~ Niamh ~
I huddled on the cold, bare metal floor of the white van, clutching my son, Matteo to my chest.
The October chill seemed to seep through the walls of the vehicle, biting at my bare skin.
Matteo was pressed tight against the red skimpy fuck-me-now dress my uncle had forced me into—a garment perfectly wrapped for Vladimir Romanov, the Don of the Russian mafia syndicate, and potentially his son Nikolai, too.
The van smelled of stale cigarettes and diesel, and every shudder of the engine was a countdown to hell.
I was still finding it hard to believe my uncle betrayed my father and saw me as a mere tool to gain power. But the longer I thought about it, the more realistic and devastating it became.
How could Uncle Seamus be so cruel? I asked myself for the hundredth time since the devastating news broke.
How could he do this to his brother, who trusted him with his life? To his niece, who loved him and saw him as a second father? And to his great-nephew, who was already beginning to look up to him?
My eyes were blurry with tears, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them ruin my makeup.
Uncle Seamus had made it clear that I must be flawless when presented to Vladimir Romanov, or I would die painfully.
I didn't want to die yet. Not when I had hope of escaping this nightmare.
Ronan, my ever-loyal Escort, had sworn he would find a way to intercept the Russians and save us, and somehow, I knew he would.
He had become fiercely protective of me after I saved him from death five years ago when my father blamed him for my ugly experience at El Paso.
"He will rescue me," I whispered to myself. He had to.
I tried to comfort myself by staring at my son and plastered a reassuring smile on my face to ease his worries.
His cute baby face was framed by short, red curls, and the most adorable dimples decorated his naturally pouty lips, usually making me want to pinch his cheeks.
But, as always, it was his dark eyes that caught my attention—eyes that reminded me of his father, whom I met at a club five years ago, and whom I would loathe with every fiber of my being, even in my grave.
Suddenly, the van tires screeched as it reversed hard, jolting me out of my thoughts and throwing us slightly.
I couldn't see outside, as we were in the windowless cargo hold, but as the van turned sharply and accelerated, I knew we were taking a different route.
A wild spark of hope ignited in my chest. Ronan must have found a way!
After a few minutes of fast driving, the van screeched again, this time to a halt, as something shattered the windshield.
I heard the Russian men communicate swiftly before jumping out, and gunfire erupted immediately—not the sharp pop of a handgun, but the continuous, terrifying rattle of automatic weapons.
I screamed, crushing Matteo beneath me to shield him with my body and he began to cry, his small, terrified sounds barely audible above the war outside.
The gunfire ended as suddenly as it had begun and the back door was ripped open.
Evening Texas sunlight flooded the hold, illuminating the dust and us, with crisp air that smelled of rain-dampened earth and gunpowder rushing in.
Two heavily armed men dressed completely in black combat gear stood there, silhouettes against the light, their faces hard and unfamiliar.
"Out! Now!" one of them barked, hauling me roughly out onto the pavement.
I stumbled, my red heels touching solid ground, and saw the utter devastation: pools of blood and several figures lying still on the gravel road.
A group of heavily armed men surrounded my son and me, their faces cold yet curious. They weren't Russian, and they certainly weren't the police.
The group instinctively parted as a man taller than the rest, with a loud presence appeared at the center. Instantly, I knew he was not a man to be messed with.
He was large and intimidating, with buzzed short dark hair, a scar above his eyebrow, high chiseled cheekbones, and a jaw that looked as strong and sharp as a blade.
He was handsome, but not in the traditional way, and every visible skin aside his face, was covered with tattoos.
But the most notable thing was that he looked like the savage, dangerous, untamed version of the man who had taken my virginity and bolted away five years ago.
The man glanced briefly at me and Matteo and then turned away, placing his phone to his ear.
"The asset is a woman and a kid?" he growled into the receiver, his Italian accent strong. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Mass?"
I covered Matteo's ear immediately to shield him from the swear word, wondering who "Mass" was and why I and my son were labeled as assets.
I settled on the only thought that kept me standing: Ronan must have hired them—a private Italian force.
"I'm taking them to the family house now. You better come over quickly and explain the mayhem you just started to Father," the man said, and ended the call.
He finally looked at me, and fear gripped me. His dark eyes were like two gun muzzles resting on your soul.
His gaze shifted to Matteo, and he stared at him as if trying to solve a puzzle.
I pulled Matteo closer, trying to shield my son from those eyes that seemed capable of inflicting nightmares with just a stare.
To my relief, the movement broke the man's gaze from my son and he barked orders to some men to clean up the mess before turning his attention back to us.
"Come with me," he clipped, leading me and Matteo into a waiting eight-seater SUV. Matteo sat between me and the man, whose presence made the vehicle feel small and cramped.
I fixed my eyes on the road all through the intensely quiet ride and realized we were in San Antonio, territory of the Valentinos, the Italian mafia syndicate.
Fear instantly gripped me. The Valentinos were the direct arch-rivals of the O'Connors, both families contesting for the top spot in the Texas underworld.
"Where are we going, sir?" I dared to ask, our location making me uneasy.
The man's terrifying gaze slowly settled on me. "The name's Domino." His gravelly voice sounded offended by the "sir" title.
"Oh, sorry," I apologized, my throat tight.
Wait, the name sounded familiar.
Then I realized why.
Domino was the second Valentino son widely known for his ruthlessness and easy dishing out of violence in the drug and weapon business.
Not that I knew much about the characters that made up the Texas underworld. But when your escort usually mentions a certain name with raw fear all the time, it was hard not to register.
The realization that I was sitting in a vehicle with the infamous Psycho Valentino made me cringe.
"I'm taking you and your son somewhere safe because someone wants me to," Domino finally answered my question and looked away immediately, clearly done talking.
A mix of hope and confusion washed over me. The "someone" must be Ronan, right?
But why the Valentinos of all people? How had Ronan pulled it off? Had he made a deal with them that I didn't know about?
We arrived at a very large gate with a highly secured fence, and one of the several security men in suits standing guard with dogs and automatic weapons, opened the gate to let us in.
I came from perhaps the wealthiest crime family in Texas, but the scale and fortress-like elegance of the mansion in front of me made me marvel. The manicured grounds were vast, guarded by silent men positioned near every corner.
"La Famiglia Valentino" was boldly carved into the huge marble fountain in the center of the large compound, clearing away any doubt I had left about where I was.
Domino's men took security positions around the mansion while he led me and Matteo toward the entrance.
At the huge double door, he turned to me, a clear warning in his dark eyes.
"Look, the whole family is having our weekly weekend get-together," Domino told me. "It's a period of fun and merriment, where we keep work aside and bond as a family.
"Now Massimo has somehow broken that rule by bringing you and your son up, for Heaven knows the fuck why. But the least you can do now is say the fucking truth and answer every fucking question we ask you," he pinned me with a hard stare that made me swallow hard. "You don't want to ruin our weekend, do you?"
The threat in his voice was clear, and I had no doubt he was capable of killing me and my son without a second thought.
I shook my head heavily to emphasize my answer, nervously holding Matteo closer to me.
Domino nodded. "Good."
"Wait..." I called as he turned to open the door. "Who's Massimo? I thought it was Ronan who sent you to rescue us?"
Domino's scowl deepened even more at my question. "Who the fuck is Ronan?"
I stammered my reply. "My... my Escort."
He looked genuinely confused now. "Escort? I don't know a fucking Ronan, it was Massimo who sent me. Wait, you don't know Mass?"
He looked from me to Matteo as if the answer might be written on our faces.
I shook my head nervously. "No."
"Then why the fuck..." he trailed off, his eyes tracking my hand that had instinctively moved to cover Matteo's ears at his repeated use of the f-word.
He swallowed whatever he wanted to say, shook his head in frustration, and opened the door. I drew in a deep breath and followed him in, holding Matteo.
"Mom are we safe now?" Matteo asked, his fear clearly obvious in his dark eyes.
"Yes honey, everything will be fine," I assured him with a smile and a squeeze, masking my own fear.
I could hear easy laughter as Domino led us to a large sitting room where five people sat on the couches discussing, with an imposing crystal chandelier above them illuminating the room.
Their conversation ended abruptly as we walked in, their eyes fixed on me and Matteo.
I didn't need someone to tell me that I was in the same room with the almighty Valentinos, my supposed rivals.
They all had the same angular features, except for one who must be the husband to the younger woman he was sitting with.
But most disturbing was that, just like Domino, they looked like Matteo's father.
Was he related to them? Wait, what if he was the Massimo?
I shook the thought out of my head. There was no way I had slept with a Valentino Prince.
There was no way he was related to them, even if he was Italian and looked like them. He had told me his name was Alessio, not Massimo.
But then, for someone that took my virginity and vanished the next morning, wasn't it likely that he gave me a fake name, too?