Page 27 of Escaping the Bratva

Another laugh escapes from my lips.

“I miss that,” he says.

“Miss what?” I take a seat at the kitchen island.

“The sound of your laugh.” He turns around to pour coffee into two mugs. He passes one to me and leans on the other side of the island.

“Cream? Sugar?” I ask.

He opens the fridge and pulls out the creamer and takes a bag of sugar from the cabinet before passing it to me.

“I don’t know how you can drink black coffee,” I say.

He shrugs. “No cream or sugar in prison.”

It's like a black cloud comes over us as I’m reminded that he just got out of prison.

“Hey.” He reaches across the island and grabs my chin. He tilts my head up to look at him.

“Where’d you go?”

His eyes search mine for an answer. I bite my lip, deciding if I should ruin our moment.

“You have questions,” he says, reading my mind.

I nod. He takes another sip of his coffee before taking the seat next to me.

“Go ahead. Ask.”

It takes a minute for me to decide where to start. “What were you charged with?”

“Racketeering, gun charges, attempted murder with a deadly weapon, and a few other things.”

My mouth pops open, and I remind myself to close it. “Holy shit, V. Those aren’t throwaway charges. How long did you serve?”

“Only five years. I cut a deal.”

“You ratted?”

His eyes narrow. “Never.”

“Then how did you only get five years for all that shit?” I dump a heap of sugar into my coffee and add the creamer.

“I had a friend who I owed a favor. He needed me to help get his enemy arrested. The catch was that I’d get arrested too. He was working with the FBI. If I was a logical person, I would have told him to shove it, but this was my way out. I agreed to help him and the FBI. In exchange, I’d get my freedom. It was my only way out, and it was a good damn deal, so I took it.”

I take a drink of my coffee, letting his words sink in. He served five years in prison to get out. If that isn’t proof enough that he’s done with that world, what was?

“I’m done with all that shit, Sasha.” His eyes plead for me to believe him.

I open my mouth to reply when a phone starts ringing. It stops and then starts right back up again.

“Shit, that’s mine.” I stand from the stool and grab my clutch, which is still lying on the floor next to the front door. I hadn't even realized it fell out of my hand last night.

I dig my phone out to see Haley’s name flash across the screen. What the hell? She never calls me on the weekend.

“Hello?”

“Tell me you’ve seen the news,” she gushes.

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