Page 7 of Brooklyn Bratva

I tossed the guy at him, and he practically collapsed, legs shaking. I was surprised he didn’t piss himself. Then again, maybe he didn’t know better and only saw a cop when he looked at me.

“Book him,” I snarled. “And his scum-sucking friend back there.”

The pair of them had wasted enough of my time. I needed to meet the woman my best friend’s daughter had grown into.

Re-holstering my gun, I prowled back to the cafe, rolling the tension out of my shoulders. The adrenaline was beginning to disperse now that I knew Becca was no longer in danger and all of her possessions were safe. I was still pumped though, and all I wanted to do was fuck her into the middle of next week but unfortunately that wasn’t going to happen.

Mehmet was standing guard next to her, his beefy arms folded over the top of his ample belly and I nodded my thanks to him. Pulling out my wallet, I handed him a fifty to clear the bill and to reward him for his loyalty. All stick and no carrot didn’t get anyone anywhere, and I knew that as well as my bosses did. His eyes widened, but he knew better than to question my decision and he stuffed the money into the pocket of his apron with a short nod.

I shouldered Becca’s bag without another word and handed over phone her back, holding her deep brown eyes for a long moment.

“Hey,” she said, after a long beat. Her smile was so bright and warm, like she’d been longing to see me for months.

“Hey yourself. You should be more careful.”

The flush lit up her face, tinting her cheeks pink and reddening her ears. “I know. I can’t believe I let that happen. I didn’t even see them. They must have had me pegged back on the train. Thank you so much.”

She clutched her phone against her breast and I had a moment of sheer insanity when I wanted to wrench it away from her again, because I was the only person or thing who should be allowed to get so close to her skin.

It took all the self control I had to stay standing as far apart from her as I did.

“You looked distracted. Like a tourist.”

I couldn’t shove her up against the wall and kiss her the way I wanted to. Not yet, when all she knew me as was her Dad’s friend, when all she was expecting was a place to stay and someone to look out for her.

Somehow I had to play it cool. Treating her like the kid I could clearly see she wasn’t was my only defense and my only tactic.

“Don’t let it happen again. Your Dad would kill me.”

I leaned closer, and pulled the remaining earbud out of her ear, letting the wires dangle. My nose wrinkled at the crooning excuse for music that came out of the tiny speakers.

“What is this your listening to?”

“It’s blatnaya pesnya.”

My snarl deepened, disgust curling my upper lip. She didn’t need to be listening to overly romanticized music that glorified criminality the way only Russians knew it existed. “You like Russian music, we have geniuses. Composers, pianists. Not these crooners trying to pretend there’s romance in leaving your family to fend for themselves while you’re in prison.”

Becca’s lips thinned, and I wanted to kiss the pout off her face. She shoved the earbud back in.

“I like it. I like everything Russian.”

I scoffed a laugh, my lips quirking into my first real smile in months. My eyes tracked slowly over her body, down along her curves and all the way along her legs before scooting back up, pausing at the perfectly round swell of her breasts. I had to tear my eyes away to look back at her face.

“You think you like gangsters? Men who’ve seen winters in a Siberian prison. You don’t know who you’re idolizing.”

I heard her breathing hitch and she bit her lip like she was trying to draw my attention to her lips. She pulled the headphones out again and winding them up. “Were you ever in prison over there?”

I felt my eyes darken. “No.” They’d needed a man with a clean record to take on the position I had now. Police officers couldn’t be ex-cons. “You think every Russian is a gangster?” I snarled. “This is the problem with the West. You like everyone in neat little boxes that you already have the labels on.”

Becca’s eyes softened, cheeks still glowing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean I thought you were involved with the mafia. I didn’t – you’re the most stand-up guy I know. Of course you haven’t been to prison. That was a stupid thing to ask. It was just – the way you said it.”

She was far too open, far too innocent. One harsh word and she gave up on her questions. Someone was going to take advantage of her one of these days. Hell, I already was, given she thought I was the whiter-than-white good guy my record as a cop made out. There hadn’t been a time when that was all that I was, with nothing else to it.

---