Page 34 of Brutal Promise

“I had a nightmare,” she reassures me in a voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s normal. They will eventually go away.”

She nestles into my muscular chest. I pull her close and murmur into the top of her head, “It will all be fine, I promise.” Why am I so protective of her? She’s a stranger, and yet, I want to get to know everything about her. When in the past, I never cared so much for any woman.

13

IZZY

“What do you mean I can’t leave? I need to work. How can I do that under house arrest?”

“It’s not house arrest the way you think. This is for your protection,” Dmitry argues.

“I’m not Alena. I know she has more freedom than most of the girls in your bratva family, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“Mm, we’ll see about that. You need to understand that you belong to me now.”

“That sounds horrible. You can’t just take me. I’m not a piece of property to be claimed or traded,” I protest.

“That’s how it is for now. Better you have a life to live than no one to mourn you at your funeral.”

I screw up my face before exclaiming, “That’s terrible!”

“Let’s not forget that I risked my life for you.”

“You’d do that for any innocent woman…” but my voice falters. It’s no secret that Dmitry is connected to one of the more ruthless crime syndicates in New York City. By no means is he an angel. He may be demanding and exciting in bed, but he’s dangerous and should probably be in prison. He’s not your typical bad boy.

“You know what I think?” he says with a smirk. “You have daddy issues.”

I’d love to slap that stupid grin off his wickedly handsome face. Something tells me he would be tempted to slap me back, so I clench my fists and control my impulses.

“What if you woke up one day and discovered your entire life was based on lies? I have no one to tell me the truth unless we find a living relative. Even if I were adopted, I’d have to have relatives somewhere.”

But where are they? In New York City, more than likely, simply because of the directive to never come here. Mom had to be afraid of something.

“I could do a DNA test. It would turn up tons of people.” I’m excited at the prospect of using technology to answer the questions burning inside of me.

“It’s too late, our enemies know more than us, and they want you. If they find you first, I doubt you’d survive. These men aren’t going to put you up in a fancy hotel or condo.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate our comfortable surroundings. “They are killers who deal in human trafficking as a side business,” Dmitry says with a sinister tone that sends a shiver up my spine. “Let’s eat. You’ll find something you like.” Just like that, he changes the topic.

The atmosphere suddenly changes as our heated exchange ends, and he shows me to the dining room.

I may as well be a prisoner, trapped here with a man who can wreck me with one soft look, one touch, one word.

Resigned to my fate, I sit at a table crammed with enough food to feed us for a week. Dmitry hands me a plate, and I load it with a porterhouse steak, twice-baked potato, and creamed spinach. Hungry, I cut into the steak first. When I put the first bite in my mouth, some of the steak juice runs down my chin. To avoid embarrassing myself in front of Dmitry, I grab a napkin and quickly wipe it away. Who knew murder and mayhem stimulated one’s appetite? Maybe this is why men like Dmitry do what they do; the excitement and stimulation can be addicting.

I chew and watch Dmitry eat slowly and deliberately. Maybe I was expecting him to eat with his hands. His gun is on the table next to his unused utensils. Instead, his manners are impeccable, and I wonder how he got into organized crime. Alena seems normal enough, but she’s not running around at night playing butcher.

Nope, she’s the opposite. Her drugs of choice: hot men and the hottest designer clothing and shoes. She told me about a secret place where she and her rich friends get their pick of the merchandise before it hits the public.

“Why are you so adamant about protecting me? I’m nothing to you,” I ask to clear the fog of confusion between us. The entire day has upended my life.

“You don’t know how to survive in my world. I know what it takes to survive. In time, you will, too.” His voice is low, deliberately controlled, and I can’t read his emotions. “To avoid being recognized, I keep a visible persona for the public. I use that persona to move about freely to carry on business. But our lower-ranking soldiers don’t even know my name.” He finishes chewing, puts his knife down, and gives me a soft look, one that brings warmth to my face and between my legs.Damn him.

“You are barely twenty-three years old. What do you know of life? Of love, of loss? Sure, you had it tough without your parents. Losing a lover is just as painful. Have you ever been in love with a man?”

“That’s personal.” I shove a bite of mashed potatoes into my mouth to buy me time before he bombards me with more questions.

“Fine, I already know the answer.” His glib retort tells me he never asks a question unless he knows the answer.

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