Page 74 of Owned By The Bratva King

I join the back of a tour group and push past the crowd at the entrance, following them up the stairs before ducking into the right room.

It’s not as full as usual, and I spot Julian immediately, sitting at a table and pretending to peruse a book about the stock market.

I can do this. Listen to whatever bullshit he’s selling, nod and smile, pay him, and leave. That’s all I have to do. He can’t hurt me here, not with all these people around.

“Ah, Quinny.” He extends his hand as I sit opposite, but I don’t shake it. “Thank you for coming. I wondered whether you’d abandon me to the mercy of your butcher of a husband.”

“I am better than that,” I say, wrinkling my nose. The sour stench of booze is strong on him, even at this hour. “I won’t stoop to murder, even if it wouldn’t be me who committed it. Besides, I kind of like you this way. Your business plans didn’t work out?”

“Thanks to you,” he sneers. “I had it all set up; I knew the right people. All we had to do was move to Harrisburg, and you could have been a star.”

His smile shows his broken front tooth. “In a highly specialized niche, of course, but the pay, Quinny! I could have sent you to college with what we made.”

“I was fifteen, you bastard.” I lean over the table. “A child.”

“That was the fucking point, you idiot.” Julian taps his temple with his fingertip. “Use your goddamn brain. Although it seems you’re not above selling your pussy after all. Nice little life you have now.”

My fear has vanished like steam, replaced with apathetic anger. I’m furious at what he wanted to do to me, but he’s different now.

In the cold light of day, my uncle is not the menacing figure he was when he appeared from the shadows outside my apartment. He’s diminished, merely the shadow of a monster.

“Get the lies over with,” I say. “You have no hold over me now.”

“Whatever you say.” He steeples his fingers. “Your parents were murdered by a hitman. Daddy dearest owed over fifty grand and couldn’t repay it.”

“I knew that already,” I say. “When I was crying and saying I missed them, you suggested I go and cry to the mafia about it instead.

“Well, shoot,” Julian says, laughing. “That’s all I got!”

What’s funny? Why the hell is he wasting my time like this?

“If I give you money anyway, will you leave?” I ask. “Get out of the city—the country—and never return.”

He nods. “You got it. I don’t wanna die, Quinny. And your shitbag husband will see me in a shallow grave if I stick around here.”

I take a notebook and pen from my purse. “Here. Write your cell number and banking details. I’ll transfer you enough to get far away from me and put the rest in escrow so there’s no direct link between us. Contact the bank to confirm your location, and they’ll release the balance.”

“And what will happen if I do return?”

“You said it yourself.” My expression is etched in stone. “Roman will kill you.”

Julian jots down the info. He slides the book over the table toward me, and I shrink away as his hand touches mine. “Our business is done,” he says.

I need to regain my composure. Sitting with my uncle has made me feel suffocated, and there’s always a chance Roman is waiting outside, having somehow tracked me down. He has ways and means I’m not aware of; I’m sure of it.

“Go,” I say. “Get away from me.”

His grin makes me sick. “Gladly.” He stands, towering over me, and I never felt smaller. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

Fifth Avenue is, as usual, bustling. I exit the main door and walk down the steps, grateful not to see any familiar faces.

I did it. Didn’t freak out or back down.

The fear on Julian’s face was enough to convince me he was telling the truth about Roman trying to find him. I doubt my uncle would have risked wandering into the depths of New York City for any reason other than greed.

“Ma’am.”

I look up to see an NYPD officer beckoning me with one finger. I approach him, my heart pounding.

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