Page 5 of Kidnapped Bratva Virgin

Stepping back to give myself space, I swipe tendrils of stray hairs from my face. “Umm, thanks for the card, I’ll get to you about it.”

“Great. Or I can call you. Give me your number.”

I swallow hard, coaxing the lump to go down in my throat. “No. Thanks. If I need to get in touch I will,” I reply assertively, and thankfully I’m saved by a white-haired woman offering her condolences.

But the prospecting doesn’t end there as I’m sequestered by a lady with a sharp nose, dressed in black. I thought she waspart of the family and friends of Jackson, but I soon find out that’s not the case. “Hi, I’m Cheryl Braithwaite and I’m a Raven’s Peak native. I used to be a great friend of Jackson’s when he was alive. It’s nice to see you hear.”

“Er… okay, nice to meet you I guess.” Not that a funeral is the ideal place to meet somebody, but I’m left with no choice.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” the pushy woman says hurriedly. “What do you think about a spa and retreat on Raven’s Peak. It would be the perfect getaway for city dwellers. Don’t you think? I’ve got so many great ideas for the place.”

“I don’t—I don’t know about that,” I say quietly, surprised by the blatant disregard for Jackson’s death.

The lady’s eyes sparkle with greed, nudging me in the side. “We women have to stick together. This venture could really put you on the map. Do you know how much money you would be set to make?” she rasps, the whites of her eyes popping out, scaring me.

Who are these freaking people? Friends of Jackson’s? Because from where I’m standing, it’s almost as if they were waiting for him to keel over.

“Listen, I just arrived. This is all new to me, and I’m sure I’ll find my feet.”

“You can’t possibly think you’re going to handle this property yourself.” she scoffs, wriggling her arms over her chest, her judgmental eyes carving a hole in mine.

“I’m sure I will figure out how to manage,” I state, all of the attention foreign to me.

She shoves a card in my face as I’m bombarded by more men and women wanting to share their personal thoughts and endeavors they have for Raven’s Peak with me.

“Ah, I think you should give Ms. Knight some breathing room to grieve. That’s enough.” A charming voice sinks through the loud voices giving me an anchor and a way out. Frowning, I study the man who is dressed casually in black slacks and a khaki shirt. His voice sounds oddly familiar.

“Who are you to say?” one of the men chimes in, and before I can say anything, the dark-haired man intercepts.

“She’s in a state of grieving and being overwhelmed. She can’t possibly make a decision about the property right now.”

Begrudgingly the piranhas peter off, scattering back to the funeral and some of them leave.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

The handsome man offers me his hand with a sympathetic smile, and I accept his warm firm handshake. “Hi, I’m Aiden Smith. I’m the one that rang you about all of this.” He circles his finger referring to the madness that is the funeral.

“Ah, I thought I recognized your voice. Thanks for that. I was drowning,” I mumble, slowly taking Aiden in. He’s around six feet tall and gives off the vibe that he’s been a native to Raven’s Peak his whole life.

He chuckles. “Yep. I’m the lawyer that rang you. This place is a part of your family. Your father used to love coming here growing up.”

“He did? He never mentioned it to me,” I remark, a flock of birds finding comfort in the branches of a nearby tree. There’s something soothing about the place I can’t put my finger on. It’s as if I can think and breathe again here.

“Oh, he didn’t? I’m surprised, but when you take a gander at the property, you’ll find all the photos on the shelves.”

“Wow,” I reply, mystified as to why my father never told me about his best kept secret. “It feels good here. Something….”I look around, the chill of the air cutting through my shawl. Next time I’ll remember to wear warmer clothes. Chicago is chilly, but this is a different type of chill to the bones—fresher.

“It’s the wild of it all. Nothing like the big smoke of Chicago huh?”

“No. It’s like being in a different world.”

“You know you can visit the family home anytime you want.” My eyes widen, thrilled with the prospect of seeing the place where my late father grew up. Dad passed when I was eighteen, and the wound of grief might have closed a little, but in my heart remains an ache that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get rid of. First my mother from a rare illness when I was under ten, then him. Vaguely, I recall our memories together, and they were sweet, but it was my father who instilled in me the drive, responsibility, and determination to see things through.

“Wow. That’s amazing. And I would love to. He didn’t speak about Jackson so much.” Whenever I asked my father about his family, he always subtly changed the subject, telling me it wasn’t important who they were.

“All you need to know is I’m the black sheep of the family and they’re religious zealots. There’s no point you going to see them. You won’t learn anything of good use from them.”

I didn’t question my father at the time, and now I wish I would have. All I knew is that they were religious, and he wasn’t. I know he didn’t keep in contact with them, and they drifted away from each other. My father was all I had, and I took mostly what he said at face value.

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