Page 95 of Stolen By The Bratva King

Dante getting away has pissed me the fuck off. I doubt we will hear from the idiot again, but that’s cold comfort.

His life may be worth nothing, but I still wanted to be the one to end it.

I havemylife ahead of me. Emery is mad at me, but it won’t last, and I’ll do better. I’m sure I can learn to be less controlling; it comes from the part of me that still hasn’t forgiven myself for letting my parents die.

In time, I’ll let it go and heal—if my wife will help me.

And she will; I know it. Emery has more empathy than anyone I’ve ever known, and she believes in me. If that sweet, strong woman can love an asshole like me, maybe there’s hope for me yet.

“You’re lost in thought, which must be a genuine risk, given how much space there is in your thick head,” Roman says, handing me a cup of coffee.

I take the drink gratefully, the cup warm in my hands. “Yeah, yeah. Let me ask you something. How do you not hate yourself? You know, for the things you’ve done?”

“All these years and you never asked me that before.” Roman sips his coffee, staring at the dark water as it rushes past. “It’s kinda simple; Quinn loves me, and I do my best to earn it. She made me think differently about myself and my life.”

“Which is why you stepped down from the bratva leadership?”

He nods. “You’re not like me, though. I can’t imagine you changing for a woman like I did—not even Emery. I don’t doubt you love her, but you won’t let that destroy you.”

I’m about to retort when my phone begins to buzz, messages arriving thick and fast as my cell finally finds the satellite.

There’s an emergency at work. Call off Felix.

Tell Felix to let me leave. He won’t listen to me.

I know you’re busy, but I need you to answer me.

?

????

Then, worst of all—nothing.

I call Emery immediately, cutting her off as soon as she answers.

“Hi, Emery here?—”

“Val’kiriya, I’m sorry, I?—”

“You have reached my voicemail,” the recorded message continues. “I’m probably at work, on my way there, on my way back, or asleep.”

The little trill of laughter I love so much sounds tinny and strange through the speaker. “So leave me a message, and if I get a minute, I’ll get back to you.”

“Dante’s still alive,” I say into the phone. “Stay put, and I’ll come and take you to the hospital myself.”

I hang up and redial.

“Felix?” The boat engine quietens as we slowly approach the harbor, and I realize I’m talking too loudly. “Status report.”

“Nothing to see,” he says. “Emery ordered food, but that was it. She’s inside, and I’m sitting in the corridor outside, just like she asked me to.”

“Good.”

The reassurance isn’t hitting right for some reason. It lands like a pebble in a well—too small to reach the bottom.

I don’t believe my wife, a brilliant and dedicated doctor, would give up so easily.

“What about the emergency at the hospital?” I ask. “Did she say what it was?”

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