Seized by the Mafia King (London Mafia Bosses #9)

16. Zane

16

ZANE

Shit.

Looking into Willow’s face, there are flickering emotions. Fear, worry.

“Open the door, Bethnal, before Westminster gets impatient and does stupid things.” Mayfair’s Russian accent has all the grace of a rusty chainsaw.

I shift my hand to cup her cheek. It’s totally covered by my palm. She’s so delicate and tiny.

“Bethnal!” Westminster this time. “Don’t make me break down the door.”

“Alright, calm yourselves,” I call, not looking away from Willow’s face.

She blinks up at me, her lips parting.

“I’m not letting you go,” I tell her. “Do you understand?”

I’m being harsh, but I don’t care.

She nods, and I have to accept that as enough.

“Thank god, I’m too old for shouldering my way through solid objects,” Westminster says as I unlock the door and swing it open. “And shooting the lock would make a mess on this nice vintage?—”

“The answer is no,” I interrupt him.

Artem, the kingpin of Mayfair, sighs. “She’s here, da?”

“Yes,” I grit out.

“Her brothers want to talk to her, and negotiate with you,” says Westminster.

“Well, you can all fuck off. That is rather how kidnapping works.” She’s mine.

“And then you talk to someone about the price of their family member’s return.” Westminster shakes his head like I’m being deliberately difficult.

“You only met her yesterday, so this isn’t about her, is it?” Mayfair says.

They don’t understand. This is all about Willow. There are soft footsteps across the room from where I left my girl straightening her clothes after I nearly mauled her.

“Be civilised and demand the ransom, Bethnal.” Westminster states this as though it’s the only ending he can imagine.

“I have everything I want.” I reach my hand backwards without looking, and for a second, I think she’s going to leave me hanging. Then Willow’s palm slides over mine, soft and warm. I interlock our fingers and give them a little squeeze to say, Good girl .

Neither of the two mafia bosses miss the gesture, and they exchange a look.

“Fun fact, Artem and I met because of a hostage situation. You might become friends with the Maldons,” Westminster says.

“I do not need a fucking bromance,” I snap. Brother-in-laws, maybe. But after hearing about the ways they have controlled and kept her down, I’m not very inclined to spend time with Willow’s family.

“It’s not a bromance,” they say in perfect unison, and Willow smothers a laugh.

“It is a bromance,” says a woman, strolling up, eyes twinkling.

“I told you to wait, darling, because it’s dangerous.” Westminster pulls the woman under his arm with a scowl.

Snuggling into him, the woman regards Willow and me curiously.

“I’m Anwyn, Ben’s wife. And you should definitely come to this meeting,” she chirps. “You might start a maths club together.”

“I don’t know why you think that would be appealing,” I reply, my irritation seeping into my voice. My gaze flicks towards the street. My men are there, of course. They let Mayfair and Westminster past because they’re allies of Bethnal Green. I can’t blame them for this shitshow.

“I hear it’s popular,” Mayfair deadpans.

“Not. Maths,” I bite out. “For fuck’s sake you guys already expect me to keep count of how many people I’ve killed, and now you want to mess up a debt collection. Witham owed me.”

“Do we collect murder stats?” Mayfair asks Westminster, ignoring my second point.

“Just for baselining purposes. I thought it would be good to have an idea of the trend and aim for death reduction in future years.”

“No, I draw the line there.” Mayfair shakes his head firmly. “Ben, that’s too far. We are not actually a maths club or a government.”

“Well then, I guess the kidnapping is fine,” Westminster huffs impatiently. “And we don’t object to Bethnal’s little private security thing he has going on. It’s like the bloody 1950s, but the Bobbies have tattoos.”

Mayfair shakes his head, baffled. “Do you mean boobies?”

“No, Bobbies.” Westminster sighs. “It’s an old-fashioned name for the police, dating back to the founding of the force by?—”

“Will you be standing around discussing history when the bookshop is open, and I hit you over the head with a history hardback?” I snap. This is enough. “Why are you still here?”

“Her family approached me about resolving this.” Westminster folds his arms and his gaze flicks between Willow, our joined hands, and my face. “The London Mafia Syndicate was founded to resolve kidnap situations more amicably. And although I admit we’ve branched out?—”

“Into fucking mathematics and road maintenance,” Mayfair grumbles.

“The welfare of vulnerable young people remains a core part of our organisation.” Westminster doesn’t pause, speaking over Mayfair.

It’s for Willow’s good that I’m not allowing her family near her. “I’m not meeting with?—”

“You are, it’s not even worth the argument, Bethnal.” Anwyn’s bright voice cuts in, and there’s silence.

I look down at Willow beside me, wordlessly asking her opinion.

“It can’t hurt to hear them out?” she whispers.

It absolutely can. I don’t trust those fuckers. They’ll try to manipulate this situation. But so long as I keep Willow, anything else is sacrificial.

“Fine.”

We meet in a restaurant where the outskirts of London slide into the Essex territory. Westminster has snarled at me four times that I didn’t need to do my own checks, and that there was no way things could go wrong because only he and Mayfair are armed.

I sent more men.

It’s only when Turner has had enough too, asking if I want him to build a concrete bunker while he’s at it, that I allow Willow in. It’s an old pub, low ceiling, black painted beams, stone floor, and dark wood chairs with brass domes holding on flower patterned fabric. There are lots of people dining, and only a few look up as we walk in. They’re all eating lunch, casually taking their lives in their hands.

The three Maldon men are waiting, sitting in a line around a third of a round table.

“Willow, are you okay?” one says as we approach.

“I’m fine, Wesley,” she replies tightly, and takes the seat one away from her brother, leaving a gap. I sling my arm over her shoulders as I take the seat furthest, and Mayfair sits next to me. On his other side sit Westminster and his wife, again allowing a space between them and the Maldons.

There’s a glint of black metal out of the corner of my eye as Mayfair settles in his chair. His gun, holstered on his left hip—he must be left-handed—is quickly covered by his suit jacket.

“You screwed with a very lucrative deal for us, Bethnal,” the middle of the Maldon men says. He was at the front of the church, promising to pay Witham’s debts. Robert. He has the vibe of being the eldest, and used to being in charge.

I send him a death stare that would make any of my men cower because they’d know what it meant. Robert isn’t so smart.

I open my mouth to say that I’ll offer whatever they want, then stop. Will that upset Willow if I—in effect—bought her? I regard her profile.

“The loss of the Witham territory, and the damage to the Maldon reputation after that stunt you pulled at the wedding have cost us a lot,” Robert continues, and names a ludicrous figure. “And the cost of our sister’s potential auction price since she isn’t marrying Witham. That’s about half as much again.”

“You think Willow is worth less than the Witham territory?” I enquire. Willow looks down, silent and subdued. I suspect the issue of her value is important. I cannot fuck this up.

“That’s just the price of bitch?—”

“Don’t call her that,” I growl. I won’t have my girl insulted.

“She’s our sister,” Robert replies, curling his lip. “We’ll call her whatever we want.”

“Not in front of me.” I’ve raised my voice, and a couple of diners glance around nervously. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Miss Maldon will be treated with respect while we’re all at this table,” Westminster interjects in moderate tones.

“We want our sister back,” says the quieter of the three Maldon men.

Willow snorts.

I toy with a tendril of her hair, curling it on my finger until it locks and tugs. She tips her head just an inch, and the sensation of ownership of her is potent. She’s mine. I’m not giving her up.

“Why do you want her?” I suspect I’m not going to like the answer.

“Look, it’s like this,” the other Maldon brother breaks in as Robert starts to speak.

“Who are you?” I snap.

“That’s Liam,” Willow says quietly.

This nervous girl version of her is unacceptable. I’d rather have the one who ran from me. The one who came for me. The one who was brave and sweet and sexy.

“Maldon needed the Witham territory to stay afloat, and powerful in Essex. And we need all our resources, including the value of Willow as a bride, or at auction.”

“Auction?” I ask, and Willow huddles further into herself.

“Virgin auction,” Liam clarifies.

“What if I told you that wasn’t possible anymore?” I reply softly. Willow turns to me, wide-eyed. I glance across, reassuring her with my eyes. All her firsts. I might not have taken her virginity yet, but I’m not allowing anyone else to touch her. Ever.

“You little whore—” Robert hisses, eyes blazing and hands slapping on the table.

“Take that back.” My words are a low, dangerous snarl. One of the Maldon brothers recognises it for the threat it is, recoiling, but the other two don’t.

“What makes you think he’ll—” Her eldest brother doesn’t know when to shut up, so I stop him mid-sentence.

“I’m telling you to take it back .” I can’t pretend not to be angry, and my hand has tightened in Willow’s hair.

“She’s my whore of a sister. You stupid cunt,” Robert spits.

“I’m warning you not to insult my wife again.”

“Your wife?” Liam exclaims this time, whereas everyone else just gapes at Willow and me. Though not Willow, who has gone utterly still at my announcement, and her gaze has dipped to her lap.

“And I’m telling you she’s not your wife,” Robert says.

“My future wife.” I lean down and whisper into her ear, “All your firsts, remember little bunny. I’ll be your husband too.”

“You want her? Pay,” says Wesley.

Finally, some fucking sense. I’m okay with this if Willow is, but I can’t see her face, so I’m not sure.

“He won’t cough up what she’s worth at auction,” grumbles Liam.

“Not for damaged goods,” Robert sneers, and Willow flinches.

“It was your idea to marry her off,” Wesley points out. “You can’t blame her for taking a better option.”

“I don’t know why you’re so keen to defend her,” Robert says in an undertone not meant for my ears, but I hear it anyway. “She always was a disloyal bitch.”

And my anger explodes this time. It’s uncontrollable.

I snatch Artem’s gun from its holster and have it armed and fired before Robert can breathe another word.

A split second of his shocked expression, then he slumps forward. Dead.

“Fuck!” Westminster is on his feet and has his gun trained on Wesley Maldon before he’s even finished that exclamation.

Someone screams. Several people, I think.

Liam lunges for Willow and I fire again as he reaches out. My bunny squeaks and jolts back against my chest as he too falls. The headshot means he’s lost all capacity to touch her before he even hits the table.

“Bethnal. What was that?” Westminster demands.

“I warned them,” I reply without looking, dropping a kiss onto the top of Willow’s head, gaze fixed on her one alive brother on the far side of the two slumped dead in their chairs. “I told them not to insult my girl.”

Mayfair sighs and Westminster’s wife lets out what I suspect is a snort of amusement. I ignore them. Willow is trembling under my arm.

“I’m not as restrained as Westminster here.” I point my gun at Wesley. “I’ll kill you without any question.”

“No need.” His voice wobbles, but he lifts his chin.

“You can have the Witham territory.” I don’t give a shit, and Turner will be delighted to not have to deal with that snake pit. So long as I have Willow, and she’s safe, anything else is on the table. It always was.

To my side, Westminster rumbles with discontent. That prick is thinking of the wider advantage of the London Mafia Syndicate, not realising I’d throw them all off a cliff to save Willow.

“Shut up,” I mutter at Westminster, and to be fair to him, he does.

Wesley Maldon’s expression hardens. “And safe passage.”

“This is what is going to happen,” I say in a hard voice. “You will leave your sister here, in my care, and never touch or hurt her again. You return to Maldon. You tell your family and the Essex Cartel that your brothers fucked up by messing with Bethnal. You take over the Witham territory, and you secretly feed information to me about the Essex Cartel, or I will come after you. And I will not be as merciful to an unarmed man as Westminster is.”

He looks for a second like he might argue.

“And you are never going to insult my wife—” Willow hiccups. “—My future wife, again. Do you understand?”

Wesley’s mouth twists in distaste as he glances down at his two dead brothers. “They were dicks anyway.”

“Leave before I change my mind.” I tighten my grip on my girl. I want him away from Willow.

“Have a nice life, sis,” he tosses over to her as he stands and walks away. And although it’s unfeeling for a brother, and he doesn’t look back, it has a ring of sincerity under the flippant words.

There’s absolute silence apart from the jarringly soothing piano music. Everyone in the pub is looking at us.

“Could I have my gun back now?” Mayfair asks, holding out his hand casually.

“Thank you for the loan,” I reply, placing it on the table before him.

“It was theft?—”

“It was a diplomatic disaster,” snaps Westminster.

“As if you’d put up with anyone insulting me,” his wife, Anwyn, snorts.

Westminster holsters his gun with an irritated sigh and pulls her into his arms, muttering, “Fine.”

Against my chest, Willow begins to shake.

I need to get her out of here. “Could you?—”

“Yes, we’ll deal with these,” Mayfair says, indicating the corpses of Willow’s brothers.

I scoop Willow into my arms, carrying her bridal style. Again.

Kidnapping her. Again.