Page 38 of Psycho Saints

"Right." I chuckled, grateful I always had her unwavering support, even if my decisions weren't what she agreed with.

The thought of taking a pregnancy test sent a flutter of nerves through my stomach though. What if I was pregnant? How would the brothers react? How would I feel?

"You're right," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll pick up a test on the way home."

Noms reached out and squeezed my hand. "Whatever happens, I'm here for you, okay? We'll figure it out together."

I squeezed back with a small smile. As we sat there, getting pampered and gossiping like old times, I couldn't help but marvel at the strange turns my life had taken. From captive to queen, possibly pregnant with a mafia baby. It was surreal, terrifying, and oddly exhilarating all at once.

18

SCARLET

Isettled into the plush leather seat of the car, my mind still buzzing from the day with Noms. The pregnancy test we'd picked up before parting ways burned a hole in my purse, but I pushed that thought aside for now. My driver, a stoic man named Marcus, sat rigid behind the wheel. Two other men flanked me, their eyes constantly scanning our surroundings.

Tell me you were the prized possession of three mafia brothers without telling me.

We'd barely made it ten minutes down the road when Marcus's phone rang. His face hardened in the rearview mirror as he listened, and I felt a chill run down my spine. Whatever news he was getting, it was nothing good.

"Change of plans," he announced, his voice clipped as he ended the call. "We're heading to a safe house."

My heart rate spiked. "What? Why?"

"The Russos are retaliating," was all he said as he made a sharp turn.

"What does that mean?" I pressed, leaning forward as my stomach flipped. "Are we in danger?"

Just when I was beginning to settle into this new life too.

Marcus's jaw clenched, but he remained silent. The other men shifted uncomfortably, their hands hovering near concealed weapons.

"Someone tell me what's going on," I demanded, fear and frustration making itself known in my tone. I hated when people didn't tell me shit.

If I was a damn Silvestri in some sense now, then I should be getting answers.

But no one spoke. The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, my imagination conjuring increasingly terrifying scenarios.

"Are the brothers okay?" I asked uneasily.

"They're fine. They're handling it," was all Marcus said to silence me.

I sunk into my seat, taking what little comfort I could in that.

When we finally pulled up to a nondescript building, I was ushered inside with practiced efficiency. Julian's familiar form greeted me in the main area, hunched over a sleek desk covered in multiple computer screens. A headset covered his ears as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Julian," I called out, relief flooding through me at the sight of him. "What's happening?"

He held up a finger, finishing whatever he was typing before turning to face me. His usually calm demeanor was strained, worry lines etched across his forehead.

"The Russos are attacking," he said, his voice tight. "They're targeting our businesses and staff – people who aren't protected."

The blood drained from my face. "What? Why would they do that?"

Julian's eyes hardened. "It's retaliation. They're trying to hurt us by going after innocent people."

Horror washed over me as the implications sank in. My mind immediately went to Rachel, the kind saleswoman who'd helped me pick out dresses with Tyrone. She was just doing her job, completely oblivious to the danger she might be in because of me.

"Oh God," I whispered, sinking into a nearby chair. "Rachel – the woman at the boutique. Is she okay? Are there others?"