Page 67 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“Viktor, crank the damn heat,” I say.

I gaze at Emery and shake my head. “What Alec did was really something,val’kiriya.”

She closes her eyes. “The man stepped out of the shadows and aimed straight at me. I thought I was going to die, but Dad had your gun. He fumbled it so bad, though; he used to shoot for sport years ago, so I guess he was out of practice.”

I smile. “Nothing wrong with his aim. Center mass, two shots. The guy had no chance. Alec was lucky not to die trying to save you, but he sure as Hell never gave that a thought. I know how he felt.”

Emery frowns. “You gave him his money back. Why?”

“Because I told you I wasn’t like Dante, but when I thought about it, I was exactly like him. Using your father to control you was all too easy, as Dante also realized. But once you and I got closer, I felt like shit for treating you and him that way.”

“You don’t make sense,” she says. “How can you be the man you are? Which version is the genuine article?”

I don’t know. The question haunts me as much as it does her.

Alec groans and tries to sit up before slumping against me again. Emery’s gaze flashes anxiously from her father to me.

“Almost there,” Viktor says. “He’ll be okay, Emery. We’ll get him fixed up.”

I hung around with Demyan Brodsky in college but lost touch with him for years. He was cerebral yet with a menacing edge—a killer combo that got him laid a lot.

Coincidentally, Roman hired him after his brother, also a medic, was murdered by the mafia for failing to save the life of an elderly Godfather who had a terrible temper and equally shitty kidneys.

Demyan is ready for us. He knows his business—get into a private residence, clear a room, set up his equipment, and provide the best medical care money can buy, away from prying eyes. It only takes a minute to get Alec inside and into the hospital bed, set up in what used to be his study.

“I had to break in, I’m afraid.” Demyan smiles at Emery as she inspects the machines. “Now, please step back, Mrs. Vasilieva, while I tend to your father?

Emery draws herself to her full height and folds her arms. “I’m a doctor, too,” she says. “Dr. Emery Bright, ER and trauma lead, New York-Presbyterian, Lower Manhattan.”

Demyan reaches for her, and they shake hands. “My apologies. I could use a hand here.”

I watch as they hook Alec up to wires and tubes, administering drugs and taking down stats.

Emery strokes her father’s brow.“We’ll get that slug out of you, Dad,” she murmurs. “Hang tough, okay?”

Demyan nods, adjusting his glasses as he snips through the fabric of Alec’s trouser leg.

“Yep, we can get that done. Obviously, it’s not quite theatre conditions, but all my portable equipment is sterile, so he should be fine.” He looks up. “You want to assist, doctor? I’d appreciate it.”

I try to catch my wife’s eye, but she’s focused on the task at hand. I can only step aside and let her work.

Viktor and I retreat to the lounge, and he pours me a large vodka.

“So let me get this straight.” I take the glass. “I get a message implying that someone was out to abduct or hurt my wife, but weirdly, it arrives when I’m already there. Why do you think that is?”

Viktor arches a brow as he sips his drink. “Because Mr. No-Knees, who is currently crying like a bitch on the kitchen floor, is the one who sent the message?”

“You got it.” I sit heavily in an armchair. “Monitoring me is hard to do without getting caught, and I’ve kept Emery close since the wedding. Alec is another matter. I suspect Dante enlisted Alec to draw Emery away from my side so she’d be safely out of the line of fire when his men came to kill me. Except keeping Emery safe was never the priority.”

“So when she agreed to meet Alec at the cafe, he called Dante’s contact and told him where to be. Then Dante’s man contacted you and gave you an anonymous heads-up, knowing the threat to Emery would draw you into a vulnerable position.”

I throw the vodka back in one. “You got it,” I say. “And he was right. Dante’s not just coming for me. He’s coming for everything. My empire, my reputation—and her. If he can’t kill me, he’ll make me watch her bleed. That’s the kind of guy he is. And like an idiot, I walked right into the trap.”

“I don’t get why he’s playing games with you at all,” Viktor says. “So you stole his bride and humiliated him, yeah. But he knows who you are now; you’d think he’d run until his legs were stumps.”

It’s a damn good point. I can’t ignore the pervasive feeling that I’m missing something important, but what?

Even if Dante turns out to be a human trafficker extraordinaire, it doesn’t explain his insistence on drawing me out to fight.

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