Page 44 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

He did a great job, too, steering clear and staying out of sight. Subsequent meetings were conducted via onlineplatforms, and he cut off direct contact. We passed memos and other information through the men.

The distance was a good thing, I convinced myself for the umpteenth time.

So, why was I suffocating under a tangled mess of confusing emotions, battling the sting of rejection, the humiliation of being discarded, and, on top of that, the misery of being sick?

“Leonora Colombo?”

My head jerked up at the sound of my name, and my eyes fell on the blonde nurse poking her head through the waiting room. She was pretty with blue, innocent eyes that said she lived in an ordinary world, without worries of Russian-Italian alliances or crime.

There may have been a few times in my life when I wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life, but my thoughts always returned with a negative result. I loved my life. I loved the thrill of racing, leading the mob, and being able to do whatever I wanted.

An ordinary world meant leading a normal life. And normal was frigging boring.

My only problem now was getting my head back on track so that I would forget I had ever gotten mixed up withZverand ended up in his bed.

And the walls of his bedroom.

And his shower.

And….

Every place else he’d marked me.

But first, I had to find out what was wrong with me.

Her smile was genuinely warm, but I felt unusually tired and didn’t have the strength to reciprocate.

I adjusted the strap of my purse over my shoulder and followed her through the cold clinic hallway to another whiteroom with transparent glass doors, which I assumed was Doctor Josè’s office.

The air was thick with the aroma of fresh coffee and the faint tang of antiseptic. It made me nauseous, but I restrained the urge to gag. I ran my gaze from the row of worn, leather-bound medical texts that lined the shelves, with their gilt-edged pages, to Doctor Josè, who had a phone pressed to his ear and his mouth moving in a hushed, one-sided conversation.

He looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, he smiled and motioned for me to take a seat.

I settled into the plush burgundy armchair, sinking into the soft cushions. In a low voice, he finished his call and turned his attention to me.

“Leo, good to see you.Come sta? E come sta suo padre?”

How are you? How is your father?

With a smile, I told him I was fine, even if it was a straight lie through the teeth, and that Papa’s health was improving. Another lie. Day after day, I watched him battle to reign control over the weakness that subjected him to his bed. But he didn’t want anyone singing the song to the world that his health was deteriorating.

The only reason Rafayel knew was because of the alliance and the transparency code attached to it.

Josè and Santiago were business partners at Nuova Vitaand were practically family now, which earned Josè privileged information, and we counted on them to uphold confidentiality.

They’d worked for Papa for the longest time, years before I was born, and were a part of the handful of people he could trust with his life. So, when I started feeling sick, I booked an appointment at their hospital without informing Papa.

“E Santiago?”

“Business trip.” Josè smiled warmly at the nurse stationed by the door, signaling her to leave. “We’re setting up abranch in Philadelphia, and the process requires one of us to be present.”

“Congratulations. Nuova Vita is expanding, and that’s a good thing.”

“Santiago deserves more accolades. He talked me into accepting it.”

“Good for you, then. You’ll be reaping the benefits soon.”

I was genuinely happy about their progress, but the weight in my chest sank lower when he leaned forward and handed me a slender sheet of white paper.

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