Page 26 of Owned By The Bratva King

Roman. How he must have laughed when he read the sexual fantasy of a chubby virgin with an over-active imagination.

I can’t decide what’s worse: the possibility I’m just insane and he was nowhere near my apartment, or the alternative—that he did indeed steal into my private space and violate it.

The thought chills me to the bone, yet I can’t deny the visceral thrill it gives me. For a man like Roman to be interested in me… it’s crazy. It makes no sense, but what good is sense anyway?

I’ve always tried to do the right thing, and I still almost ended up on the streets. If the universe wants to send me a mysterious, sexy man to rewrite my script, who am I to resist?

Katrina taps my shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie! It’s showtime.”

The next hour is a blur of orders: latte here, flat white there, madeleines, fruited panettone, and, of course, my signature cinnamon buns. The swell of waiting patrons makes it hard for the served customers to get out the door, and I wonder whether we need a separate exit route to alleviate the problem.

I’m wiping down the counter as another customer approaches. “What can I get you?” I ask without looking up.

“Good afternoon, Quinn.”

I lift my head so fast I almost pull a tendon in my neck. Roman stands before me, looking like a million dollars, and my knees weaken. I clutch the counter’s edge to steady myself, and his lips curl with amusement.

He’s here. He can walk right in and say my name like he owns me.

“H-hello,” I stammer. “Thank you for what you’ve done. I promise to be discreet.”

“If your idea of discretion is leaving your fantasies lying around where anyone could pick them up and read them, I have to say I don’t trust your judgment.”

Roman holds me with his eyes and lowers his voice. “You want a piece of me, don’t you, rusalka? You want my cock stretching your hot little pussy.”

My mouth is hanging open, my blood rushing in my ears.

He read what I wrote about him. About us. A wave of warmth radiates through my core.

“I—you can’t just go into my apartment whenever you?—”

“Americano and a cinnamon bun.” Roman’s voice cuts through my embarrassment like a blade. “With that delicious frosting. Now.”

I give him my back as I pour the coffee. I don’t think he meant to say those dirty things to me. The words tumbled out of his mouth as though his innermost desires took over for a second and spoke the truth.

The instant the drink and boxed cake are in front of him, he tosses a hundred on the counter but doesn’t wait for change. Instead, he takes his order and leaves, weaving deftly between the bodies that crowd the small shop.

Katrina sticks her head out from the workroom. “Hey. I thought I’d put some more dough together for—woah!” Her eyes widen. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I roll my shoulders. “I’m fine. I just need a break. Can you hold the fort for five?”

20

Roman

Leon is waiting for me in the car. He shakes his head slowly as I reach his wound-down window.

“You didn’t get me anything? Asshole. Can’t you see I’m wasting away?” He waves his cell phone at me. “Lubomski called. He says he’s having brunch with Vercotti and his cronies today. Let’s see what we get out of it.”

“It depends if Ricky can focus on the job more than the food,” I say. “If he keeps packing on the pounds, he’ll develop his own gravity.”

“I like that,” Leon laughs.

I’m no longer paying attention. My mind is back in the bakery, but there’s no one there but me and Quinn. She’s unbuttoning her shirt for me, those big round tits spilling out of her new lace bra?—

“Boss!” Leon jolts me back to reality. “I was asking whether you need me today. If not, I got shit to do. Places to go, people to see, morons to threaten. The usual grind.”

“Sure,” I reply. “Go now if you like. I’m in no hurry.”

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