Page 49 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Georgia,” she says, “what’s yours?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, shaking my head. “A car will come and give you a ride wherever you need to go. Now that you’ve been seen with Anya—and specifically getting Fiona out of there—Allard's guys are going to assume you’re with us. Be careful and lay low for a few days.”

“He’s kind of bossy,” Georgia says to Anya as she climbs in the car. Anya rolls the window down, then rolls her eyes.

“He’s always been like that.”

“This is literally a life or death situation,” I say, waving my hand, which I realize is still gripping a pistol. “Get in the fucking car!”

“See?” Anya says, and then, as we all pile in and the car pulls away, she sticks her head out and calls to her friend, “I’ll text you!”

“No seriousness at all?” I say, popping the clip out of my gun and checking to make sure it’s loaded. “What the fuck Anya, why would you leave the club like that? You are aware that we can’t protect you outside of Noch, right?”

“Well, I can’t have any fun there with you all breathing down my neck!”

“Impossible,” I say, at the same time, Roman says, “Unbelievable.”

“What happened to Fiona?” I ask when she lets out a giggle and drops her head against Anya.

“I think she was roofied,” Anya says, chewing her lip. “I noticed because her shot looked different from ours, and she was stumbling way more when she went to the bathroom. I just—I got this really bad feeling about it, but when I tried to go into the bathroom after her, I saw Olive’s guys blocking the door. I knew I’d have to go around the back to the windows if I was going to help her get out.”

“You could have called us,” Roman says, glaring at our sister. “You should have called us. Right away. I mean, you never should have left Noch in the first place, but when there was danger, you should have called.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might want to handle my own life every once in a while?” Anya snaps, which makes Fiona jump and let out a snore. She’s fallen asleep—moments after almost being kidnapped by Allard's men.

“Has it ever occurred to you that there’s a reason you don’t handle your own life? Because you do things like leaving a perfectly safe area and taking our new family member to a French club owned by James Allard himself.”

“How was I supposed to know he owned that club?”

“You’re not supposed to know, but that’s why you follow our instructions.”

“That’s enough,” I say, and to my surprise, my sister and brother quiet down, and we’re able to spend the rest of the car ride in peace. We arrive at one of our other properties—on the far side of the city. I don’t want to lead anyone tailing us back to the family house.

When we got out of the car, it was clear that nobody was behind us. If Anya had read the situation clearly, Allards' men might have been stuck inside, with enough obstacles in their way that they couldn’t get out of the club and find us on the street before our car left.

I make a note to check on Anya’s friend, Georgia, and make sure she’s okay. Maybe I should have had her get in the car with us, but I didn’t want to risk it if she was secretly with the Allards.

Glancing at Anya, I think about how she wants more independence, but we can’t even be sure that her friends are true to the family. She wants both the freedom that comes from our money and the responsibilities of being an authority within the family, without any of the drawbacks—like not forging genuine friendships with new people.

Strangers are the worst kind of threat because they’re unknown. They could be random people, unaware of our status. They could be gold diggers, looking to get into the family for the money. And worst of all, they could be plants from other mobs—like the Italians, Japanese, and French—to try and take us down.

But if Anya wants more independence, it’s something I have to consider giving to her. Sooner or later, she’s going to start taking it herself. It’s better to make sure she’s prepared than to keep sheltering her and be shocked when she makes the wrong call on something.

Anya tries to rouse Fiona, but when she doesn’t budge, I just pick her up, carrying her inside. She smells strongly of booze, and I wonder if something was spilled on her at some point.

The house is quiet and hot, as the A/C has been turned off for some time. Anya quickly goes to turn it on while I take Fiona to the back bedroom. I undress her and help her into the shower, laughing when she half-heartedly complains about the temperature of the water.

When I’ve finally rinsed all the smells and dirt from her, and washed her hair the best I can, I get her out of the shower and wrap her in a towel. Tomorrow, I’ll take her to the clinic to make sure that what they gave her isn’t anything worse than a roofie, but I’m not worried about it. With the way she’s behaving, it doesn’t seem like it’s anything more sinister.

I hate to think about what might have happened to her—and what might be happening to her right now—if Anya hadn’t gotten her out through the window. If Roman and I hadn’t turned down the alley at that moment. If Anton hadn’t gotten word of Allard’s men being in the vicinity.

“Come on,” I murmur, helping Fiona into a set of pajamas I found in the drawer. They’re a little big on her, but it’s a cute look.

I sit her down on the bed and brush through her hair, getting all the knots out. It must soothe her because she falls asleep again, slumping back against me, her breathing slow and steady, her head lolling to the side. I laugh to myself, then help to lay her down, tucking her into the bed and crawling in beside her.

She leans back into me, wiggling her hips against me and pressing her back to my chest firmly. I run a hand over her side, sighing into the embrace, already feeling sleep taking me.

Just before I drift off, Fiona twists in my arms, whispering I love you, like she always does, and it gives me good dreams all night long.

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