Page 38 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I’m Ava Volkov. I’m the heir to the Volkov Bratva, but I can’t have it until I’m twenty-five. And if I wait, then I’ll lose it, I know it.”
I don’t speak for a beat. Then I say, “What’s the crest?”
Her eyes light up, hinting to another real emotion.
“It’s meant to prove ownership, but possession of it isn’t in my father’s will. I… need…” She stops, and her shoulders lift. “Protection.”
No, she wants something else. That’s in the fucking air. But I keep playing her like a fiddle, and I can actually play the fucking fiddle, thanks to Mam and lessons and my natural talent.
“I can help with that. We have connections through St. Jane’s church. If you want protection, then a passage out of New York. A new life is your best bet.”
Her beautiful face transforms, her expression changing from hope to dark thunder, and finally to a careful mask of manufactured fear once more.
I continue. “Because if you want to battle for a bratva you don’t have control over, then you’re out of luck. We don’t fight battles that aren’t our own.”
She takes a closer step, right into the danger zone, because from here, it’d take no more than an outstretched finger to touch her.
“But,” Ava says, “you fought Iosif’s battle.”
“Not a battle. We were security for a party. That’s it. Anything else that came of that night, like the bombing, or something else that rises up between Romanov and Assisi, isn’t our problem.”
Ava frowns. “But you want to know about the crest and the other bomber.”
“Consider it personal curiosity that stops short of a death wish. And for the record, sweet thing, I think you planted those bombs. So that whole shit show is connected to you, notRomanov. Of course, you mentioned you need protection from Romanov so I have to wonder?—”
“It has nothing to do with that night,” she rushes to say.
I smile. “Now I think that makes you a dirty liar.”
She shuts her eyes a moment as she sucks in a breath. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it to me. Will he stop you from running? Try to kill you?”
“I’m not running. I saw your brother, Seamus,” she says, my name like a drop of poison on her tongue, “at that church. I thought maybe I could run away a year ago, but… I can’t now. And Romanov isn’t a ‘kill me’ kind of threat. At least I don’t think he is.”
“You saw Seamus at church? You sure about that? He isn’t much of a churchgoer. Take it from me. I know.” And I wink at her.
She glares. “Yes, I’m sure. And I can’t run away, even if I wanted to abandon my birthright. There’s something Romanov has, something I can’t leave behind.”
There’s truth in her words, but she doesn’t elaborate.
I let my arms fall to my sides but pause just enough to touch her, a hand whispering up to her cheek, to brush against the bruise on her jaw. It’s not makeup. Apart from mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick, I don’t think she’s wearing any.
“What is it?”
“Not your concern.” She shakes her head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you?” I murmur, sliding my hand under the heavy silk of her hair.
“I need a husband.”
Okay, now she has my attention. I look around and then back at her. “Sorry, I don’t see any lying around.”
She swallows. “Callahan… I… you must have someone who can help me.”
“I never said I’m Cal.”
