Page 60 of Stolen By The Bratva King

I could own the world, but I don’t feel like the king of anything right now. I’m broken, with no one to blame but myself.

Emery pauses, her hand on the door handle.

“Have you nothing to say?” she asks, turning to look at me. “You stole me from my life and forced me to be part of yours, and all the while, you hid yourself from me.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “You took so much, Leon. Things I gave willingly but can’t take back now that I know you tricked me.”

Defensive words die on my lips. How can I tell her she’s wrong? It would be another lie.

I open my mouth to ask when—orif—she’ll return. Will she let me explain, soothe her fears, make her understand me?

The words I say instead are a shock to both of us.

“I love you, Emery.”

She stares at me for a long, painful moment. Then she’s gone.

33

Leon

Istand and wander to the kitchen, the lovingly prepared ramen ingredients mocking me.

Was it only a few minutes ago that I was assembling a meal and daydreaming about my wife, ignorant of the shitshow that was coming my way?

I pick up my phone and open the message.

Call me. Some of our guys got in a scrap.

Ascrap? For fuck’s sake.

Viktor’s voicemail picks up, and my brief message leaves no room for doubt as to whether I’m pissed off.

An hour passes, and I occupy myself at the punchbag, doing all I can to beat my powerless fury into submission.

I’m such a moron.

I love Emery? Yeah, great—I’m sure that’ll make up for everything else.

Who cares if I coerced and lied and overstepped? It’s okay that I sullied her innocence and took all I could. Love conquers all; that’s what they say.

Bullshit.Love is like an earthquake, stealing into my foundations and turning them into shifting sands beneath my feet.

My phone rings, and I answer it immediately, my breathing heavy.

“Leon, what’s up with you?” Viktor asks. “Listen,tovarishch?—”

“Don’t fucking call me that; I’m the goddamn boss today, okay?” I seethe. “What is going on? I already know someone died.”

“A couple of Italians were talking big in a dockside bar, trying to impress the owner with tales of their floating brothel. The owner knew I was looking for intel about exactly that, so he called a few of our soldiers to come and shake down these new kids and find out who they were working for. Unfortunately, it got out of hand, and the Italians escaped with one of their guys howling on the back seat, a bullet in his guts.”

I punch the counter, splitting my knuckle. “Clearly, they dumped the kid at the hospital and bailed. Because guess who was trying to save the guy only for him to mutter my name, then croak?”

“Emery. Oh, shit.”

Viktor pauses, unsure of me. “What do you want to do, Leon? We know These Sicilian out-of-towners are running the Cobra, and they’re careless, although they might tighten up their operation now. None of the Italian mafia are willing to claim them, and I believe that’s legitimate—everyone knows how you feel about this kind of thing. Who’d risk pissing you off for a few dollars of meat money?”

“One name springs to mind. Did you confirm the Dante Firenze connection?”

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