Chapter 4 - The Russian Debt
Vittorio Moretti had promised that Arthur Brooks’s debt to the Russians was erased, but promises in the underworld were written in sand.
It happened on a Thursday night. Sienna was leaving a grocery store near her new apartment when a black SUV squealed to a halt beside her. Two men in heavy leather jackets jumped out, grabbing her arms before she could even scream. Her groceries scattered across the wet asphalt.
"Sienna Brooks," one of them growled in a thick accent. "Your father owes Bratva two hundred grand. Vittorio’s word means nothing to us."
They threw her into the back seat. Sienna’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She reached into her bag, searching blindly for anything—her keys, a pen. She managed to wrap her fingers around a heavy metal water bottle.
As the car sped away, she swung the bottle with all her might into the driver's temple.
The car veered wildly, crashing into a row of parked trash cans. The passenger turned around, his face twisted in fury, raising a heavy hand to strike her.
Suddenly, the driver's side door was torn completely off its hinges.
Dawson Moretti stood in the pouring rain, looking like death incarnate. He dragged the driver out of the car and slammed him into the concrete with a sickening crunch. The passenger scrambled out, drawing a weapon, but Dawson was faster. Two muted gunshots echoed through the alley.
Sienna scrambled out of the vehicle, gasping for air.
Dawson threw his gun aside and rushed to her, his hands gripping her shoulders. His eyes were wild, frantic, filled with a raw panic she had never seen in him before.
"Are you hurt? Did they touch you?" he demanded, his voice cracking.
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"I’m—I’m okay," she sobbed, the adrenaline finally fading, leaving her trembling violently.
Dawson didn't hesitate. He pulled her against his chest, holding her so tightly she could feel the frantic beating of his heart. "They will never touch you again," he snarled into her hair. "I will burn their entire world to the ground first."
