From the man who took my virginity when I was thirteen while a group of his friends watched and laughed, to that first time Agnello took a whip to my back.
I couldn’t even remember what the punishment had been for. The only thing that came into sharp focus was the sting of the lash as it bit on my skin.
And the pain.
The fucking pain.
I remember the year I turned sixteen.
When I started to look more like a man and less like a child.
I could see the way the Agnello bastard had looked at me.
As if the length of my limbs and the hair that grew on my body, my arms, legs, and fuckingballshad suddenly made me lose my appeal—my worth in his eyes.
That was the last year he raped me, and I didn’t know if I should have been grateful for that, or fucking dreaded what came next.
Knowing he would kill me without a single moment of hesitation as soon as I lost my usefulness.
And I remember finally coming up with a plan to escape.
It was by sheer luck alone that I had left that hellhole.
But everything that came after, coming into power and building one of the biggest criminal enterprises, had been with a single focus and determination.
I took on any job I could before that, becoming a hitman for the Solntsevskaya Bratva and killing one of theirBrigadiers to take control of a small port in New York.
It wasn’t until I realized I could take control of the East that I sought vengeance on Angelo Agnello.
But fuck, now?
I didn’t know if I would survive another day.
I took a deep breath, pulling on the chain that held my legs and arms.
At least I was no longer suspended up in the air.
I pulled on my arms. I couldn’t move very far from my spot, and the only thing cushioning my body against the hard floor was a pile of dried hay piled behind me. I suspected I was being kept in an abandoned barn.
I was fucking stuck.
Now, I could only sit with my back against the cold, concrete wall and wait for the next tormentor to come.
And I didn’t have to wait very long.
The lock clicked, and then someone pushed the metal door. It whined and creaked as it opened slowly, and judging from the footfall and the click against the floor, Luca had finally graced me with his presence.
He reeked of Vodka, even from a distance.
“Look at the great Damien Vasiliev, at my fucking mercy.” He took a large gulp of the drink, laughing. “Do you know how long I have waited for this?”
“Have you?” I asked, my voice coming out gruff from both the pain and underuse. “Why don’t you come closer and take a good look?”
“Do you fucking think I’m stupid? I’ll leave the torture to Leo. The fucker hates you. And I mean, he really hates you. What did you do to him?”
Fuck if I knew … or cared.
“Why are you here?”