Page 12 of The Bratva's Hostage Bride

The cops might want access to the security tapes. I’ll have to tell them we don’t make recordings. I can’t have them in possession of possible evidence involving illicit activities in my casino.

I pull into the parking lot. There’s a group of media gathered outside the casino asking the cops questions.

Asking.

I can hear them shouting the questions from inside my car.

Monty walks over to my car and opens the door for me. I step out and walk toward the building.

“Mr. Milov. Mr. Milov. Is this some gang-related beef you have with another family?”

“Mr. Milov, will there be retaliation?”

I hold my hands up after a few questions. “As previously said, our family is not involved in illicit dealings, and we in no way would attack someone.”

More questions follow, but I wave them off as I’m let past the barred-off area and into the casino. Some of the slots are destroyed and riddled with bullet holes. The ceiling is caving in slightly and is also riddled with holes. There’s a burning smell in the air.

I watch as two detectives turn to look at me from the other side of the room.

They walk toward me, and I steel myself for the onslaught of insults and questions. Cops are all the same. They assume that no matter what you’ve done, if you break a single law, even if it’s just jaywalking, you’re forever a criminal who deserves to be put away.

Chapter 5 - Hannah

He was very handsome, even though my rather ridiculous hangover. Handsome and charming, I have to keep reminding myself that I want to be a famous true-crime podcaster, and because of that, I, of all people, should know how last night could have ended very differently. I’m lucky I wasn’t another number in a serial killer or rapist's agenda. I mean, I talk about this all the time, and yet I landed up in some stranger's bed in a city I barely know.

He was much taller than me, strong enough to easily carry me. It had felt like his dark eyes had searched deep into my soul. He hadn’t shaved this morning, so he had quite a bit of stubble on his face. I wonder how old he is.

Meryl must be beside herself, wondering where I am.

The cab is quiet and smells musty like too many boozing parties ended in the back here.

My mouth feels dry and I feel like I want to hurl the coffee sloshing in my stomach. I’m such an idiot. What if it was poisoned or drugged, and they’re following me home?

Lord, I’m neurotic.

And I’m too hungover to deal with my neurosis.

The cab worms its way through the traffic, and the driver is singing along to the radio, not paying any attention to me.

Good, the fewer people pay attention to me, the better.

Maybe I should report this Luka to the police. I push his card into my clutch and sit back. Report him for what? Saving me from a stampede and letting me crash at his house while he slept in his guest room so that I was safe.

Yeah, that sounds just fine.

Let’s arrest a guy for actually being a nice person.

I groan as the cab stops outside my apartment building. I open my clutch. “How much?”

“It was prepaid by the guy who ordered the cab.”

I hand him five dollars. “Here's a tip.”

“Thanks,” he says genuinely.

I get out and walk toward the building. Something makes me look over my shoulder, but there’s nothing there. I shrug and walk into my building and up the stairs to the second floor. I take my key out of my clutch and unlock the door.

As I shut the door behind me, there was a sturdy, loud meow from inside the apartment.

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