Page 48 of Brooklyn Bratva

Becca rolled her eyes and nudged against me. “Gee, thanks.” In the sunshine, she looked like some kind of goddess, and I would have set the world at her feet if I could. Enduring a tourist trap was the least I could do to make her happy. “I know you’re not a total barbarian, Ivan. You can stop pretending.”

I laughed, drawing her in against me, looping my arm around her waist so my hand could settle on her far hip. I’d be a barbarian for her. I’d rampage through any town just to give her everything that she deserved. And that was a hell of a lot more than rainbow fish under glass. “You sure it’s worth it?”

“Yes, I am. It’s like being under the ocean. The fish are so pretty. Not for eating – don’t even joke about it. They have a shark tunnel too – you’ll like that. And turtles and rays and sea lions and seals.”

I couldn’t stop smiling at her – this woman who made the darkness inside me light up, getting so excited over a glorified fish tank, but I shook my head at her all the same. This was the start of the rest of our lives together, even though she didn’t know it yet. If she wanted the whole ocean, I’d give it to her. “Okay. I already said we could go.”

Out of season, as we were, the line to get inside was short enough, but I flashed my badge at the bored-looking security guard all the same, and he opened the barrier for us with a stiff nod, shoulders square and eyes comically forward like if he didn’t look at us nobody was going to see him cutting me a favor. It was about as subtle as a big fat Mason’s handshake. But what did it matter? I had standing. What the hell had I been wasting my time for all these years if I couldn’t show Becca some of the perks my job could bring, even if today all it meant was cutting the queue.

Her hand fit perfectly in mine, as though my larger palm was made to wrap around hers and her slim fingers had been made to slip exactly between mine. Lock and key, hand and glove.

Gleefully, she dragged me inside, pulling me through tunnels of tropical fish, swimming through carefully curated tanks, full coral and brightly colored seaweed, floating back and forth with artificial currents in the water. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

I kissed her under the arched tunnel of water, brushing the hair back from her face, amongst the shrieks of an enthusiastic group of school children.

Becca was looking up through the water, turning on the spot. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“One day, I’ll take you somewhere we can see all these for real.”

Becca darted a glance in my direction and her smile crept up slowly, warming through her as though she really liked the sound of that. “One day, huh?”

“One day real soon.”

She grinned. “Maybe not the sharks. I could live without swimming with sharks.”

I let out a low huff. “Sharks make the sea what it is,” I said, indicating a sign on the wall that told us just that and she rolled her eyes at me. “It’s true. You need the predators to keep everything in order, take out the rot, then everything is safe for everyone else. It’s balance.”

“You’re not a shark, Ivan. I’ll go swimming with you.”

I shrugged. “I’d rather be a shark than a lionfish.” The beautiful, wispy finned creatures that could float like drifting seaweed were apparently so destructive and invasive that out of their natural habitat they were culled and divers were encouraged to kill them on sight. Their take over was insidious and far more destructive than any shark could be, wiping out huge numbers of native fish with no defenses, damaging reefs and pushing out other species. I’d definitely rather be a shark.

“You’re not a lionfish either.” Becca slipped her hand into mine again, leading me outside, over to the display pools. Her grin crept up. “I think maybe you’re a sealion though!”

They were midway through a display and the bulky, whiskered sealion was up on a podium giving a fearsome bark, reared up, posturing, showing off it’s impressive size like a gorilla of the sea, banging its chest.

She laughed, and I made a grab for her, arms around her waist, nipping growled kisses at her neck.

“A sealion, huh?”

Becca’s body vibrated with laughter against mine, her back pressed against my chest, every contour of her body making mine stiffen against hers as she twisted in my arms. She looked up, eyes gleaming. “Mm. Maybe not. You don’t have the moustache for it.”

I let her watch the rest of the show – the trainers encouraging the creatures to leap out of the water in tight circles and do tricks for fish – making an excuse to slip away and make a phone call. I had an idea, and a favor to call in that could make it happen.

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