Love Loaded in a Cartridge

2

“Didn’t recognize them.” Something about the tone of his voice warned me he was lying. “She tried to run,” my father said. “f*****g girl tried to run and you know how they love the chase.”

The red haze in my vision darkened to crimson, picturing how terrified she must have been. The images of how fear would have flooded her big eyes kept playing in my mind. I swear to God, if those fuckers laid a single finger on her, I’d burn down their homes, their cities, and kill their families. “Where were you two?” I growled. “Did you lead them here? How come they didn’t kill you?” Bratva didn’t leave survivors. Just as none of us kingpins left witnesses behind. For a reason.

“We caught them on their way out,” my father retorted, spitting blood on my floor. A tooth bounced off the hardwood. “Fuckers,” he cussed.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up.

They better not have touched my girl. Not a single goddamn piece of her golden hair. And if someone brought her any harm, I’d rain hell down on them and their motherfucking world.

I stormed out of the living room, the gun still in my hand as I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. As I climbed the stairs three at a time, my fingers dug into the mahogany rail, the marble stairs echoing loud under my feet, and I couldn’t help but recall her teasing me about it. She called it a fancy mobster home.

It was supposed to be the safest goddamn home in this country. I promised her she’d be safe here.

The bedroom door ajar, I pushed through it, but it was as if nothing happened up here. I could still smell her faint flowery scent. The sheets were tousled, just as they were when I left her. Except she wasn’t in between them.

Her duffle bag sat on the windowsill where she loved to sit.

They’d taken her.

My star. My light. My life.

Anyone but her, I prayed. Bring her back.

And for the first time in my life, I dropped to my knees.

Unless I got her back, I’d be the world’s most ruthless villain.

There was no life without her.

CHAPTER 1

Wynter

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

“T his is a girls’ night,” Juliette complained, glaring angrily at me. “Stay.”

I shook my head. I didn’t have the luxury of wasting time. Theoretically, I should be in California right now, vigorously training every damn day with Derek. I was a champion in singles figure skating, but couples skating was new to me. My mother had been an up and coming figure skater but having a child and knee injury cut her career very short. She had skated with my father, but I knew very little of him. She never said anything about him except that she trusted him on the ice. I guess that was all that mattered to her.

For me, trust came harder. Trusting someone to catch me after throwing me in the air took some getting used to. My instinct wanted me to land on my feet rather than rely on Derek, my skating partner, to catch me. I was used to relying on my own strength and confidence to fly through the air, jump, and skate on the ice with speed and precision.

Figure skating. I freaking loved it. For me, it was one of those things I enjoyed doing alone. But after I won my Olympic gold in singles figure skating, Mom kept bringing up trying for couples figure skating. I resisted it for a few years and finally caved.

It wasn’t in my nature to cave to people, but I hated to see my mother upset. The ghosts that lurked in her eyes, the way she’d watch me on the ice with that wistful look on her face, but with her bad knee she could barely walk with a cane let alone skate.

I wanted to make her happy.

“I know, but I need to take every hour I can to practice,” I told her for the millionth time as I pulled on my chucks.

I wore my black tights, leg warmers, and a large white sweater that came down to my mid thighs. Winters in New York were brutal. Yes, my name was Wynter, but there was nothing I loved about freezing my ass off.

Ice skating was different. It was exercise, my blood pumped with adrenaline and kept me warm.

“Well, you heard my dad,” Juliette replied, smug with her reasoning. She should know better, we’d done plenty of sneaking around growing up. “We can’t roam the house.”

I never stopped my movements. I shoved my ice skates into my duffle bag, where I had a change of clothes. My phone followed and I zipped the bag.

Davina, Juliette, Ivy, and I decided at the last minute to spend the weekend at Uncle Liam’s city house. We’d been friends for four years, and after this semester, our time at Yale would come to an end. I couldn’t quite decide if I was happy about it or not.

My mother was relentless and a hard coach to please. I’d achieved more in figure skating than she

had ever dreamed, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to be enough for her. I suspected it wouldn’t be enough until I got that medal that she was aiming for with my father. Olympic pairs figure skating.

“Which is the reason I’ll be going over the balcony,” I told her calmly. “Someone just throw me my bag when I’m down.”

I threw a glance in the mirror. My hair was pulled up in a ponytail, keeping it out of my face. It was a major pain to skate with hair in your face.

“Is that wise?” Ivy asked concerned, her eyes blinking. “You could break your legs.” I waved my hand. I had good reflexes and strong legs.

Juliette grumbled and complained, calling me the worst cousin ever. She kept forgetting I was her only cousin, so not much competition in that arena. At least that we knew about since much like the non-existent knowledge of my father, the same was true for Juliette’s mother.

Shaking my hands to loosen up my joints, I inhaled and then slowly exhaled.

“Okay, here we go,” I murmured, cracking the large French door open. I almost expected Quinn, my uncle’s right hand man to shout at us from somewhere out there, but nothing happened.

I stepped out onto the balcony, then I eyed the distance to the ground.

“f**k, I hope I don’t break my legs,” I muttered. It was ridiculous that I had to resort to this. But I knew my uncle. If he said, stay put and stick to the second floor, nothing would dissuade him.

I flipped my leg over the marble rail, testing the ivy that snaked down the manor. I hoped it would support my weight. My other leg followed and I balanced on the edge as both my hands gripped the ivy.

“I swear, if I fall and break my neck,” I grumbled as I searched for the best spot to find my footing, “I’ll kill my uncle and his visitor.” Whoever his guest was.

I knew if the visitor hadn't arrived, he’d be coming soon and the balcony was ten feet from the front entrance. I had to get out of here beforehand. I glanced down, eyeing the ground longingly. I had to focus on lowering one foot at a time.

I sought out the thickest ivy branch and reached out my hand to pull on it. It seemed sturdy enough. I moved my leg, searching for footing on another tangled vine. I put my weight into it and the branch snapped.

“f*****g hell,” I rasped, hanging off, my hands gripping the branches for dear life.

“That drop’s gonna hurt.” I stiffened at the man’s voice and glanced over my shoulder to find dark eyes staring up at me. It was too dark to see his face.

“Hey,” I whispered, trying to act nonchalant. “How are you?”

My arms burned. My body was strong but Derek’s upper strength was much better than mine. After all, he lifted my weight up above his head, not the other way around. “It seems I’m better than you are,” he answered.

Smarty pants.

I peeked over my shoulder again. I wished I could see his face.

“Could you help me please?” I asked. “I’ll pay you,” I offered hopefully, my muscles shaking already. I’d have to start lifting weights. This was unacceptable.

In my head I ran through my allowance. Uncle and Mom were generous, but I tended to spend a lot of money on my gear. And then, we never cooked so we spent a lot of money on food, parties, and other junk.

“Five hundred bucks,” I added, grunting as I shifted my weight. “Just don’t let me break my legs.

They are worth a lot.”

“Yeah, they look pretty good from down here,” he mused, humor coloring his deep voice.

“Priceless.”

“Thank God I’m wearing pants,” I grumbled.

“Shame.” Gosh this guy was something. “I bet that’d be an even better sight.”

“C’mon,” I begged. “I’ll give you anything. Just catch me.”

A soft chuckle. “Okay, runaway principessa. Let go and I’ll catch you.” Principessa? He said it with an Italian accent.

Unable to dwell on that right now, I closed my eyes for a moment, praying the guy wasn’t a d**k and wasn’t joking about catching me.

“Promise?” I breathed, my muscles aching and shaking by this point. “On my life. I promise to catch you.” I closed my eyes and let go.