Page 11 of Owned By The Bratva King

I assured her I’d be fine, but she knew better, so I lied. I told her I was leaving to move in with friends: cheaper, ideal location, and decent work.

“That sounds wonderful.” Her eyes shone with relief, and I averted mine, afraid she’d see the deceit in them. “I’m so glad, sweetheart. I can go to a lovely little care home and have a pretty room to myself, knowing you’re happy and having fun. You’ll come to see me now and again?”

“Of course I will,” I said, keeping my voice light despite my heartbreak. “When I get a minute between my job and my social life, that is!”

When the day came, I waved her off on the resident’s bus that took her to Two Pines Care Village. I packed a few possessions and moved in above the bakery the week after.

When I return to the bedroom, I find my work things on the bed, freshly laundered and pressed. Housekeeping must have sneaked in and left them. Does this mean I can leave?

I open the suite door an inch to find the corridor empty. The guards are gone. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I imagined them.

My gaze lands on the other clothes neatly folded on the chair—the clothes Roman got just for me. I regretfully run my fingertips over the silky fabric but decide to leave them behind. Something tells me that owing a debt to a man like Roman Kazanov is a bad idea. I dress in my uniform, fashion my hair into two braids, adjust my name badge, and check the corridor again. Still all clear.

I make a break for the elevator, and in less than a minute, I’m on the street and mingling with the commuters as they bustle through Columbus Circle. I can’t believe how easy it was to walk out. Is that the end of it? I can go back to my life?

A strange, weighted thud hits me deep inside, a palpable feeling of…what? Disappointment? Confusion? I don’t know. But as I scan the surging crowd, I can’t help but look for Roman’s bottomless eyes, fixated on me as no one else has ever been.

A girl could get used to it. That’s all I’m saying.

9

Roman

It’s oddly satisfying to watch Quinn scurry away. I wasn’t sure whether she’d try to run, but I decided to leave her alone and see what she’d do.

She didn’t disappoint—the moment she saw a clear route, that was that, and now my gaze is riveted to her shapely back as she weaves into the crowd.

Leave. Her. Alone. That’s all I have to do. She’s no threat to me; after this little adventure, I doubt she’ll be looking for more thrills any time soon. But I’ve been working on a few things while she slept. Nothing major, just some changes that’ll smooth out her life.

Quinn’s sweetness goes deeper than the confectioner’s sugar on her skin. There’s a sadness behind her eyes that I hate to see.

It’s interesting because I’ve seen every negative emotion pass over the faces of the idiots who got in my way, and I felt nothing. Why are the problems of one hot, innocent woman preoccupying me now?

Leon’s head appears around the door. “It’s all done. Cost a fucking fortune. The Jeanette woman is happy in the way only a millionaire can be, but I can tell you now—it was not worth the money.”

“I didn’t go into the transaction looking for a good return on the dollar, tovarisch,” I say, snapping my head to look at him. “That girl needs a stable situation, so she has something to lose if she fucks me over. Without my intervention, she’d have nothing, and that’s dangerous to me. People with nothing are cheap to buy.”

“Sure.” Leon’s affirmative isn’t convincing. “And the other thing? Are you at all interested in who’s got a big mouth?”

I frown. “You found out already? Damn.”

“One of our new boys is a former police informant. Someone from his past tracked him down and threatened to ice the little prick unless he could hand over useful information about your itinerary. He wrote a few things down and handed it over to,” he pauses, grinning, “care to guess?”

“What is this, fucking Jeopardy? I’ll take ‘stop dicking around and tell me’ for a thousand dollars. Who was it?”

“That’s not how Jeopardy works, buddy, but I’ll cut to the chase—it was Ricky Lubomski.”

“Oh, great.” I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t narrow it down much. He’ll take work from anyone but never does it himself. Can I assume the guy who shot at me and killed Jonny was some tweaker he hired?”

Leon shrugs. “Yep. People are looking for Ricky, but the bastard is like a ghost. What shall I do when we find him?”

“Bring him to me.” I clench my fist. “I feel like dealing with that slippery fuck myself.”

“Okay. By the way,” he shuffles his feet, “Nora is downstairs.”

It takes me a minute to remember who he’s talking about. “Jonny’s Nora? Jesus. I said to pay her a visit, not have her come to me.”

“I didn’t. She was at your house, waiting for you. I said not now, but she got in her car and followed me here.”

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