Page 105 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Reggiani doesn’t bother to look back; he knows he’s won. I already know the answer even as I wait for him to speak.

“Because if you don’t take my deal, your wife will die. And it will be your fault.”

I need to be at the place by ten p.m. I checked the timings, and it’s an hour’s drive by my reckoning, but I can’t risk being late.

Texting from Emery’s phone was a sickening touch. My heart leaped at the sight of my wife’s name before I had a chance to remember—she’s a captive.

There’s no way it would be her, and of course, it wasn’t.

Reggiani’s message was brief and to the point: the address, the time, and nothing more. I received it at about five in the afternoon; the fucker left me stewing all day, knowing I’d be going crazy with fear that he would simply disappear for good, taking his knowledge of Emery’s whereabouts with him.

God knows I didn’t want to leave Josef, but I had no choice. I’m gonna die, and he’s the only person who knows it. I couldn’t look at mydyadya’sbeseeching eyes as I left, but I said I was sorry.

I’m ready to go and have been for hours. I haven’t eaten, and for the first time in days, I’m stone-cold sober at eight-thirty in the evening.

I wrote a note for Roman and read it back for the third time to ensure I didn’t leave anything out.

Roman,

I know you’re pissed at me right now, but I chose this.

Bernio Reggiani made a deal with me—my life for Emery’s. You know as well as I do that I didn’t think twice. It was a good trade and, in a way, inevitable.

I promised my wife I’d donate enough money to completely rebuild the children’s ward at her hospital. See it done and more; buy that shithole orphanage and turn it around. Vulnerable people need help. And put Emery in charge; she’s more than capable. Protect her and her father, in my name.

Tell her she’s not to blame. If I had discovered the truth sooner, this wouldn’t have happened, and that’s on me. I’m sorry I had to break her heart, but I know you’ll look after her.

I loved her. She knew.

You and Viktor were family to me. Spasibo, brat'ya moi, do novykh vstrech.

Thank you, my brothers, until we meet again.

Best,

It seems all too brief. There are so many things I could say, but none seem important. Roman will understand.

The letter to Emery is a different matter. I wrote and re-wrote it, agonizing over every line. How could meager words convey the weight of my feelings? Could anything I say ease Emery’s grief-stricken heart when she learns what I did and why?

Perhaps I’ll get to speak to her before it’s all over. Reggiani and Dante must let my wife go, or I’ll—what?

I’m supposed to show up unarmed, prepared to surrender without a fight. But what if those two fuckers break their promise? I can’t let them kill me until I know Emery and Desi are far away.

I have to take a gun. It’s a tremendous risk, but they are probably expecting me to do something to secure Emery’s escape, and I have a simple but efficient plan to ensure my enemies hold up their side of the bargain.

Roman and Viktor are way out in New Jersey, following a wild-goose lead I invented explicitly to keep them out of the picture, and Roman made me swear I’d stay home and not get into trouble.

I swore on my life. He didn’t get the irony, but it made me feel less guilty for lying to my closest friend.

I want to tell Roman what’s happening, but he wouldn’t let me lay down my life like this; he loves me too much. I’ve chosen to keep him in the dark for his sake and Emery’s.

I can stall no longer. It’s eight forty-five, and my time is up.

My note for Emery is in the envelope on the table. I pick it up and seal it before turning it over in my hands.

She may run away and never return. If I leave the letter here, my carefully chosen words will be for nothing.

I pocket the envelope and head for the door, but something shiny catches the light, stopping me in my tracks.

---