BRODY
She hasn’t said a word since my possessive outburst. I suspect she’s in shock.
I think I might be too. When she kept saying that she was leaving, I lost control, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I’m not letting her go. She can hate me, and think she’s a captive, but I can’t keep breathing without her.
To the point that I’ve put my mafia boss reputation on the line.
Caterina doesn’t complain or ask anything as I say we’re going to her exam, just following me into the elevator and to the car. I tell myself that I take her hand and entwine our fingers tight because I don’t want her to escape, but I’m a fucking liar.
I want the closeness we had last night.
We arrive at the hotel in Lambeth that has become the unofficial meeting place for the London Mafia Syndicate.
This is not the first time I’ve called an emergency meeting. It’s not even the first time within a month. And admittedly, I am on the verge of getting kicked out.
They were already annoyed at me for slitting the throat of a svolach man they were squabbling about who was going to kill, then trying to find the Italians has decimated the last bit of mypatience. I got impatient with Marco Brent for not handing over more information. The damage to the floor from my shooting it—look, it was very restrained that I didn’t actually shoot Brent—was totally fixable. Plus, the relationship between Blackstone and his “convenient wife” has reputedly been much better since that incident.
I did give myself a reputation for being more easily angered than is generally the case. Caterina’s safety does that to me.
But while there was some understanding about my position when I was desperately searching for the men who hurt my girl, I have a feeling an emergency meeting to help her avoid an examination could be less sympathetically met.
There’s a small group of mafia bosses and their wives, all atypically informal because of the late notice. Where the women usually dress up for the official meets, Jessa Lambeth is in jeans and has a baby on her hip. She appears to be in an intense discussion with the Blackstone kingpin and his wife about the sling Blackstone is wearing that contains a sleeping baby. Blackstone is holding his wife’s hand, toying with her fingers and the casual intimacy hits me in the gut.
I want that with Caterina. Her hand in mine, our baby close by.Our baby.
There are still people arriving, but I don’t wait. “Thank you for coming.”
“Always,” Westminster replies seriously, and a couple of the other men nod.
“Grant couldn’t make it,” Jessa Lambeth says breezily. “I came instead. Who’s your companion, Angel?”
I feel Caterina jerk with surprise at me being called by my mafia territory.
“This is my captive, bane of my life, pet cat, and destroyer of my most treasured possession,” I reply, nudging Caterina forward, but I keep her hand gripped in mine.
There’s silence.
“Sorry about the coffee,” Caterina mumbles, then glances around warily as she chuffs with nervous laughter. I suppose the London Mafia Syndicate are intimidating, even when half of them seem to be off duty.
“Was the treasured possession your cock?” The Mayfair kingpin, Artem Moroz, asks in Russian. He barely bothers to hide his smirk, and I glare at him.
“No,” I return in the same language. “My sanity.” Coffee is basically the same thing.
“Sounds like love to me,” Jessa pipes up.
“Angel, are you not even going to fake that she’s your girlfriend?” Rhys Cavendish asks wryly. “It is the Maths Club rule.” He shares an intimate look with his wife and jealousy spikes down my spine.
I glance down at Caterina, who is biting her lip in a way that’s ambiguous as to whether it’s worry or holding back a smile.
“That was not an option,” I reply with more diplomacy than I’m known for. “She’s mycaptive.”
“Captive.” Westminster’s face goes dark as a Russian winter.
“Sure,” drawls Artem, outright amused now.
“He rescued me,” Caterina interjects. My surprise must show on my face, because she adds, “I guess.”
