Page 18 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Somehow, I slept through my alarm. Maybe it’s because I was out like a light after the orgasm to end all orgasms.

I can’t shake the feeling that I will somehow pay for what happened last night.

How did a girl like me attract the attention of a dangerous, sexy man to the extent that he simply couldn’t leave me alone?

Leon stole a kiss, beat up my fiancé, then followed me home to deliver ramen to my door?Me?

I’m no femme fatale, and I don’t have the effortless beauty that would look right standing at his side. I’m too curvy, with a rounded belly and chunky thighs.

Leon could have a supermodel if he wanted. Someone who weighs less than one of my legs and is desired by all.

I allow myself a bitter smile. Well, I’m sure he’s come to his senses by now. I won’t see that gorgeous man again, not when he knows I’ll be a married woman by the weekend.

At the hospital, it’s the usual chaos. Between checking on patients, handling paperwork, and coordinating with the surgical team, I barely have a moment to breathe.

It’s nothing I’m not used to, but I can’t seem to shake the restless energy from last night.

I duck into the children’s ward to check on my young patient from yesterday. He’s awake but drowsy; according to the nurse, he hasn’t eaten much.

I sit on the edge of his bed. “You okay?” I ask, pointing at his bandages. I pull a face, trying to indicate pain. “Does it hurt?”

The little boy doesn’t speak much English, but his big blue eyes are devastating, full of fear and loneliness. He shakes his head, then frowns.

“My Mami?” he says, his tiny voice trembling. “Is here?”

I blink hard to clear my vision. I can’t get involved; the social worker will ensure he’s looked after, but who knows what’ll become of him?

I shake my head and give his shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t know about your mother,” I say. “Try to rest.” I point at the pillow. “Rest. Zzzz.”

The boy lies down, obediently closing his eyes. I tell myself I won’t look back, but I can’t help it, and he gives me a small wave. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels like a plea.

I’m at a computer in the nurse’s station, pretending to look up a patient’s records, when one of the nurses shrieks in excitement.

“Wow! Emery, this guy says these are for you!”

I glance down the corridor to see Kacie, a trainee, bounding my way. Behind her is what appears to be a floral arrangement on legs.

It’s the most enormous bouquet I’ve ever seen and obscenely extravagant—delicate blooms and fresh greenery spilling out in a cascade of white and soft pink. It’s so beautiful that it almost doesn’t feel real.

The delivery guy’s voice emerges from somewhere in the center of the blooms.

“Dr. Bright? Please take this, ma’am. It’s been the bane of my life. At this point, I’d pay you to take the damn thing off my hands.”

I reach out to take the bouquet, then hesitate. It’s too extravagant to be from a grateful patient; this is the kind of gesture made by kings and billionaires, intended for princesses with sprawling mansions in which to store lavish gifts.

I have no idea how I’ll get it home, and even if I do, will it fit in the elevator, let alone my tiny apartment?

It takes Kacie and me to wrangle it into an empty exam room, and even then, we’re giggling with the effort. Jess, the nurse who helped me yesterday, rounds the corner and stops, clutching her chest dramatically.

“Holy Hell, Emery! You’re so lucky!”

A few others gather around, all of them cooing. “Your fiancé, I presume?” someone says with a grin. “You’d better hope so!”

My heart skips a beat. Dante used to send flowers when he wanted to reel me back in, but nothing on this scale, and not for a long time. Nowadays, he wouldn’t bother.

I make all the right noises, smiling and laughing as my coworkers fawn over the flowers, but apprehension twists inside me. I move my fingers through the petals and find a generic “for you” printed on a square of white card.

Dante’s peace offerings always included a whining missive about how I needed to examine my behavior, blah, blah, blah. This silence feels purposely anonymous.

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