Page 11 of Captured By the Bratva

“I arranged for you to come to me,” he admitted smugly. “But there is no way your father would ever work with the Valkov Bratva.”

I was sure that name should have meant something to me, but I never involved myself with the names of the criminals my father was supposed to take down.

“How close are you to your father?”

I bit back a bitter bark of laughter, scowling as I looked away and scanned the meager contents of this room. “Not at all.”

“You’re not close with your father.”

“Steven and I have never been close.”

“But you seemed to think he’d set you up to go to that club.”

I clenched my teeth, hating that I couldn’t escape. “Because he asked me to go to a place like that and pick up something for him.” I’d dropped off something tonight, through an ordered delivery with my job. Still, it bore enough similarities that I thought of Steven’s last call to me.

“He asked me to help him. And I said no. I want nothing to do with places like that. With sex clubs and thugs and criminals like you. I’ve never agreed to do anything with Steven.”

“Never.”

I growled. The longer he stared at me with that cool authority, I was reminded that he was the boss here. Not me.

“What else has he asked you to do?”

“Favors. He never gave details, and I always shot him down before he’d tell me anything.”

“You’re his accomplice?” he asked.

“No.” Once more, I fought the bindings on my wrists. “I have never worked with him, for him.”

My answers didn’t satisfy him. For a long time that I lost track of, Ivan peppered me with more questions about Steven. Relentlessly. Like a dog after a bone, he posed the same questions over and over as though he was waiting for me to slip.

Exhausted from fighting and the frustration of being captured because of my father, I hung my head and groaned. “Steven is secretive. I have never trusted him, and I don’t ever plan to. He’s a sperm donor, nothing more.”

“What about the Rossini Family?”

I held my breath, staying rigid and still.Why would he ask that?

“Have you heard of the Rossinis, Becca?”

His tone changed from the direct, firm interrogative style like he was a journalist holding an interview. He asked me with mild amusement, and I knew he’d noticed my flinch at that name.

Shit.

“Becca…”

“No.” I lifted my face defiantly, staring at him and hoping I could lie well enough that he wouldn’t doubt my replies.

Of course, I’d heard of them. Dom Rossini was Emily’s father, but I was too scared to reveal that fact.

He stared down at me. The silence of his careful study unnerved me, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was caught in the crossfire somehow. That I was wedged in some kind of a twisted game between Mafia lords.

“You don’t know anything about the Rossini Family?”

Pressing my lips together tighter, I vowed to shut the hell up and give nothing else away. All he’d get from me was the silent treatment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, he waited, crossing his arms and eyeing me so intensely, like he counted on me to break under his glare.

“Nothing to add?”

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