Savage Sinner: An Enemies To Lovers Russian - Italian Dark Mafia Romance (Sinfully Savage Mafia)

Mom’s shoulders visibly quake and she shakes her head, taking my hands in hers. Chills slither up my arms at her cold, clammy touch. “Kyla,” she says in a shaky voice. “There was a man your father had hired awhile back. It was while you were working in the London office. He became part of Dad’s inner circle. They worked together pretty closely and he would come here often for meetings outside of the office. I was involved in some of them because of the charity organizations I work with.” Her eyebrows knit together. “And then he started showing up here when Dad wasn’t around. He made up excuses to talk about upcoming events I was organizing…” Her voice trails off and she shakes her head. “It was innocent at first and I didn’t think much of it, especially since Dad knew all about the drop-ins. But then one time, he came over drunk.” Her voice quivers. “He tried to attack me, but I managed to escape. He was arrested, but nothing stuck. And now…” With a hitching breath, her eyes flood with tears.

A sudden screeching noise assaults my ears and my spine stiffens as I rush over to peek through a nearby window. A blacked-out Range Rover careens around the corner and speeds up the driveway toward the house. I stumble backward, grasping the arm of a chair for balance.

“Mom, what is happening? Who’s here? Is that him?”

She gasps and pulls me in the direction of the basement level garage. We run to her car and jump inside. Mom clicks a few buttons and the door creaks open. With a heavy foot, she stomps on the gas and the tires peel against the concrete, skidding a bit as the car lurches forward. We speed through the gate and shoot past the Range Rover. All of its windows are opaque, including the windshield.

A chill slips down my spine as the driver’s side window cracks open. A man’s face comes into view, covered by a pair of black sunglasses. I can only see his thin lips curled into a sneer.

“Fuck…” I say in a choked voice. “Mom, we need to call the police!”

Her head jerks in the direction of the Range Rover and a bloodcurdling scream escapes her lips. “There’s no time! We need to get away from him!” She stomps on the gas, the tires squealing against the road beneath us. I grab onto the door handle as the car careens around the bend and out of our driveway.

The Range Rover speeds up until it’s almost on top of us. I scream, my mind completely short-circuiting as fear fries every brain cell in its path. I jab at the buttons on the dashboard, hoping one of them will connect us to someone who can help.

Anyone, before it’s too late.

“Kyla,” Mom weeps. “Sweetie, if anything happens, you need to find your father. You need to tell him—"

But her last words are cut off as the Range Rover shoots around us and sideswipes us. Mom yelps, jerking the steering wheel sharply to the right. The houses in our neighborhood are spaced pretty far apart and there is a lot of open space lined with lush foliage and large trees.

I’d always loved living in such a beautiful and secluded area.

I never dreamed our little slice of heaven would so quickly and unexpectedly morph into the flames of hell.

My hands jut out, clinging to any part of the car I can as we skid into the brush off the side of the road. But instead of slamming her foot on the brake, gravity takes over and the car accelerates down the hill, bouncing over rocks and bushes, flying through low-hanging tree branches that sweep against the windshield as we free fall toward the bottom of the hill.

Except we never quite make it down the hill.

Mom clutches the steering wheel, trying desperately to pull us out of the downward spiral. She steps on the brake, stomping harder and harder to no avail.

“The brakes!” she yells in a panic. “Kyla, the brakes!”

The next few seconds creep by slowly as if time wants to give us a little reprieve from the impending doom we are on a collision course toward.

But it can only prolong the inevitable for so long.

My eyes widen when the tree comes into view. Mom sees it, too, but she can’t get out of its way using only the steering wheel.

Our tormented screams pierce the air as my side of the car smashes into the thick trunk. Glass shatters, shards flying toward me, lancing my flesh like tiny knives. Sharp pain assaults my lower body as the searing metal crumbles like an accordion on impact. An icy cold sensation winds up my legs, quickly scaling my body and creating a noose around my neck with its unrelenting force and intensity.

I can’t move. I can’t think. I can barely squeeze out a breath.

I gasp for air, short, sharp splintered breaths slicing at my lungs like bunches of rusted nails. The numbing cold is coated with something warm and sticky. I bring my fingertips to my right side, dragging them over the fabric of my pencil skirt and then holding them up to my face. They are stained a deep crimson, sharing the same shade as my outfit.

The noxious scent of burning rubber makes my gut clench and I turn my head toward Mom.