Leo sidles up to the bar. Throws his arm around me. “Hey, big man,” he says, breathing harsh vodka breath in my face.“I heard you took out that wannabe Epstein. Left a daughter behind, but. Why didn’t you just do both?”
I grind my teeth, try to lean away. But he doesn’t take the hint.
“You know, no loose ends.” He wags a finger in my face.“Why not just do the bitch too?” I take a long sip of beer and a deep breath, then turn to him.
“He deserved it,” I snarl. “She didn’t.”
“No? He looks down and whispers. “Or did you do her too? He raises his small glass between his two fat fingers. “Maybe took her as your personal?—”
I move fast. Grab his wrist and slam the glass right into the middle of his face. It shatters. He squeals, spits and shakes his head. I twist his arm up behind his back and slam him into the counter so hard teeth go flying.
Big mistake.
My life in the Bratva, in this city, is over.
The other two, Sergei and Alek, rush me. They have to. I’ve just crossed an unholy line.
I weave to the side, duck Alek’s punch, and hit him so hard across the face his neck makes a crunching noise.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I am literally sacrificing my life here— for Mara.
My Mara.
But, just as when I was buried inside her, intimately roleplaying with her, listening to her sassy voice, seeing her passion forphotography or watching her walk away from me in tight jeans, I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. What’s wrong with me? I cannot remove any thoughts ofherfrom my mind. In my business, this is not good.
Sergei ends up in a bloody heap on the floor, glass all over his face.
“We won’t forget this,” he croaks, barely clinging to consciousness.
Dammit.They’re right.
I flipped out over Mara. They know she’s alive, and now they know I care about her. It’s a weakness, a chink in my armour, a problem.
And not just my problem— it’s hers too.
I need to go.
Now.
8
MARA
Conflicted, my word of the week. Even after the blowout with Radomir, I still find myself lying in bed with my hand between my legs. Still excited by the image of that savage, possessive expression every time I called him, ‘Daddy’.
I should hate him. He killed my father. But I can’t stop replaying that explosive lust. Not his. I expected that. But mine. I never knew such feelings existed. And the atmosphere underneath it, the sense of belonging, the attention in his eyes when I talked about my passion, my photography, my life. Genuine interest. In those moments, I felt safe. Needed.
He made my darkened soul sing. And now, my body cries out for more. My soul. He darkened it, then rebuilt it. How can the angel of death also be my guardian angel? Conflicted!
I bite my lip, grind the heel of my palm against my clit. Mentally picture Rad as he leaned over me, as he?—
The apartment buzzer suddenly pierces my fantasy. Damn!
My roommate is at work at the bar. It’s just me here. I think about ignoring it—Sure, I can, I reassure myself—I’m busy—but then it goes off again. And again. Finally, it goes quiet. I freeze. Could it be Rad? I stand, trembling. My thighs rub together super sensitively as I tiptoe through the apartment. Just when I reach the front door, I hear a grunt from the hallway.
“Angel, if you’re near the door, step back.”
