Page 17 of Captured By the Bratva

I shook my head. This was hurting my head. Frustration gave way to exhaustion. “Nothing. I’m not hiding anything.”

Dmitri raised his brows, still waiting.

“I told you, I do not get involved with Steven’s plans and schemes.”

“The passcode,” Ivan ordered. His tone was just as bossy and demanding as Dmitri’s was, but the glint of a challenge in his eyes, as though he looked forward to my being difficult again, tormented me.

“Five, two, nine, nine.” I exhaled a long breath with that forfeit.

Dmitri tapped on the screen, then he brought another object up close, likely interfering with what I had on there. Not knowing was agony. “What are you doing?” I hated how weak and nervous my voice was.

“Tracking your call history,” Dmitri answered, surprising me. I hadn’t actually counted on them to reply.

“What… what else?” I swallowed hard. My throat was so damn dry.

“What are you so nervous about?”

Emily. My baby. Please, don’t.I pressed my lips together and struggled to think of what to say that wouldn’t piss him off. Surely, he couldn’t care if I had a child.

Once the worry deepened, I wondered if that was it. If Emily, my baby, was the key to what was going on. All this time he’d been messing with me and playing with me like a toy held hostage, I’d been stuck with the assumption that Steven was bluffing. That Dom might actually be interested in custody like Steven told me.

A deep sense of panic threaded through my mind, and I became frantic to figure it out.

“Previous calls to Dominic Rossini.” Dmitri held the phone up to show Ivan. “Going back as far as a year ago.”

Ivan crossed his arms. “What’s that about?”

“What, what do you mean?” Even though my voice shook, I kept my chin raised, my head held up high. I wasn’t about to offer information. If they wanted to know something specific about things not to do with me or Emily, I didn’t want to be in that discussion at all. The less I knew, the better. Ignorance, especially with anything Steven or these crime lords did, was preferred.

“I won’t bother with a step backward of askingifyou know him. What’s your relation to Dom Rossini?”

His withering stare challenged me to tell the truth, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not until I knew why he cared.

“I’m not related to him.”

“What is your connection to him?” Dmitri asked.

“He…” I licked my lips, under pressure and not knowing what to say.

“He what?” Ivan lowered his arms and narrowed his eyes at me, becoming even more threatening with just those movements.

“He was a potential sponsor for my artwork.” Skimming over the truth seemed like the best option, and I prayed that it would work.

“Your artwork?” Dmitri asked, skeptical. He glanced at Ivan as though to silently askare you hearing this right?

“You’re an artist?” Ivan lifted his chin, looking down his nose at me.

I nodded. “Dom was supposed to help me get my feet in the door. The art world is a highly competitive one, and he had connections in Europe, with galleries and commission project heads.”

Dmitri returned to my phone, scrolling and snooping.

“He took me to Italy, mostly,” I added, nervous whether Ivan would believe this truth. “My paintings didn’t do well anywhere,but I did garner some interest for my sculptures.” I felt so silly, insignificant. Talking about my passion, about a creative endeavor like this with a man who couldn’t care about anything like it. Thugs and criminals didn’t waste time with masterpieces that only existed for the purpose of beauty and provoking thoughts.

“I don’t believe you.” Ivan shook his head, tilting his head to the side to see what Dmitri showed him on the screen.

“It looks more like you were dating him, according to these texts.” Dmitri glanced up at me, wearing the same expression of doubt Ivan did.

“No. I…”

---