Page 73 of Owned By The Bratva King

I love you, and I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me for so much, and I don’t deserve you.

When I emerge, Quinn is in the same spot, looking out the window.

“Moya zhena,” I say.

She doesn’t answer me or even turn around. An anxious dread creeps through me, and my carefully planned speech evaporates, leaving only sadness as I take in her slumped shoulders and the now-cold coffee on the ledge beside her.

I’m late, but fuck the komissiya and their bureaucracy. I open my mouth to apologize, but she speaks first, spitting the words over her shoulder.

“Go away, Roman. Just leave me alone.”

What else can I do?

53

Quinn

It’s a wrench not to call Roman back. I want to tell him everything and feel the relief of not dealing with Julian alone, but I must resist.

I’d been pondering how to get the peace I needed to meet my uncle when he dropped the bombshell about his komissiya meeting. He’d been putting it off for weeks, but they insisted he show his face today. What a stroke of luck.

Picking a fight felt unnatural, but it was the obvious solution. Roman had to go but wouldn’t force me to be at his side. There are ways he could make me do his bidding, but he wouldn’t, and I knew it.

If I’d turned to see his face as he left, I’d have run into his arms and told all. I can see it now—his expression shifting from confusion to fury, his insistence on dealing with Julian his way.

Would he admit to going against my wishes? Would he look me in the eye and tell me he hadn’t planned to murder my uncle, then lie to me about it? That’s not what I want; all I have to do is give Julian the money and send him on his way.

I’ll have to keep the secret forever, but I’m rationalizing it by telling myself Roman lied to me first. After this, I’ll never hide anything from him again.

Then it hits me. I’ve fucked up. I told him I planned on cleaning and sleeping because I figured he’d be less likely to argue about it if he thought I was safely home. But I totally forgot—he can check whenever he likes.

Damn him and his cameras. What the hell do I do now? Think, Quinn.

A crazy idea comes to mind. Could that work? Only if I set it up when he’s in his meeting and won’t be watching the livestream. He could rewind the tape, but why would he?

I spend a jittery two hours scrubbing and disinfecting everything and even washing the windows. By the time I’m ready to execute my plan, I’m legitimately exhausted.

It’s after ten a.m. Roman will be embroiled in negotiations by now and unable to watch me. I hope.

My cell is on the coffee table, and I eye it warily. I’ll soon find out whether I’m right. If my husband sees what I’m about to do, he’ll sure as hell be calling.

I take a couple of oversized lounge cushions to my bedroom and toss them on the bed, along with a rolled-up blanket and a spare pillow from the closet. After some plumping and arranging, they look kinda like me asleep on my side, and once I pull the duvet on top, the resemblance is uncanny.

I tend to sleep with my head covered, and I close the curtains and draw the blinds, hoping the darkness will further cloak my deception. I throw on some clothes and stop in the doorway before I leave, surveying the scene again.

Yep. It could work.

I pick up my cell, concerned that Roman has messaged me but I didn’t hear the notification. The screen is blank, and I heave a sigh of relief. Then, I disable my location settings.

Will my husband be furious? Yes, but only if he actually finds out. I’ll do what I must, turn it on again, and he’ll be none the wiser.

I pause at the front door, my hand hovering over the handle. I’m fifteen again, and I have no choice but to cope alone.

I open the door and take the first step toward closure.

I cross Bryant Park, my eyes darting left and right as I look for Julian, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He must be inside already.

New York’s most famous library is a terrible venue to meet someone if you want to hang out. It’s always busy, and the Rose reading room especially so, but I asked for public, and the place fits the bill.

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