Page 112 of I Would Beg For You
The Albanians must know Berisha will be wanting revenge. That we have their blessing to take him down means it’s the result of his own fuck-up that his son died—he surely wasn’t allowed legitimate retribution. And as such, he was building his own crew, to get the drop on us. Good thing we came in when we did, and no wonder the Albanians are using this to make an example of Jasir Berisha.
“Anyone find the cazzo?” I ask.
Marco shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Keep looking,” I snap.
I won’t spend another second in this god-forsaken place, much less make Naomi stay here any longer. I’m reassured somewhat the blood isn’t hers, but she’s still been through an ordeal. The sooner she’s on safe territory in a protected house, the soonerI can have a doctor look her over and start treating her for whatever that fucker inflicted on her.
A horrifying thought runs through my mind, stilling my step as I emerge onto the first floor.
Did he rape her? Is this why she’s curled in on herself like this? I’ve seen women who have been mistreated by sexually abusive men—they roll themselves into little balls. Whenever I’ve witnessed this, I’ve made sure those men are taken care of, aka erased off the surface of the earth after their tiny peckers and lifeless balls are ripped off and they’re left to bleed to death into a bucket, strapped to a chair with a hole cut in the middle.
No! Not my precious gattina. After everything she’s been through, not this…
I feel the rush of air disturbing the room before the roar hits my ears. My senses go onto high-alert, my instincts homing in on danger in my vicinity. I tense up, arms closing tighter on Naomi.
It’s a flash of steel I notice first, a slash in the air in the periphery of my vision. I swerve, hitting my shoulder against the bottom rail of the stairs, taking the hit harder to not let Naomi’s head slam into the sharp edge of the wood.
When I register another flash of metal, I realize it’s a knife. Short, but aimed at me, wielded by a big man who looks stark-raving mad, his wide mouth open in a snarl I can’t hear from the blood whooshing in my ears.
I try to duck, but the blade grazes the top of my shoulder, cutting my suit jacket, though I don’t feel it slicing my skin.
I can’t release Naomi, not around this lunatic, Jasir Berisha. Where the hell did the cazzo come from? My men went through this whole building and didn’t find him.
He’s coming for me, but I also know that when you want to hurt someone real bad, you hurt someone they care for. Letting go of Naomi will make her a prime target, and I can’tlet this happen. Not after everything she’s been through. Naomi deserves only peace and joy, not all these upheavals and yet another attempt on her life.
So, with mine, I protect her. I pull her in even tighter, curling my upper body over her as a shield. I can see the knife, see it coming at me and disappearing, diving in and pulling up, one, two, three times. My left side, along my waist and ribcage, is starting to feel wet, my clothes sticking to me. But I ignore it, only intent on protecting Naomi.
Suddenly, there’s a huge shadow overtaking me from behind and surging over Berisha’s form. There’s a loud ‘crack’ in the air, then the fucker’s going down, crumpling onto the ground.
Victor turns to me—for a second, I can’t believe my baby brother just snapped a man’s neck with his bare hands—and that’s when the roar in my ears starts to die down. In its wake is a sense of the world falling all around me… No, I’m the one spinning. I only register this fast enough to extend Naomi’s unconscious body to Victor, then I’m the one crumpling as he takes her into his arms.
Sounds are starting to register, though they’re faint, distorted. I can feel my pulse beating erratically inside my whole body, as if my heart is throwing a huge ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ alert, all systems go.
I lift my eyes, noting Victor in a crouch in front of me, Naomi’s pale skin and light nightdress a sharp contrast against his black T-shirt.
She’s safe, that’s all that matters…
My father once told me a strong man never begs. A kid then, I’d asked him if that applied even to his wife, his children. He’d said it again, word for word.
I have no doubt he loved my mother, but on this, he was full of shit. I don’t see any reason not to state this now—I know I’ll be going to meet him soon, might even tell it to him face toface then. The pain is registering now, flames and red-hot iron and smarting and dullness all rolled into one, all radiating from my left side, pulsing against the flow of warm blood leaving my wounds. The knife? It got me. Three times, by my count, in my abdominal region.
But that doesn’t matter. As long as Naomi is safe.
I would’ve liked to stay around and discover what more life had in store for us. Normal days, quiet days, happy days. What I wouldn’t give for them now…
One thing I know, though, my father was indeed full of shit. When you love someone, you’d beg for them. And that’s the show of strength, not the opposite.
For her, I would. Naomi…
I would beg for you…
Beg for another day, another hour, even another minute.
Maybe in another life, we’ll have a chance.
Chapter 35 Naomi
