She was also slightly stunned to hear herself being described as Sergei’s woman. She had never even met the man until four days ago, plus he was old enough to be her grandfather. She wasn’t his anything.

  Sergei’s hard gray eyes raked over the two Irishmen. To their credit, neither man appeared in the least concerned or subdued by the contemptuous anger in that gaze. “I asked, what is the meaning of this invasion into my suite?” Sergei demanded at their continued silence.

  Marisha took another trembling step closer to the auburn-haired Irishman, giving a shudder of relief when he placed a protective arm about her waist and drew her even closer to his side.

  She didn’t know this man, had never seen him before today, and yet she knew instinctively that he would protect her.

  If he could.

  But there was no guarantee that was going to be possible. After all, this was the home of Leonardo Brunelli, capo dei capi of the Italian Mafia, and the man standing beside her obviously worked for him.

  Sergei’s eyes narrowed to steely slits after watching Marisha move closer to the auburn-haired man. “I will inform your employer of your familiar behavior with my woman, and your violence toward my bodyguards as the reason I am choosing to immediately terminate my involvement in the peace talks and leave this place.” He strode back into the sitting room to place the hearty kick into Artur’s ribs Marisha had seconds ago resisted doing. “Wake up, Artur, you lazy svoloch. You too, Timur. We are leaving this place and returning to Russia,” he added. The two bodyguards groaned in pain as they regained consciousness.

  Marisha’s heart sank. She had no idea whether Sergei had spoken to Boris about paying a ransom yet, but even if he had, she had no guarantee that if these men took her back to Russia that she would ever be seen again.

  From the resentful fury blazing in Artur’s eyes when he glared at her as he climbed back onto his feet, it was obvious he intended to ensure she suffered a lot of pain before being allowed the happy release of dying.

  And she still had no idea why she was being treated this way.

  All she knew for certain was that, whether Boris paid the ransom or not, Sergei was only keeping her alive until she was of no further use to him.

  She turned to bury her face against the Irishman’s chest. “Don’t let them take me,” she pleaded so softly that only he could hear her. “They killed Toly, and they’ll kill me too if you allow them to take me back to Russia.”

  Bloody fucking hell!

  Obviously, Jericho wasn’t going to allow anyone to kill the delicate and deeply terrorized woman he held in his arms.

  But from what Federov senior had just said, Jericho having come into this suite and beaten up the two bodyguards had already seriously jeopardized Leon’s peace talks.

  Jericho had absolutely no doubt Leon would willingly sacrifice those peace talks once he knew Federov was not only keeping this woman prisoner in his suite but that someone had killed her friend Toly as well as hitting her. Jericho had no idea who Toly was or whether they were male or female, but Marisha was obviously devastated by their death.

  From the vengeful look one of the bodyguards was shooting her way, Jericho had a feeling he was the one who had done the hitting, at least.

  Jericho turned to give Killian a narrow-eyed glance before nodding pointedly in the direction of that bodyguard.

  Killian glanced at the other man before giving a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement. “I’m sure my father-in-law will be very interested in your explanation as to why you have allowed your bodyguards to hit the woman you claim is yours.” Killian spoke pleasantly enough, but the icy glitter of his green eyes told a different story.

  Vasily Federov looked taken aback. “Leon Brunelli is your father-in-law?”

  “He is, yes,” Killian obviously took great pleasure in confirming it. “And this is my cousin, Jericho Price. He’s also Leon’s Head of Security.”

  “That does not give him the right—”

  “To enter one of the suites in the house on Leon’s private estate?” Killian continued in that fake pleasant tone. “Oh, I think you’ll find that’s exactly what it does. I also think the two of you rescinded your right to be offended by that intrusion the moment you let one of your gorillas hit this woman.” He stepped into the older man’s space. Killian was half a head taller and far more muscular than the older Federov brother. “Don’t you?”

  A nerve ticked in the Russian’s jaw. “What you see is the result of Marisha slipping and falling in the shower. She hit the side of her face on the tiles as she fell.”

  Jericho hadn’t needed the confirmation of the increased tension and trembling of the woman standing within the protection of his arm to know that Sergei was lying. Or the smirk the Russian bodyguard gave before his gaze turned to one of challenge as he stared at Jericho.

  Game on, you bastard!

  “Before or after she arrived in the US?” Jericho demanded to know.

  “Before. But—”

  “Did she see a doctor in Russia?” Jericho bit out.

  “No. But—”

  He nodded. “Then I suggest we put a call through to Leon’s doctor now and have him come take a look at her.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Sergei snapped. “As I have said, because of the unacceptable behavior of you and your cousin…” he turned to glare at Killian, who immediately gave him an unconcerned grin as a response, “…we are returning to Russia immediately. I will have my own doctor attend her there. Come here to me now, Marisha.” Federov held out his own arm in a warm invitation that was totally at odds with the coldness of those pale gray eyes.

  From the way Marisha pressed closer to Jericho’s side, she wasn’t falling for that fake warmth either.

  Jericho moved to stand facing her, effectively blocking her from the view of the Federov brothers and their goons. “Are you bruised anywhere else?”

  She moistened the dryness of her lips before answering. “On my hip and back.”

  “Consistent with her having fallen in the shower,” Sergei snapped.

  “They pushed me down the basement stairs in the house where they made me a prisoner before coming here,” she murmured softly, again so that only Jericho could hear.

  His mouth tightened. “Would you like a doctor to come and attend to you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Jericho frowned at the increasingly husky quality of her voice. “Killian, could you get Marisha a bottle of water from the mini- fridge?” He winced as his own voice came out harsher than he might have wished it to. But it was obvious from the dry rasp of Marisha’s throat that these bastards hadn’t been giving her even the human necessity of water.

  “You will not interfere—”

  “Don’t even think about telling me what I can or can’t do,” Jericho spat out as he rounded on Sergei at the same time as he carefully pushed Marisha behind him. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her any more than she already was. “I’m going to call Leon now and let him decide what happens next.”

  “Not necessary,” Leon interrupted calmly as he stood in the doorway of the suite, but the hard glitter of his pale gray eyes told a different story. Leon hadn’t become and remained capo dei capi of the Italian Mafia by playing nice. “You’re all making so much noise in here that you’ve disturbed my wife and son,” he added in a hard and accusing tone.

  Jericho doubted that very much when Leon and Carla’s suite of rooms, and their son’s nursery next to them, were in a totally different part of the house.

  He didn’t say anything as he stepped aside so that Marisha and her bruised face were fully visible.

  Leon drew in a harsh breath, his jaw clenching. His gaze became glacial as he turned to Federov. “What is the meaning of this, Sergei?”

  The Russian’s nostrils flared, no doubt at being questioned at all. “I told you when I arrived that Marisha was too indisposed to join us for dinner.”

  Leon nodded. “And by that, I thought you meant she was feeling airsick after the flight or possibly had a cold. I had no idea…” He stepped forward, his expression softening as he slowly reached up to cup his hand carefully about Marisha’s jaw before gently turning her face slowly from side to side. “I had no idea she was remaining in your suite to hide the bruises after someone had hit her,” he added with harsh accusation. “You will explain this,” he demanded of Federov in a carefully controlled tone, which in no way hid his anger from Jericho or Killian. They had known the man long enough to know his every emotion. At the moment, Leon wasn’t merely angry, he was feeling murderous. “You will explain this now, Sergei.”

  Marisha barely had time to appreciate the gentle concern of the man she believed to be their host, Leonardo Brunelli, before her arm was tightly grasped by Sergei. He pulled her away from the two men before anchoring her to his side with an arm about her waist. His fingers were—deliberately?—painful on her bruised hip.

  Even so, she was totally unprepared for what Sergei said next.

  “Marisha is my wife,” he spat out. “Any bruises you see on her are from consensual rough sex between a husband and wife.”

  Chapter Four

  “We have to do something.” Jericho paced up and down and glared at Leon as the older man sat behind the desk in his study, looking as angrily frustrated as Jericho felt.

  They’d had no choice but to retreat from Federov’s suite and wait for the doctor to arrive after the Russian had claimed Marisha was his wife. For the moment, they’d had to leave Marisha there too. Jericho didn’t intend for that to continue any longer than necessary.

  “I’ve called my doctor,” Leon snapped. “When he arrives, we’ll go back to Federov’s suite with him. That way, one of us can be present while the doctor examines her—”

  “Me,” Jericho grated.

  Leon raised speculative brows before slowly nodding. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” he bit out. “Did you see the look of horror on Marisha’s face after Federov claimed not only was she his wife, but the two of them like to indulge in rough sex?” He resumed pacing.

  “I did.” Leon nodded. “Unfortunately, she didn’t deny the marriage or the rough sex.”

  “Because that bastard had his fingers digging in warning into the hip she’d just told me was also bruised,” Jericho snapped.

  He could only imagine what Marisha must be thinking of them for having left her, however briefly, to that bastard’s nonexistent mercy. She’d think they had abandoned her rather than, as was the case, gone to regroup.

  “I don’t care if she is Federov’s wife.” Although the thought of that bastard even touching her was enough to light the blue touch paper to Jericho’s legendary temper. Not surprising considering he had dark auburn hair and he was Irish. The Russian would be advised to stand well back if he didn’t want to go up in the flamers of fury currently threatening to explode from inside Jericho. “And if those bruises were from having rough sex, then it certainly wasn’t consensual. Marisha is obviously terrified of him.”

  Jericho felt nauseous as his imagination took him to a place where that smirking bastard Artur and his lookalike were holding Marisha down while Federov fucked her.

  Leon’s jaw clenched. “I assure you, I have no intention of leaving Marisha in there with them any longer than necessary. As well as sending for my doctor, I’ve asked for Gregori Markovic and Nikolai Volkov to join us so they can give us their input into Federov and the situation before we take further action.” The other two men were the head of the bratva in London and his second and would hopefully know more about the new Russian bratva leader for Moscow and the young woman he claimed was his wife than they currently did.

  “Then can I go back to Federov’s suite and kick someone’s arse?” Jericho hadn’t missed the smirking triumph on the faces of the two burly Russian bodyguards, or the absolute terror on Marisha’s, when Leon had apologized for the intrusion before making their excuses and they had all withdrawn from Federov’s suite. “Preferably all their arses,” he added grimly.

  Killian’s expression was equally as harsh. “I’ll help you this time, coz.”

  Leon grimaced ruefully. “Federov and his men aren’t going anywhere, and if any further harm comes to Marisha under my roof, then I think you’re all forgetting the Russians will have a much fiercer foe to deal with than any of us.”

  Jericho and Killian frowned at each other for several seconds before their brows cleared.

  “Carla, Natalia, and Grace.” Jericho referred to Leon’s wife, Killian’s wife, and Leon’s niece Grace, who was married to Matteo Zalotti, head of the London Mafia and here for the peace talks.

  The three women were pretty scary on their own, but together, they were formidable. Grace was here with her and Matteo’s baby son so they could spend time with Leon and Carla’s baby. None of those women would hesitate to rip Federov apart if he hurt Marisha again, wife or no wife.

  “Exactly,” Leon confirmed with satisfaction.

  “I don’t believe for a moment that Marisha is Federov’s wife,” Jericho bit out.

  Leon raised one iron-gray eyebrow. “Wishful thinking, my friend, or do you have information to the contrary?”

  “Only the obvious evidence he’s forty years older than her!”

  Leon shrugged. “And I’m eighteen years older than Carla. Which shows that age isn’t always relevant when it comes to falling in love.”

  Jericho gave a disgusted snort. “Marisha isn’t in love with that bastard any more than he’s in love with her.”

  Leon nodded. “Agreed. She’s too frightened of him to be in love with him. But that aversion doesn’t mean she isn’t his wife. Which isn’t going to stop us from assisting her,” he assured. “I would just prefer to know exactly who and what she is before we do that. In the meantime, I want you to turn the security feed in that suite back on so that we can monitor the situation. If it even looks as if someone is going to hurt her again, you have my permission to go in and—” He broke off as Kieran burst into the room without knocking, his expression and heavy breathing showing his agitation and haste to get here. “What’s happened?” Leon stood up.

  “Federov, his brother, and their bodyguards just left the estate in their two SUVs. They had the woman with them. She was thrown over the shoulder of one of the bodyguards. She had tape over her mouth, and her hands were tied behind her back.”

  A red tide of anger swept over Jericho’s vision so that all he could see was Marisha’s pale and terrified face before he was forced to leave her.

  “I’m guessing they’re heading to the airport and Federov’s private jet,” Kieran added.

  “I should never have left her,” Jericho stated harshly. “None of us should,” he added fiercely before running out of the study and down the hallway.

  Once outside, he jumped into the nearest of their own SUVs parked outside the house. The keys, as usual, were kept behind the overhead mirror in case of an emergency evacuation.

  “Close the fucking door or fall out,” he warned Kieran when his brother wrenched open the passenger door. Kieran managed to jump into the seat and slam the door closed before Jericho accelerated the SUV down the driveway, shooting gravel up in the air behind them.

  He had only one thought, and that was to reach Marisha before Federov could put her on the plane and take her back to Russia.

  “Tishina, suka!” Artur snapped disgustedly as he ripped the tape from across her mouth before strapping her into a seat at the back of the plane.

  They had placed the tape over her mouth before they left the Brunelli estate, no doubt to prevent Marisha from crying out. She had every intention of remaining silent now too, as Artur had just instructed, knowing from experience what happened when she didn’t obey.

  But the ties they’d put about her wrists to secure her hands behind her back were so tight this time, it felt as if the circulation was being cut off. Again, it was also really uncomfortable to have them that way now that Artur had strapped the seat belt too tightly about her waist and chest.

  She knew Artur was looking for the slightest excuse to hit her again. She could see it in the contempt in his eyes that he made no effort to hide. One word from her that he considered to be out of line and he would take great pleasure in hurting her.

  Once on board the private jet, the Federov brothers had immediately gone into what she believed to be a private sitting room at the back of the plane. They had closed the door behind them, leaving Marisha alone with the half-dozen bodyguards.

  Artur’s expression became even more cruel when he saw Marisha glance toward that closed door. “That room is soundproof, so no one is going to hear your screams out here,” he taunted.

  Marisha’s eyes burned with the tears she refused to shed.

  She had been crying on and off since being taken prisoner. First for Toly. Then for herself. Then again when Leon Brunelli and his two bodyguards had withdrawn and left her to her fate.

  Because, for just a few brief minutes, she’d thought she was going to be rescued. That the auburn-haired man named Jericho Price was going to help her. But even though he’d looked far from happy at doing so, he’d still left the suite with his employer.

  Federov had wasted no time in immediately instructing his own men to pack up their things so they could leave.

  Now Marisha was exactly where she didn’t want to be, on her way back to Russia and whatever fate awaited her there.

  And she still had absolutely no idea why Sergei Federov had made her his prisoner in the first place, let alone brought her with him to America.

  Her despair deepened as she felt the vibration of the jet moving, and with one last gloating glance, Artur moved to sit farther down the plane and fasten his own seat belt.

  A glance out the window showed Marisha that was because the plane was now taxiing toward the runway.

 

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