like I was sleeping with him.”

“Oh my God, Elena! What? Are you… are you okay?” she asks, her mouth dropping open.

“No… I mean yes. I can’t think of it now,” I tell her hysterically, the only thing on my mind being drawing Matteo’s blood.

“I have to get to Italy to kill him. He wants to take my spot as the head of the Sicilian Mafia, which is why he had photographs taken so Nikk would get mad. I don’t know if I’m explaining this properly, but I need help.”

Sharon grows quiet, placing a hand on top of mine. “What do you need? I’ll help you. Did Nikk not believe you?”

Tears fall as I shake my head no. “I’m pregnant, carrying his child; he’s spared me, b-but, he’s going to come looking for me. I have to hurry.”

“Oh dear. What a mess. Let’s get you back home.”

“Yes. I need a passport, but I didn’t have time to get mine.”

Sharon waves her hand. “That’s easy work. I can have a fake passport for you in the next twenty-four hours.”

Thank God. She was the right person to contact. I’m a step closer to vindication.