Page 77 of Owned By The Bratva King

Roman

Istand in the bedroom doorway for a minute, wondering how to go about waking Quinn. If someone roused me from a deep sleep, I’d probably punch them before I registered I was awake. I doubt she’ll do that, but I don’t want to scare her.

Then I realize she’s not moving. No gentle rise and fall as she breathes.

“Quinn!” I spring forward and snatch the duvet out of the way. “Wake up!”

Nothing here but pillows and cushions arranged to look like my sleeping wife.

I run through the apartment, screaming her name. Of course, she’s nowhere to be found; there are no hiding places here.

The camera footage. Some soon-to-be-disemboweled moron abducted her, and I’ll see who if I spool back through.

I slump onto the couch and load the application on my cell, barely noticing the hitching breaths that struggle in and out of my lungs.

There she is. What is she?—

Quinn did this. She set up a decoy and left, but where did she go? Check the location settings. As long as she has her phone, I’ll be able to see where she is.

She disabled it. Or someone did. What the fuck is going on?

Did she leave me? I put a lot of money in her account so she wouldn’t have to ask me for it. More than enough to disappear. But no, it doesn’t make sense. She’s taken nothing with her, not even her mother’s recipe books.

I massage my temples with my knuckles. This is fucked up. It’s bound to be my fault; everyone I care about gets hurt one way or another. Did I believe I could fall helplessly in love with an innocent woman and not bring about her downfall?

I dial her number one more time. Maybe it’s all a mistake. If she tells me she’s gone and will never return, I’ll accept it as long as she’s safe?—

“Hello!” Vercotti’s recorded voice is laced with triumphant gloating. “You’ve reached the voicemail of Quinn Kazanova, the fat, stupid slut who got in too deep with the bratva and was murdered for it. So don’t bother leaving a message after the tone.”

As soon as I hear the beep, the words erupt from me like lava. “You fucking cunt, Silvio! As God is my witness, I’ll kill you with my bare hands if you lay a finger on my wife!”

I hang up, ready to hurl my phone at the wall, but stop just in time. Instead, I call Leon, and he answers on the third ring.

“What do you want?” he asks. “I’m in the line for Space Mountain.”

“Tell me you’re joking.” I raise my voice as my composure deserts me. “For fuck’s sake?—”

“Jesus Christ. Yes, I’m joking. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“He took her. Vercotti. Get to the house fast; I need everybody right now.”

“Vercotti is pig feed. What are you talking about?”

“He’s alive. I’m cursed. It’s everything I deserve and worse.” My desperation is palpable, but I don’t care. “Help me, tovarisch; I love my wife. I have to find her.”

57

Silvio

Itake a moment to savor Quinn’s terrified eyes as I pocket her cell phone. Gotta commit this to memory so I can enjoy it whenever I want, long after the stupid cunt is dead.

“Welcome to your new reality, Quinn,” I say, opening the passenger door. “Get out. If you try to run, I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

Her eyes flash with defiance, but there’s a tremor in her voice as she responds. “Roman will come for me; when he does, you’re finished. You know that, right?”

“Do you know where you are?” I ask, ignoring her question. “No, and neither will he until I tell him. We have plenty of time to get acquainted.”

Julian and Lubomski get out of the car. “Can I have my money now?” Julian asks, slapping me on the back. “I did my part. You said I didn’t have to stay for the next bit.”

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