Sliding an arm around my waist, he pulls me inside the house. “Well, you passed my mother’s test. Everyone else will fall into line. I’m impressed, wife.”
“How did I pass her test?”
“She’s like a cat, she must come to you. I couldn’t introduce you to the rest of the family until she invited you. She approves of you.” His arm has slipped down a bit and his hand is almost resting on my ass.
Looking back briefly at the tragedy in the koi pond, I allow him to lead me into the house. I’ll tell him later. “Is there a reason you’re attempting to molest me in the hallway?”
“You’re right,” he agrees, “I won’t molest you in the hallway. The library, on the other hand…”
Sweeping me up as I give a startled yelp, Cameron takes off for the library.
Chapter Fifteen
In which Morana’s past rises up to haunt her.
Morana…
When my phone rings, I nearly leap across the table to get it. There are only three people who have my number, and Hamish and Miss Kevin are here.
“Hello, husband. Please tell me there are no more mysterious trips to Morocco?”
“How sweet, Morana Ivanova. So nice to see you’ve settled into your Stockholm Syndrome so easily.”
I swallow past a surge of nausea. “How did you get my number, Artim Ivanov?”
“Did you think your father would give up on you that easily? Or Vadik Stepanov? He executed twenty-eight guards that day.” His oily voice makes me feel dirty, coated with his shared filth. I look around the deck wildly, as if expecting him to step out of the bushes.
“You’re going to have to find something else to sell off for the Bratva, Artim Ivanov. I’m married, and no longer useful as collateral.” There’s sweat beading on my forehead but I’m shivering.
He’s disgusted. “You are happy believing you are married to thatkusok der'ma,that piece of shit?”
“Cameron doesn’t beat me up and rape me in front of his men, so that seems a positive beginning,” I say.
“What do you really think he wants you for, cousin? Do you think his family will welcome a daughter from the Bratva that killed his second? A member of their clan?”
Sitting down abruptly, I ask, “What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t tell you? But I thought there was such trust between you,” he sneers.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Wait! Morana Ivanova, you must listen to me.” The desperation in his voice makes me pause. I hate him. But I’ve never heard him sound this way.
“Our Bratva killed his second in command, Ferr MacTavish, when we caught him spying, along with some of his men. He was their cousin. Cameron took you as revenge. Our sources say he’s bragging about fooling you into thinking you’re married. He’s ruined you and laughs about it.”
I don’t believe him. Artim is a bastard. He’s a liar…
“You don’t need to worry. The Pakhan has no intention of stealing you back,” he says, suddenly sounding exhausted. “The Stepanov Bratva is cutting ties with us unless we pay a fee for Vadik’s lost bride. Now that you’re spoiled, he doesn’t want you, either.”
“Then there’s nothing left to say, I’m hanging up.”
“Morana Ivanova, you may hate us all, but when the MacTavish bastards dump you in the street, you will have nothing. Help us, and we will help you.” There’s a pleading, desperate tone I’ve never heard from Artim before. Is it really that dire?
“What do you want, Artim Ivanov? You know I don’t have any money.”
“We know you don’t. What you do have is your tracking chip.”
My blood turns to ice. How could I have been so stupid? Everyone in my father’s Bratva has a tracking chip inserted under the skin on their shoulder. They’ve known exactly where I am, likely right down to the square foot this entire time. “So that was you, trying to break into the house that night.”
