Page 43 of Owned By The Bratva King

I’m zipping up my holdall when a car horn sounds outside. I open my lounge window to see an attractive man in a shirt and slacks looking up at me. He’s leaning on the hood of a Porsche SUV.

“I’m Leon,” he shouts. “Are you ready to go? We gotta shift it, princess. I promised your man I’d take you somewhere safe.”

My man.

“I’ll be right down.”

I’m on the street a minute later, and Leon takes my bag.

“Relax, Quinn. It’s gonna be alright. Do you like boats?”

Two hours later…

After a virtually silent drive to the harbor, Leon busied himself with phone calls, so I left him pacing the deck and kept out of his way. The yacht’s crew is discreetly efficient, and nothing is too much to ask.

When we boarded, I was immediately shown to a beautiful, spacious cabin, and a waiter brought me a dish of smoked salmon with caviar, blinis, and chopped fruit. The yacht set sail shortly after, and I got nervous, so I stayed in my room, unsure what to do next.

Roman hasn’t been in touch. I could text him, but I feel he should be the one to reach out first. In the meantime, it’s easier to go with the flow; besides, I’m safer here than anywhere else.

I head up top and find Leon on one of the loungers, holding a glass of something red. A pitcher sits on the table beside him.

“Take a load off, kid,” he says. “Have a Bloody Mary. It’s the only thing that helps me with the permanent headache Roman gives me.”

I sit and sniff the contents of the pitcher. “I think I’ll pass. What’s going on here? Where is Roman?”

Leon dips his head, looking over his sunglasses at me. “You will come to realize that knowing things makes no difference. Roman Kazanov is a force of nature, and you are caught in the storm. All you can do now is buckle up and hope you make it.”

His words are coldly cryptic, and my distress must show on my face. “Okay,” he tops up his glass, “you have questions, I get it. I’ve known him since we were kids, so ask away, but if I can’t or won’t tell you, you gotta drop it. And don’t ask about today.”

“Is he in danger? I helped him sew up the bullet graze on his shoulder. Are bad people after him?”

Leon laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Roman can take care of himself, believe me. It’s what he’s best at—keeping other people at arm’s length so his enemies don’t use them to get to him.”

“He’s never been in love?”

“Nope.” Leon crosses his arms behind his head. “He doesn’t indulge in emotional entanglements. Or, more accurately, he didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

The sound of an outboard motor gets Leon’s attention, and he stands, looking toward the shore. “Speak of The Devil, and the fucker shall appear, as they say.”

A speedboat is gaining on us, following the yacht’s wake. Roman is at the helm, flanked by Viktor and a man I’ve never seen before. The skipper stops the yacht at the boarding ladder, and the crew helps everyone aboard.

Roman is dressed in a smart tuxedo. Viktor’s outfit is similar, and he’s holding two garment bags. Roman takes one and throws it over his arm.

“Come with me,” he says brusquely. “Right now.”

I follow him to the cabin, growing more confused by the second. As soon as he closes the door behind us, he’s upon me.

“Fuck, you look beautiful.” He crushes his body against mine. “I want you so much, but it’s got to wait.”

Despite my bewilderment, I’m powerless to resist. After his abrupt departure this morning and deafening silence all day, the reassurance that he still wants me is too delicious to defy. My nipples stiffen beneath the fabric of my dress, and he growls deep in his throat. Then he stops and pulls away, leaving me breathless.

“No, not yet,” he says. “There’s no time. We have to get on with it.”

“With what?”

“Our wedding.”

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