Page 77 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“You came at it differently, sure,” I say as he approaches. “But you told me yourself; you wanted to stop the rot, and you did. Innocents are no longer being victimized, and the underworld won’t tolerate the kind of brutal attacks that led to your parent’s deaths.”

“I guess you’re right.”

He hands me the bowl and a pair of chopsticks. “I was too angry to be as gentle and good as my mom and dad. The society they cared so much about turned on them like a rabid dog, and I had to find an outlet for my rage. The bratva gave me a new route for justice, one I could believe in.”

We fall silent for a while, and Leon’s words echo in my mind as we eat, my headache dissipating with every bite.

The food makes me feel a lot better physically, but mentally, I’m fraying at the edges, foreboding weighing upon me.

“Your meal is acceptable,moya koroleva?” He grins as I arch a querying brow. “It means ‘my queen.’”

“I like that. I could get used to being royalty.” I pick up a piece of pork and chew it slowly. “Very good. But you could use more five-spice if you really want to impress me.”

Leon salutes solemnly, and I giggle, happy to diffuse the tension that grips me. His face is so open, warmed by his ability to care for me, and I’m loathe to spoil it.

“Leon, I feel the Dante thing is partly my fault,” I say, setting down my almost-empty bowl. “I didn’t ask for any of this, and you gave me no choice. But if you and I had never met, you wouldn’t be dealing with him.”

Leon takes the empty bowls to the kitchen counter. “I regret nothing,val’kiriya. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. And remember—Dante was fucking with me already by bringing his dirty flesh-for-cash business onto my patch, so we were gonna come to blows, one way or another. It doesn’t explain why he didn’t disappear as soon as he discovered what he was up against, though.”

I hear him pouring wine, and then he’s back and passing me a glass of something white and sparkling.

“You know Dante far better than I do,” he says. “Do you have an inkling? Anything about his life that I can use?”

“He was born and raised in Italy. His father was a lot older than his mom, and they hated one another; she had an affair and abandoned them.”

I pause to take a sip, the wine crisp and effervescent on my tongue. “Dante’s dad always told him women were shrewish and bitter by nature, and you have to get the upper hand, or they’ll walk all over you. Dante rambled about it sometimes when he was drunk.”

“Why did he come to New York?” Leon asks.

“He couldn’t stand his provincial life anymore. His dad had money, so when he died, he inherited just enough to make a new start here. He was doing pretty well with wise investment and some showboating for people like my dad. Why he’s involved with human trafficking, I don’t know.”

Leon takes a big swig and sighs from deep in his chest. “He’s an idiot, that’s why. A small man with a planet-sized ego. He’d make a great mafia man but lacks common sense, so this will be over soon.”

“And then?”

“Emery, let there be no doubt in your mind.” He puts my glass on the table so we can stretch out on the couch, side by side. “I’m going to kill him. He was done the moment I saw the bruises on your wrists. All the other stuff further justifies it, but I don’t answer to anyone. Anyone who hurts you better get his affairs in order because I will rain down my wrath like a firestorm and reduce him to ashes.”

I rest my head on his chest. “So dramatic. Most men just exchange harsh words.”

He wraps his arms around me. “Iloveyou, for fuck’s sake. And my love is quite a thing, it turns out. I’m as surprised as you are, but if you’d like me to call him a prick while I murder him, I’m at your command.”

I shudder involuntarily, his words and body heat sparking something inside.

To have Leon Vasiliev as my willing slave would be a pleasure almost too exquisite to bear.

The ache behind my eyes has faded, replaced by a warmth that has nothing to do with food or wine.

I trail my fingertips up his chest, slow and teasing. He watches me, pulse thrumming beneath my hands, as I shift—one knee sliding over his hip, then the other.

I take my time, letting my weight settle, his cock stirring beneath me as I shift deliberately in his lap. His eyes widen in shock, crinkling in the corners with amusement as I lean over and pick up my drink.

“So ask, and I shall receive, is that it?” I sip my wine and look him over. “Wow. What to do, what to do. How’s a girl to decide?”

Leon’s hands twitch at his sides, instinctively reaching for me, but I press my palms down on his wrists, pinning him to the couch.

“No touching,” I murmur, enjoying how his muscles tense beneath me.

Leon’s fingers flex, his breath ragged. His instincts scream to touch, to flip me beneath him, to reclaim control.

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