Page 32 of Captured By the Bratva

So far, nothing was happening. Dmitri and Yusef helped most with tracking Murphy in the city, and he wasn’t biting at any of the news that Becca had been taken. Nothing came in from our spies with the Rossinis, either.

While the wait for a development could take time, I felt like I was running out of it where my restraint lay with Becca.

My phone rang, and I shifted the now-napping Emily in my arms to answer. The screen told me it was Maxim, and I wondered what he’d have to tell me.

“I think we might need you to drive to the city,” he said after we greeted each other.

“Now what?” I perked up, though I kept my voice low. “Something come in about Murphy?”

“No. The cops are heading to one of the clubs.” The emphasis he put on those words,the clubs, signaled which establishments he was speaking about. The sex clubs. The ones I supervised.

“Which one?”

“LeVant’s.”

Huh.That was a pricy place, secure and hard to get into. LeVant’s was easily the Bratva’s most secretive sex club, and few knew how to get through the doors. It was a selective, carefully monitored clientele there, and I doubted I wanted the cops poking around for long. The more secretive the club and the clientele there, the higher the profits.

“What’s going on there?” I asked, praying Margie would get here soon so I could leave to deal with business. It would have been nice for something to happen with this hostage situation and luring Murphy to reveal himself, but it wasn’t as though I could forgo or slack in my usual duties.

“It sounds like people are getting drugged.”

I furrowed my brow.That’s it?Drugs were commonplace in the Bratva, and at the clubs, too.

“And it sounds like it’s a complicated situation,” Maxim reported. “Alek wanted to check it out himself, but he and Nik are dealing with something else downtown. Dmitri’s chasing a lead, and since LeVant’s falls under your lead…”

“Yeah. Okay. I got it.” I didn’t need a lecture. “I appreciate having a heads up.”

I doubted it would be anything bad, but still, I had to check it out.

As carefully and quietly as I could, I lowered Emily to Becca. Her arms slid over the baby, almost as though her body recognized the press of hers even in sleep.

Mother and daughter slept on, peaceful and quiet, and I stalled for a moment. I committed the angelic image of them like this, safe and sound, to memory and wished that it was a picture I could come home to every day. Every night.

As the front door opened and Margie entered, calling out for me quietly, I sighed and scowled.

Becca was a hostage.

Every hostage had a purpose.

And Becca’s would not be to fill a gap I hadn’t ever realized before.

As my woman.

12

BECCA

Ilowered my head toward the freshly ladled bowl of soup, inhaling the warmth and delicate fragrances until my skin felt damp from the steam tickling my cheeks and lips.

Oh. So, so good.It wasn’t a foolproof solution for this nagging sinus pressure, but it felt heavenly. And so different. New. No one had ever cooked a meal for me. Not since my mother died in a car accident when I was seven. I supposed the hospital food I received when I was there for all forty-seven hours of labor for Emily’s birth could count as warm food someone else had prepared for me, though. My standards were low. I’d learned to lower the bar.

“How is that?” Margie asked.

I smiled up at her, open and trusting of her generosity.

Or more like Ivan’s generosity.It was hard to remember that I was supposed to be a hostage here. I felt like a pampered princess. The man secured a long-term housekeeper to “help me out” with Emily. That was the single sweetest and most thoughtful thing a human hadeverdone for me.

Procuring me hired help.

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