Page 21 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

That roller coaster spinning in my head turned into a nightmarish chaos.

Enzo Colombo was as strong as an ox, probably the strongest man I knew on the planet. He didn’t get sick. In his own words, getting sick was for weaklings, and Papa didn’t have time to accommodate anyone or anything that would drag hisfeet for more than seventy-two hours. So, this was bad. Terribly bad.

Before my competition…. How the hell had he been able to keep it from me that long?

Or maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I’d had my head wrapped around the race, the track, and the Russian’s bullshit for so long that I couldn’t think of anything else.

“He’s upstairs. You should go see him.”

Marco didn’t have to tell me twice. I was in Papa’s room before he could blink. The room was just as organized as I remembered, but it had more smells of antiseptic and antibiotics than I was used to. More than I’d like to grow accustomed to.

“Principessa.”

Papa’s stubborn smile met me across the room, and he opened his arms when I perched at the edge of the bed. I fell into his arms, breathing in his familiar pinewood scent while he kissed my hair. Sue me, I was a daddy’s girl.

“Principessa.”He stroked my chin when I pulled back to stare at him. The wrinkles around his brown eyes were deeper, and his once jet-black hair was now a field of more silver strands than black.

He looked older, fragile, and less intimidating than I’d known him to be.

Tears burned behind my eyes. The powerful Enzo Colombo, the tough one, the ruthless one who knew fifty different ways to cut a man’s blood supply with his bare hands, was now bedridden.

“Leonora!” His hiss was a warning, and the glare directed at me was a reminder that he didn’t tolerate weakness.

“I’m not crying,” I reassured him with a smile.

He didn’t look like he believed it, but the crinkles around his eyes softened, and he took my hand in his. “I heard youburned rubber into their asses and had Ivan Yezhov bitching about it.”

His way of telling me he was proud of my win.

I nodded, and he choked up on a fit of deep-throated coughs.

Watching him rumble, grunt, and grasp on heaves of air was frightening, but I maintained my cool, patiently waiting for him to relax.

“That’s my girl.”

When he patted the back of my hand and averted his gaze, I knew that something was wrong. It wasn’t the sickness; it was something else. Something that had his eyes shifting with worry and his smile wobbling after every ten seconds.

“Papa.”

“Principessa.”

“What’s wrong?”

He started to deny it, but I gave him a look he would have given me to warn me about lying to him. He’d trained me well and hard enough to let me know when I was on to something. And now, I was.

Swearing under his breath, he diverted his attention to the ceiling but kept his hands on mine. “Nothing gets past you, my girl. I like that. Sharp, as always. Don’t stop; stay on your toes at all times. Keep your focus. Eyes and ears open.”

He was breathing heavily, taking in oxygen one breath at a time. He was stalling, and the more he did, the more I knew I wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.

“Papa….”

“Leo.” His calling me by my name meant this was fucking serious. Like hell-about-to rain-down-on-us serious. I eliminated the possibility that this discussion was about losing Jabril. He didn’t give two fucks about the man if he easily let him go.

So, I waited as silently as I could as he coughed his heart out before continuing.

“The Rossis are on our tail again.”

Awesome. Just what we needed—those frigging rebels trying to overthrow Papa. Luca Rossi and his stupid minions.

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