Page 67 of Hers to Control

“Just needed some air,” I reply, taking a seat beside him. It’s a lie, of course. The truth is, I’m waiting for Eric Merlino to deliver on his promise.

Charlie nods in understanding, his gaze drifting out across the yard. “Russians are still pissed,” he observes.

I tuck my head. “Yeah.” Not much more to say about that. If they get ahold of me, things won’t end pretty. Not now that a fucking enforcer for the Bruno’s came to see me in person. And it’s a sure bet they already know.

I surreptitiously look around, trying to make out the Italians. There are factions, some belonging to the Bruno organization, others part of the Angelo syndicate, but in here, they often mix.

“Heads up,” Charlie mutters and gets up to walk away from me.

Shit. One of Tsepov’s men is headed in this direction. He isn’t heading right for me. That would catch the attention of the guards after that recent fight, but he’s headed here, nonetheless.

I push off the wall I’d been leaning on. There is nothing I want to do less than this, but the looks I’m getting from the Russian promise the kind of pain I’m not prepared for. I gave it a shot, for Mia’s sake. Tried to stay clear, but I’m not made for this stuff. Never was.

Slowly, I move towards the Italians. One of them catches my eye and gives me a nod. It’s almost enough for me to turn away. Mia has someone looking after her now. Maybe if I head to the guard instead, I can figure out a way to get into isolation again. Or get moved to a different cell block.

None of it would work, but I swerve anyway. I still have the money I took from the Russians. It’s nothing to sneeze at. My nest egg for when I get out of here. Maybe I could make a deal.

From my right, the Russian is closing in. My eyes catch on his hand. It’s curled around something. My eyes close. There is no getting out of this. Not anymore. Eric has the codes now.

I turn back to the Italian and walk straight at him. Several people are looking my way now, a few of their eyes looking at something behind my shoulder. The Russian must be closing in.

I break into a jog. The Italian isn’t moving toward me, waiting for me to get to him.

I speed up, running now.

The Italians move to shield us from the eyes of the guard, and the guy who nodded at me earlier meets me, ramming his shank into my neck. The stab hurts, but the yanking sensation as he drags it brutally across my throat is worse.

Going down, I hit the hard floor, seeing the Russian casually heading back to the Bratva’s corner of the yard.

They never got me. It’s a satisfying thought.

Then my vision goes blurry and one last thought flits through my mind. I was a fuck-up as a father and my little girl will be better off without me. She’s got someone to have her back now.

And she’ll get the money.

Eric

Mia and I are sitting in the kitchen having some breakfast when my phone vibrates.

‘It’s done.’

I look over at Mia, who is eating a dry piece of toast. Mellie is busy cutting some fruit into a salad, which she will undoubtedly try to convince Mia to eat once her stomach settles with the toast. I might not usually eat breakfast, but today I insisted on coming down here. Mia has already lost too much weight over the past few months and from what the doctor said, it’s possible that Mia might continue to experience nausea even in the second trimester.

At least with Mellie around, I have an ally. She’s already quizzed Mia on her favorite foods and cravings, obviously planning on making sure she’ll be well taken care of during her pregnancy. Mia glances up from her toast, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she looks at my phone.

“What was that about?” Mia asks, and I like the way she doesn’t question whether she has the right to ask me that. Few people ever felt that comfortable with me.

“One of our guys confirmed he finished a job I assigned him.” She’ll find out soon enough what exactly that job was. I’ve got no intention of ruining her appetite now.

Mia nods, seemingly satisfied with my answer, and goes back to nibbling on her toast.

“Nausea going away?” I ask.

Mia offers me a weak smile. “A little, yeah.”

I return her smile.

Mellie sets the fruit salad down in front of Mia with a proud smile. “There you go, dear. If your stomach can handle it, the fresh fruit will give you some carbs and sugar to get you going for the day.”

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