Romans de Prunella Eunice

Bella’s knees buckled. She grabbed the wall to stay up. The blood smear on her cheek felt sticky. Mikhail stood too close. His breath mixed with the gunpowder smell.“You can’t just…” she started.He cut her off. “I can. I do.”Viktor called from the room. “Boss? What about the girl?”Mikhail didn’t turn. “She saw too much.”Bella’s eyes went wide. She pushed off the wall and backed up. “No. Please. I won’t say anything. I swear.”Mikhail stepped forward and matched her step for step. “You won’t.”She hit the end of the hallway with no door, but just a corner and she turned to run, but his hand caught her wrist, firmly... not hurting. But she couldn’t pull free.“Let go,” she said.He pulled her back. Face to face. “No.”Two men appeared from the shadows. Security guys in black shirts. One grabbed her other arm. The other clamped a hand over her mouth before she could scream.She kicked, twisted and bit at the hand.The guy swore. “Little bitch.”Mikhail’s voice sliced through. “Don’t

Bella pushed through the staff door at the back of the casino. Her shift was over but her hands still shook. She needed air. Just five minutes away from the noise, the lights, and the man who kept watching her like she already belonged to him.The hallway was narrow and dim. She turned left instead of right. She thought it led to the employee break room but it didn’t.Her sneakers squeaked on the clean floor. The walls were plain white with no signs. She kept walking anyway. Anything was better than standing still with Mikhail’s words still ringing in her head.She heard voices up ahead, lowly and calmly and one of them sounded like Mikhail.She slowed down and she should turn around. She knew she should, but her feet kept moving until she reached an open doorway.Inside was a small room with marble floors and no windows. It had bright lights overhead and Viktor stood by the wall with his arms crossed. Another man sat tied to a metal chair in the middle of the room. His shirt was torn

Bella’s legs felt like they forgot how to move. She stood frozen in the middle of the VIP floor with the tray still balanced on one hand. The four guys at the table had gone dead quiet. Even the slot machines behind her seemed to lower their volume.Mikhail didn’t blink, but instead he just looked at her, steadily. Like he had all night and the next one too.She forced her feet to work, took one step back, then another. She turned toward the bar like her life depended on it.Rico was wiping glasses when she got there. He took one look at her face and raised an eyebrow.“You good?”She set the tray down too hard and the glasses rattled.“He was right behind me,” she said.Rico didn’t even turn around. “Yeah. He does that.”“He just stood there.”“That’s Mikhail. He likes to watch people squirm.”Bella wiped her palms on the skirt again. “What does he want?”Rico shrugged. “Nobody ever knows till he decides to tell you.”She glanced back over her shoulder and Mikhail was already gone li

Bella’s hand shook when she set the empty glass on the bar. The bartender, a tall guy named Rico with a gold tooth, grabbed it without looking up.“VIP booth already?” he asked. “Damn, girl. You just started.”She wiped her palms on the tiny skirt. “He asked for me.”Rico glanced toward the back booth and his smile dropped fast. “That’s the boss.”Bella’s stomach flipped again. “The owner?”“Yeah. Mikhail Lobanov.” Rico leaned closer, in a row voice. “Listen well. You see him on the floor? You keep your eyes down. You don’t stare. You don’t smile extra. You don’t talk unless he talks first. Got it?”She nodded even though her throat felt tight. “Got it.”Rico slid a fresh vodka across the bar. “Take it. And Bella?”“Yeah?”“Don’t call him anything but Mr. Lobanov. Not sir. Not boss. Not anything else. He hates that shit.”She picked up the glass and she felt it cold against her fingers. “Thanks, Rico.”He shrugged. “Just trying to keep you alive past midnight.”She slipped back into t

Isabella Moretti’s knees hit the cracked pavement hard enough to sting. She didn’t cry out. She just scrambled up again, clutching the thin strap of her backpack like it was a lifeline.The motel chapel sign behind her was still blinking red and white: HAPPY FOREVER – NO REFUNDS.She’d said no.Not out loud. Not to the priest or the groom or her father’s pinched face in the front row. She’d simply turned on her heel the second the organ started, kicked off the cheap white heels, and ran.Now the heels were gone. Her bare feet slapped against the warm asphalt as she darted between parked cars. Headlights flashed, horns blared and someone yelled something ugly in Spanish.But she didn’t stop.Her phone buzzed in her pocket again. She didn’t look, she didn't need to because she already knew who it was.Dad. Again. Again. Again.The text preview from the last one still burned behind her eyes: Come back right now Isabella or the Rossi boys will find Sofia first.She swallowed bile