Page 33 of Owned By The Bratva King

“What is it with Vercotti?” Viktor grabs a glass from the bar trolley. “I know he was there at the start before I was around, but how does a man go from confidante to mortal enemy just like that?”

I feel Leon’s eyes on me. He knows exactly what happened but also knows better than to mention it.

I don’t like to talk about Silvio’s obsession with my sister Bianca and his near-psychotic distress when she turned him down.

She was in love with Antonio, a young man with clean hands and no involvement with the mob. Silvio accepted this in time, and we all attended my sister’s wedding and broke bread with one another.

Then Antonio asked to get involved in the business. Of course, I said no—I wanted Bianca out of the firing line, and bringing her husband on board would only bring her heartache.

I still don’t know how it happened. We were out one night, enjoying a meal, when Antonio came by the restaurant, saying Bianca sent him to talk to me. He and I really got into it that night, arguing about me keeping Antonio at arm’s length. He stormed outside, and I went after him, Leon and Silvio bringing up the rear.

All I saw was an open car window, the bright flare of a sawn-off shotgun, and my brother-in-law folding to the ground like a ragdoll as blood plumed from his chest.

After the following nightmare hours were over, there was nothing left to do but tell my pregnant sister she was a widow.

I realize I’m not saying anything and stand, setting my glass on the table. “I’ll go do my thing, boys,” I say. “Viktor’s right; I gotta show up for these people now and again. But after that, I’m done for the night. Kick out, lock up, and leave me be.”

I don’t hang around for long. I go through the motions of handshakes and back-slapping with city officials, small-time hoodlums, and dodgy lawmakers, but my real focus is in her apartment, alone.

Goddamn it. She better be alone. The thought that she might have someone with her fills me with murderous fury, and once it’s in my head, I can’t get rid of it.

I make my excuses and retire upstairs, heading straight for the cinema room to fire up the security cameras.

I’m desperate to see Quinn. A contact at AT&T did a great job squirreling out her cell number, only for her to ignore my message. She needs to learn she can’t leave me hanging. No one else has ever dared to pull a stunt like that with me.

My breath catches as I flick between monitors. Where the fuck is she? If she’s out with some guy, I swear I’ll tear him limb from?—

There. I see her now in all her glory, settling on her couch to watch TV and cradling a bowl of something with rice. In contrast to her sexy get-up last night, the shortie pajamas are different but somehow even sexier. Her hair is in two long braids, and she wears fluffy slippers on her feet.

Of course. She knows I was in her apartment, but not that I got the cameras fitted and can see her whenever I like.

She thinks I rejected her earlier when that dickhead photographer ambushed us in the park, and whatever burgeoning confidence she had is ebbing away.

Am I as bad as Silvio? He was besotted with Bianca, but he didn’t know who she was, and when she turned him down, he was crushed.

I can’t claim to know Quinn, but I see past her insecurities. Something in her pure heart calls to me, like the rusalka and her siren song.

When I was overcome with desire this afternoon, she didn’t resist. If I live a thousand years, I’ll never forget the image of my come landing on her beautiful face.

Perhaps the whole thing was some fucked-up fever dream. I could be in a coma for all I know.

I watch her for a few more minutes, the light from the TV making the shadows in her room flicker and dance. She raises a wine glass, and I moan aloud as she licks her lips before taking a sip.

If I don’t fuck her, I’m not gonna be able to function at all. She wants me. Her sweet untainted pussy is waiting for me to sully it. Now she thinks I’ve cast her aside, and I hate that.

I don’t wanna hurt her. She’s like a peach, too easy to bruise. I’ll bet she even tastes like one.

Quinn stands and walks over to her front door. I watch as she checks the lock and secures the heavy chain. I never noticed it before; it must be new.

Fuck this. I’m the pakhan of my bratva and the king of all I fucking survey. I want her, so I’m gonna have her.

25

One hour later…

Quinn

The new security chain is weighty in my hand as I thread it through the solid steel bracket on the door jamb.

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