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

12. Brody

brODY

She hasn’t said a word since my possessive outburst. I suspect she’s in shock.

I think I might be too. When she kept saying that she was leaving, I lost control, but I can’t bring myself to regret it.

I’m not letting her go. She can hate me, and think she’s a captive, but I can’t keep breathing without her.

To the point that I’ve put my mafia boss reputation on the line.

Caterina doesn’t complain or ask anything as I say we’re going to her exam, just following me into the elevator and to the car. I tell myself that I take her hand and entwine our fingers tight because I don’t want her to escape, but I’m a fucking liar.

I want the closeness we had last night.

We arrive at the hotel in Lambeth that has become the unofficial meeting place for the London Mafia Syndicate.

This is not the first time I’ve called an emergency meeting. It’s not even the first time within a month. And admittedly, I am on the verge of getting kicked out.

They were already annoyed at me for slitting the throat of a svolach man they were squabbling about who was going to kill, then trying to find the Italians has decimated the last bit of my patience. I got impatient with Marco Brent for not handing over more information. The damage to the floor from my shooting it—look, it was very restrained that I didn’t actually shoot Brent—was totally fixable. Plus, the relationship between Blackstone and his “convenient wife” has reputedly been much better since that incident.

I did give myself a reputation for being more easily angered than is generally the case. Caterina’s safety does that to me.

But while there was some understanding about my position when I was desperately searching for the men who hurt my girl, I have a feeling an emergency meeting to help her avoid an examination could be less sympathetically met.

There’s a small group of mafia bosses and their wives, all atypically informal because of the late notice. Where the women usually dress up for the official meets, Jessa Lambeth is in jeans and has a baby on her hip. She appears to be in an intense discussion with the Blackstone kingpin and his wife about the sling Blackstone is wearing that contains a sleeping baby. Blackstone is holding his wife’s hand, toying with her fingers and the casual intimacy hits me in the gut.

I want that with Caterina. Her hand in mine, our baby close by. Our baby.

There are still people arriving, but I don’t wait. “Thank you for coming.”

“Always,” Westminster replies seriously, and a couple of the other men nod.

“Grant couldn’t make it,” Jessa Lambeth says breezily. “I came instead. Who’s your companion, Angel?”

I feel Caterina jerk with surprise at me being called by my mafia territory.

“This is my captive, bane of my life, pet cat, and destroyer of my most treasured possession,” I reply, nudging Caterina forward, but I keep her hand gripped in mine.

There’s silence.

“Sorry about the coffee,” Caterina mumbles, then glances around warily as she chuffs with nervous laughter. I suppose the London Mafia Syndicate are intimidating, even when half of them seem to be off duty.

“Was the treasured possession your cock?” The Mayfair kingpin, Artem Moroz, asks in Russian. He barely bothers to hide his smirk, and I glare at him.

“No,” I return in the same language. “My sanity.” Coffee is basically the same thing.

“Sounds like love to me,” Jessa pipes up.

“Angel, are you not even going to fake that she’s your girlfriend?” Rhys Cavendish asks wryly. “It is the Maths Club rule.” He shares an intimate look with his wife and jealousy spikes down my spine.

I glance down at Caterina, who is biting her lip in a way that’s ambiguous as to whether it’s worry or holding back a smile.

“That was not an option,” I reply with more diplomacy than I’m known for. “She’s my captive.”

“Captive.” Westminster’s face goes dark as a Russian winter.

“Sure,” drawls Artem, outright amused now.

“He rescued me,” Caterina interjects. My surprise must show on my face, because she adds, “I guess.”

Westminster narrows his eyes. “What do you want our help with, Angel?”

“I need you to examine her.” Which is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said, and that includes the last ten minutes.

Every eyebrow in the room shoots to the ceiling.

“Not like that unless you want to die today,” I clarify. “An academic test of her Business Studies skills.”

“He won’t let me go to my final university exam,” she explains to the mafia bosses who look either alarmed or sceptical or both.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Bethnal spits out, then turns on his heel and strides towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Artem calls after him.

“I haven’t got time for this,” he snarls. “I’ve got a wedding to ruin.”

“How intriguing.” Westminster smiles down at his wife.

“I know we call ourselves the London Maths Club, but that is a joke. This is a mafia syndicate. You’re aware of that?” Cavendish says cautiously. “And aware of what a joke is?”

“He means our legit businesses,” Jessa Lambeth interjects before I can reply, and leans in towards Caterina. “What would you do if your cash cow wasn’t performing?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Low growth, but high market share, so, I would look for an alternative, stable investment.” Caterina’s voice gets stronger at the end of the statement.

“Good answer. Is that why he kidnapped you?” Cavendish smirks. “The Bratva men have no head for numbers.”

“I can count the number of men I’ve—” I snarl.

“Angel.” Adi Cavendish slips in front of her husband and raises one blonde eyebrow pointedly. “I thought you said you had something you needed to do.”

She has a point. The Geraci men who hurt my girl won’t murder themselves.

“Fine. Proceed.” Swallowing, I step back. I glare at the gathered mafia bosses over Caterina’s shoulder. My hand is still gripping hers, and I’m sure for a second that she’s holding on tight too.

“Will you be okay?” I lean down and say into her ear.

She turns her head, and her mouth is close enough to feel her breath. Her brown eyes are too near to see clearly. I wish fervently that I had the right to kiss her.

I’m breaking all my rules as it is.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“You’re going to do great,” I reply, almost against her lips, then withdraw. “Don’t let her leave. I have something I need to do. I’ll be back,” to claim Caterina, “as soon as I can.”

I arrive at the normal-looking townhouse and take the steps at a run. Bogdan meets me at the door.

“We have them.”

“I thought you said this was going to need all our resources?” I scowl, but follow as Bogdan leads me into a room where two cowardly excuses for men are tied to spindly chairs.

The fury explodes in me like flame held to gas. They hurt Caterina. They terrified her. If it weren’t for her quick thinking, they would have killed and defiled her in the most horrific way.

I snatch my gun from its holster and the world slows and narrows to pulling back the safety and feeling the ricochet as I fire again and again through the red haze until I’m squeezing the trigger, but nothing is happening.

I’ve emptied the clip.

They’re dead and I have to shoot them more.

Again. I’d resurrect them to murder them again, and again.

I’m breathing heavily, as though I’ve run a mile at a sprint. They’re done. This has to be enough.

It’s not.

A few steps and I’m punching first one then the other across their bloodied faces, time after time. I beat them until my arm tires, and I step back. They’re unrecognisable.

“And this,” Bogdan says dryly from beside me, handing me a cloth that I take a second to realise he means me to clean my knuckles with. “Is why we interrogated and photographed them before Angel arrived.”

It’s only then that I notice I’m surrounded by a dozen of my best men. They waited for me. I catch more details then. The coverings on the floor. The video camera set up to the side. A pile of handwritten notes.

Bogdan knew I would lose my cool.

I take a deep breath and am shocked to find it’s shaky in a way I’ve never been before. I clean my hands and check my suit before tossing the cloth away. Killing men who deserve it doesn’t bother me, but the importance of revenge for them touching Caterina rocked me.

“Did you get the information?”

“Da. The Geraci kingpin is as good as dead.”

“Good.” The calm settles onto me, a heavy blanket.

Now to return to what really matters: moya koshechka.

When I get back, Caterina, far from being grilled, is lounging in a comfortable chair, sipping a drink, and chatting with Jessa Lambeth.

“The business strategy for my interior design company differs from what I do for Lambeth,” Jessa is saying, and I pause to watch.

Caterina has charmed them all, of course she has. She didn’t know it, but these are her people. I intend to keep my distance for a few minutes, but as though she feels the connection between us too, Caterina turns and sees me. And sweet as it is to regard her, the hint of a smile when our gazes meet is pure sugar.

I’m at her side in an instant.

“Did she pass?” I ask Jessa abruptly, not taking my eyes off Caterina.

“Yes, and?—”

“Good. Because I have something I want to discuss with my captive.”

Caterina blinks. “I’m enjoying myself.”

I have no patience for this. I need to have her alone. I lean down, and whisper into Caterina’s ear. “Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder, moya koshechka.”

She gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

And that’s where she’s totally wrong, because I grab her up, and holding her sweet thighs, carry her out with her cute butt close enough to kiss when she pummels my back.

It’s not kidnap. It’s love.