Page 24 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

It was a stupid idea. I should just go and leave Emory hanging, stick to that never seeing her again thing, and cut my losses. There was no reason to tell her the truth, and there was every reason to lie my damn ass off. It wasn’t like I was some suave CIA agent or something. I was a hitman and mercenary for the mob.

Far less romantic.

But I was still typing something on Emory’s phone, which wasn’t a fabrication.

Turning the screen toward her again, I let Emory have the half a second necessary to read the message, watching her eyebrows go up. She looked past the phone to me, and I raised my brows at her, the corner of my mouth lifting in my version of a “yeah, told you.”

“You’re…” Emory eyed me, blinking as she tried to wrap her brain around what I’d told her. “You’re a part of the mafia? You…you can’t be serious.”

I just held her stare.

She shook her head, abruptly standing from her couch and pacing back and forth through her tiny living room. As I watched her try to process everything that had happened today, I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Why did I think this was a good idea?

Because you didn’t think with your upstairs brain now, did you?

“So wait, who were those people in the hospital? Mafia?”

I nodded but also held up a finger, typing up the details.

“Yes, but they’re Italian. I work for the Vadims. Russian. They don’t get along well.”

Emory stops pacing to read the screen, and then she’s glaring at me. Her hands go to her hips, and she sucks in a deep breath as her eyes roll closed.

“And you got me mixed up with all this. Dammit, Vlad. I have responsibilities, and I’msupposedto call the authorities if I find out one of my patients is doing something that could threaten another human’s life.”

Standing up from the couch with a quick shove, I shake my head at her.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t want me to call.” Emory pinches the bridge of her nose, turning away from me. “You’re going to need to do a lot more explaining, though. And I need a drink.”

Chapter 11 - Emory

I didn’t have much in the way of alcohol in the house except for a bottle of wine that I’d been holding onto for some “special occasion.” Apparently, special was being told by a man that you’d slept with that he worked for the Russian mob, and some rival mafia group was now after him and very potentially you.

My head was fucking spinning, and the years of practice I had for compartmentalization and distancing were not working in the slightest right now.

“Okay, bucko.” I polished off the last of my wine, having drank the thing in about a minute. “Details. I need to understand what’s going on if I’m going to keep you hereandstill try to help you at the office.”

Vlad rolled his eyes—just for a second—but I noticed, and that annoyance he was showing could fuck off. I had way more of a reason to be upset than him right now. Hell, he was probably used to being shot at, what with being a mercenary and all. I was not, and if I really was going to continue seeing him for the therapy he so clearly needed, I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t risking my safety every time I went outside.

The alcohol swam in my stomach, slowly dissolving and working its magic as I waited for Vlad to type up his next response. It was just a few moments before he flashed the screen at me again.

“I’m not looking to continue our therapy sessions, so don’t worry. I won’t be dragging more Italians to your office.”

My mouth dropped open as I read the words. “You’re not? Vlad, I agreed to help you. You set up a second appointment. Surely, you know that this time with me is going to benefit you.You don’t need to stop now just because there was an incident at the hospital.”

Vlad cocked a brow, frustration making them pinch together. He typed another message on my phone, and I could feel the wine working, making my head a little fuzzy.

“I didn’t set up another appointment with you. That was my brother. Again. And regardless, it’s not smart to have me showing up at your work. The Italians have seen me with you, and it’s better if they think you were just a helpful citizen. They won’t think twice about killing you to send me a message if they think you’re helping me in any way. Therapy or anything else.”

I sighed, my frustration now making me return to my kitchen island and pour another glass of red.

“Your brother. Of course. Why would I think that you actually wanted help?”

As I tilted the bottle over my glass, Vlad came up behind me, grabbing it and pulling it away from me. When I turned around and glared at him, he shook his head.

“I’m entitled to another glass of wine, asshole.”

Vlad shook his head again, typing with one hand as he held it away from me.

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