Page 61 of Baby for the Bratva King

I clench my jaw. “Please, don’t remind me.”

“Don’t you see?” Saskia shoots off the couch. “My father runs marathons to support families in need. He prides himself on being a family man—a man’s greatest accomplishment is his family, according to him, and look how I turned out,” beams Saskia. “I’m a whore.”

If Saskia is a whore, she’ll be my whore.

“Vesper can deny the accusations and say they got the wrong girl. But what about in broad daylight when I’m checking into Hotel Pozharsky with a billionaire mafia leader?”

“The world doesn’t know the truth about me, and I’d quite like it to stay that way.”

“They never have to know the truth,” says Saskia. “The rumors should cause enough of a ruckus.”

I feel the corners of my mouth tug. I’m glad Saskia is seeing things from my perspective.

I could have come to London alone, but I decided to bring Saskia after watching that newscast.

Bratva operations can take a backseat for the time being. Tormenting Vesper is fun. I want to see the color drain from his face when he sees me with his prized possession out in public. Saskia was his ticket into elite galas and high society events. She made him successful. He would be nothing without her.

And it’s about time he realizes this.

I expect my phone to start buzzing any second now. From a Bratva perspective, this looks messy, and upsetting a well-loved philanthropist might be more trouble than it’s worth.

But Saskia is worth her weight in gold. If I fall like my father did, so be it.

I’ll make sure Vesper falls harder.

15

FELIX

My father storms into the apartment the following week, bolting the door.

His skin is white, eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t blame karma for doing its job.”

“Karma is coming to kill me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to kill yourself before that happens.”

“No,” panics my father. “You remember that woman from last week?”

“The blonde one with the stockings?”

“Yeah.” My father scratches his head, pulling open the cabinet door, unscrewing a bottle of vodka. He drinks it by the bottle, gulping it down.

“Are you going to drink, or explain yourself?”

“Right,” sighs my father, blowing out a long breath after inhaling half the bottle. “Her name is Mercedes.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

“She’s the wife of a powerful mafia leader. The Gallos.”

I abandon the textbook, shooting up from the couch. “You fucked someone’s wife? What’s wrong with you?”

Better not unpack the latter question. We could be here all day, and I don’t have time to sit here moping when I have my career to think about.

Unlike my father, I don’t plan on throwing my life down the drain…