Held by the Bratva: an Age Gap Mafia Boss Stalker Romance

4. Caterina

CATERINA

There’s a long pause while I think of my apartment downstairs, and how much I don’t want to return to it. I nearly died. I have to make the most of my life.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if I can stay here, or if Brody will find me another apartment in the building when he sighs, and asks, “Is that all your wounds tended to?”

“Yes.” My voice has gone all high-pitched. My anxiety is out in full force despite my resolution.

I’m naturally shy—you don’t make it to twenty-two never having even kissed anyone in a horny way without being painfully introverted—but until this moment I was more focused on my fear of what Brody had saved me from than who he was. Is.

He stands and I’m struck anew by how tall he is. How huge. My eye level is at… Yeah. It’s at his crotch. My heart races. He’s wearing a dark-grey suit that I suppose is wool, as it somehow is more sinister than absolute black. The fabric seems to gobble up all the surrounding light, at his command. Because although I can’t see much more than his outline, that’s easily enough for mine to respond. He’s broad shouldered, and narrow hipped. And there’s a bulge in his trousers that steals my breath.

He reaches down and takes my hands in his, and I look all the way up his body, unable to look away as he helps me to my feet. For a second, he keeps his hands on mine and my heart beats like a fluttering bird in a cage.

Dropping my hands, he turns abruptly and strides out of the bathroom, leaving me to scurry behind to a lounge with plush blue sofas. Gesturing at one, he sits in another. A safe distance, away, my brain fills in.

“Now.” His expression is suggestive of an interview. Or an interrogation. “What would make you feel better?”

“I don’t know.” It’s all over, isn’t it? At least until I figure out what to do next.

But the emotions are hitting me like an aftershock. I’m worried about my parents—their holiday is too conveniently timed to be anything but their escape, but even so—I can’t help wondering if I’ll see them again. They might hide forever.

And my injuries are beginning to sting as my adrenaline reduces.

“What would you usually do if you were sad?” Brody asks.

Honestly? I’d probably obsess a bit over my hot neighbour. That was, after all, what I was doing when I was tense about my upcoming exam. I try to think of something more plausible.

“Phone my parents,” I say in a small voice.

“Mm.” His mouth sets in a hard flat line. “That’s not a good idea.”

“I know.”

“What about ice cream?” Brody asks.

I nod, even as I’m confused. Yes, I like ice cream.

“Good,” he replies seriously. This is an undertaking he’s not taking lightly. His brow furrows with thought. “And revenge pizza?”

“What’s revenge pizza?” He doesn’t look like a pizza kind of man. More like a steak with a super-healthy salad bowl and protein-something with extra vitamins. Even hidden in the suit, it’s clear my landlord is in amazing shape.

That he’s my landlord makes him seem more forbidden, and my body likes that, sparkling at how naughty it is that he saved me and I’m now in his penthouse.

“Pizza with a thick layer of cheese, a deep crust, pineapple, and anything else that would greatly offend any Italian. Good Russian pizza.”

I giggle, I can’t help it.

“Something funny?” He quirks up one dark eyebrow.

“Good Russian pizza,” I parrot back.

“Da. The best you’ve ever had. I guarantee it.” And while he isn’t smiling, I swear there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “And a movie. Maybe The Godfather.”

Trying to keep as straight a face as him, I fail. “What about a romcom?”

“I suggest you do not push your luck, moya koshechka.”

He’s so funny. Well, I think he’s making a joke. He’s also called me that a few times.

“What does it mean? Moya koshechka.” I garble the pronunciation a bit. “It’s Russian, right?”

There’s a pause and his expression goes serious again. “Cat,” he says eventually.

“Oh. Because of my name. And I guess you picked me up like a stray cat.” I laugh awkwardly.

“You’re not stray anymore.” For a second I’m sure he’s going to say something else. But he only narrows his eyes and asks, “What movie?”

“One with a happy ending.” I want the spark back in his eye. “Does The Godfather end happily?”

“Ah… Maybe torture by romcom will be necessary.” And despite his teasing, he hands me the remote and tells me to rent whatever I like.

There’s some devil on my shoulder that makes me scroll through while he’s out of the room until I find an old-school romantic comedy that is as smutty and cringe as anything I’ve ever watched.

I’m so aware of his every shift as he sits next to me on the sofa, raising his eyebrows at my choice of movie but settling in and offering me a bowl of salt-and-sweet popcorn. Then half an hour into the movie, he rises and comes back with a pizza. I take in the ham, pineapple, and dripping cheese-covered pizza with a grin.

“See, savoury revenge with cheese is delicious,” Brody says deadpan.

“Italians would be horrified with what you did to this poor, innocent pizza.” I laugh, breathing in the heavenly scent of cheese and bread. It’s good to make light of what happened today. I’m alive, after all. I’m eating pizza with my landlord, not sleeping with the fishes. I’m lucky.

“Exactly,” he says with almost too much relish. “You’ll want these, too.”

He passes me a box of Ibuprofen, and I whisper “Thanks” as I push them out of the foil with a satisfying pop.

We stuff our faces with the most enjoyable pizza ever and sit side by side but not touching, watching the movie. It’s oddly intimate.

I’ve only ever locked eyes with this man, and now he’s next to me, passing me food like we’re… friends?

Friends, but I’d like to have him inside of me. Friends, but I want his babies.

The movie is good enough, but not sufficient to block out my thoughts as my cuts begin to ache, despite the painkillers. But it’s amazing how much better I feel. Like, I really could have died today, and when I expected it, all I thought about was the man next to me, who is now wincing at the bad acting on screen.

But still. I could be dead right now.

I grab the remote and mute the television before I can talk myself out of this incredibly stupid impulse.

“What do people think about when they’re about to die?” I blurt out.

Brody turns to me, and blinks. “I don’t know,” he replies mildly. “What did you think about?”

There’s a pause during which I regret all my decisions. Possibly including the whole surviving to begin this conversation.

“That I’ve never been kissed.” And about you. I was thinking about you, and how I wished I’d known you, and that you’d taken my V-card.

“Never?”

I’m conflicted, because I’m revealing that I’m such an incredibly sad case that I’ve not managed to get a boy to kiss me in twenty-two years. I’m cringing. Blushing. But on the other hand, Brody’s gaze just dipped to my lips. And it has stayed there.

And I’m supposed to be bold with this new lease of life. And he said he didn’t want me to leave… So?

“Would you…” I guess I think he’ll fill in the gap, to save me having to say the words. In my dreams he simply knows and kisses me without my having to request anything.

“Would I do what, Caterina?” There’s a hard edge to his question, but I’ve had worse today.

I swallow and look into his steel eyes.

“Kiss me.”