Page 83 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“I don’t know yet,” I reply. “Get dressed and stay in the bedroom while I deal with it.”

“I’m not gonna hide like some?—”

“Emery, they are on their way up. You wanna show Roman and Viktor what you got, then go right ahead, but I’ll have to kill them both. Which is a shame because they’re my best friends.”

She frowns, but the sound of the apartment door opening makes up her mind, and she darts into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I tug my pants over my hips just before Roman appears, a frown darkening his face.

“Oh, I see. I remember I used to do a lot of daytime sleeping when I was pakhan.”

“No, you didn’t?—”

“My point exactly, you lazy cunt.” He grins. “Emery still recovering, is she? I’m not stupid.”

“Asleep,” I lie. “So what’s the deal here?”

Viktor shows me his phone screen. “This is your friend from the High Line, Michael. His buddies call him Mikey, so I didn’t.”

I smile. It’s evident from the man’s state that Viktor wasn’t trying to make friends.

“He has family in Tuscany who Dante knows well, and he came to New York to make money for them,” Viktor continues. “That was before Dante went kinda nuts, apparently. The kid wouldn’t tell me shit, even after I did this to him.”

“Scared more for his wife and kid’s safety than his fingers,” I say, examining the photo. “Gotta respect that.”

“I agree,” Viktor says. “He said he wouldn’t survive this no matter what; Dante is paranoid as fuck, so once he’d failed to assassinate you, he knew he was screwed. If I killed him, he would not look like a traitor, and his family would likely be left alone.”

“So Michael is…?”

“Touring the river bed, sans pulse.” Viktor shrugs. “So that got me nowhere. I went through his phone and found a contact name—fratello.”

“Brother,” I say. “And?”

“His brother actually picked up. He was pissed when I told him about Michael, but once he got past that, he turned his anger on Dante. Said he’d help us fuck him up—and he’s got intel. Dante’s losing it, accusing everyone of betrayal, so his crew’s ready to jump ship. Figuratively, I mean.”

“Ah, the classic self-fulfilling prophesy.” I glance at Roman. “You think we can trust him?”

“He’s the best lead we have,” Roman says. “He’s been helpful, telling Viktor where The Cobra goes and who the clients are. It’s his job to set up meetings with buyers and people Dante wants to schmooze with, so he’s at the center of the operation.”

“Okay, fine,” I say. “You two look fucking stupid in yourMission Impossibleespionage get-up, by the way; how many pockets have you got in those cargo pants? You must be able to carry all your makeup.”

I give him my best dickhead grin. “So what’s the plan?”

“We’ll tell you on the way,” Roman says. He only ignores my insults when he’s all business, so I’m obliged to take him seriously. “We gotta get moving. Put a shirt on, it’s fucking freezing out there. The rest of the boys are downstairs.”

“Leave someone here to watch over?—”

“Emery,” Roman says, looking past me. “Hey, sweetheart. How goes it?”

I turn around. My wife is standing in the doorway, wearing her work scrubs.

“I’m late,” she says. “Debra messaged me earlier and asked whether I’d pull a last-minute shift, so seeing as you’re busy?—”

“No.” I cut her off, and a spot of pink appears on each of her cheeks. “It’s not safe. Stay here and rest. Make sure you eat something.”

A flash of fury colors her eyes briefly before giving way to concern.

“Leon. Don’t go. You don’t have to. Let them handle it, and I’ll stay here with you.”

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