Page 68 of Owned By The Bratva King

“Leave him be. He’ll show up in his own time, but I don’t blame him for going to ground; he could have been strung up for his part in this. He gave us the intel in good faith, didn’t he? Kolya must have believed him, or he’d be dead.”

Leon groans. “Oh, fine. Yes, he did. Idiot though he is, I doubt he was in on Vercotti’s plan. Anything else, or can I take a few days off?”

“No, that’s it for now. Today’s the day.”

“I still can’t believe you dropped so much money,” Leon says, whistling through his teeth. “Sentimental fucker you turned out to be. I would never have guessed.”

“I’m happy to disappoint you, tovarisch.”

He laughs. “You wanna disappoint someone? All you have to do is take your wife to bed.”

“Very funny. Go do whatever you do in your spare time. Come to think of it, what will you do?”

“Disneyworld.”

Quinn emerges from her room, and I smile. She looks beautiful in jeans and a fluffy cashmere sweater, her new Gucci sneakers on her feet. I put a lot of money in her account last week, and I like that she’s spending it on herself.

“Well, tell Mickey I said hi.” I hang up and catch the confusion on Quinn’s face. “Don’t worry. Scary mob business. You ready to go?”

“I sure am,” she replies, twirling like a little girl. “Will I do?”

I stand and pull her into my arms. “I have to be honest, rusalka; I want you out of those clothes, but not because I don’t like them.” I squeeze her ass. “But I will control myself for once. Time’s a-wasting, and we have somewhere to be.”

We leave the city behind, the skyscrapers giving way to rolling hills and winding coastal roads. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of the ocean.

It’s a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York, and I can see Quinn relax, her tension easing with each passing mile.

“I’m fond of the coast.” She stretches in her seat. “Do you have a house out here?”

“Yep. I bought it this week.” We turn down a narrow lane lined with trees. “I think you’ll like it.”

A pretty one-level house comes into view, the salt-burnished wooden walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. It’s quaint and charming, with a wraparound porch that leads straight onto the beach.

“This place is beautiful,” Quinn says, “but it doesn’t seem like your style.”

“It isn’t.”

I pull up outside and we head for the entrance. I ring the bell, and the nurse lets us in with a nod before leading us down a corridor to a closed door.

“This can’t be what I think it is.” Quinn gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Roman, how?—?”

The nurse opens the door to reveal a large, comfortable bedroom with French doors that open onto the deck. The tide is on its way out, and the ocean crashes rhythmically as the waves break on the sand.

A familiar figure occupies the rocking chair outside, and Quinn yelps in surprise.

“I bought it for her,” I explain. “Carrie deserves to spend her days in the place she loves most.”

Quinn’s eyes glisten, but her face has a radiant smile. Carrie beams right back.

“Hello, sweetheart!” She stands, leaning on her cane, and gives a hearty wave. “Your man is a sly one, you know.”

Quinn crosses the room in an instant, enveloping her in her arms. “This is the house,” she murmurs. “Your house.”

“That’s right. Mine and Winston’s. He and I were young here, just starting out.” Carrie pulls back to look at Quinn, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “It’s a miracle.”

“Not really,” I say, joining them as the nurse puts extra chairs on either side of Carrie’s. “Money doesn’t buy everything, but it sure as hell buys most things, property included.”

“He came to see me at the hospital.” Carrie pats my hand but almost loses her footing, so I ease her back into her chair. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s in my hip now, you know.”

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