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

11. Caterina

CATERINA

The Dark Angel.

He’s a legend in this part of London, and he’s been living above me all this time.

The Dark Angel has a reputation, shall we say? He’s ruthless, but a shadow. He makes snap decisions, in and out of situations in a blink. He’s cold and calculating, and he leaves death in his wake. The kingpin of Angel doesn’t ask questions, he judges. And no god can help you if the Dark Angel has decided you’re not wanted in his territory. The only punishment is death. No one survives an encounter with the Dark Angel, it seems.

Except me.

The only thing that doesn’t stack up here is that he’s been so kind and attentive. I’m nobody.

Though there are whispers of the Dark Angel’s compassion, too. Always whispers. No one has ever met him or seen him, but rumours abound of his cold fury when someone is mistreated.

And looking at the glint in Brody’s grey eyes… I can believe it. He’s Angel? Yeah. It suits him better, to be honest.

I should ask him about what he means by having me meet the wealthiest men in London, but I don’t. I gulp, and as he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, all the time regarding me carefully, as though I might run away, I voice the question I’ve needed to know. Have to know.

“Why have the men in the photos got their eyes closed?”

“Do not ask questions you do not want to hear the answer to, moya koshechka,” he advises quietly.

“I do want to hear,” I insist. Because I’m brave now, aren’t I?

Not brave enough to tell Brody how you feel,a horrible little voice in my head says. Not brave enough to ask him for what you really want.

Shut up. This is different, and serious, I tell the nasty voice. This is totally different to my crush gone wild and having fallen right into adoration of this darkly protective, dangerous, kind kingpin.

“Mm. I think you know why their eyes are closed.” Brody types into his phone with more force than strictly necessary.

Okay, that’s true.

Their eyes are closed because they’re dead, I finally admit to myself.

“You’re searching for the men who hurt me?” I ask instead.

“I work with law enforcement.”

“Really,” I say flatly. That doesn’t feel likely somehow. He’s far too sinister for the police.

“Yes.”

Defiantly, I reach for my cup of tea, and our gazes meet. A shiver of something hot and dark goes down my whole body.

“The police,” I repeat, allowing my scepticism to show.

“Well.” He tips his head to the side. “Law enforcement. Or rather, people who enforce the law.”

“The actual law, or some made-up law?” What has been happening? I feel a bit nauseous.

He shrugs and takes a sip of coffee. “I don’t see the difference. Laws are only rules we made up and think are right, with some extra paperwork. I don’t like paperwork.”

“That’s why you won’t let me go to my exam, right? Because you,” I don’t know how my stomach feels about this, “are going to kill the men who attacked me.”

He nods, teeth clenched.

And just like that, the jigsaw assembles itself. I had all the pieces, but couldn’t—no, didn’t want to—put them into the picture I now have.

First someone tried to kill me, and I discovered my parents were involved with the mafia, and my mother escaped the mafia. Then my upstairs neighbour is a billionaire kingpin.

The Italian mafia who came after me invaded his territory and his building. That questions his power. They hurt his pride.

The fact it’s me is irrelevant. I am a pawn, a captive in this game.

“You wouldn’t have let me leave, even if I’d tried, would you?” I ask in a little voice.

“Nyet.” His confirmation is immediate.

It seems I’ve been kidnapped.

I allowed myself to be kidnapped. Crept out of my hidey-hole when he coaxed me, and right into his arms. No even a token fight. Nothing. The realisation is a punch in the gut.

Here I was, thinking I was safe.

But no. I’ve put myself in a cage with a bigger, more fearsome, predator. A Bratva kingpin.

“And afterwards, when you’ve completed your revenge spree today, I’ll be free.” That makes sense.

“No,” he states implacably.

Wait. What?

“But you’ll have your vengeance.” I don’t understand.

“This is the henchmen that have been found.” His eyes glitter cold as steel. “I still need to get the kingpin, and make him pay.”

“But…” The single word is a protest on behalf of the lie I told myself, and I now recognise he never did anything but allow me to believe. “After that?”

“You’re not leaving,” he enunciates carefully. “You’re mine.”