Chapter 7
RADOMIR
I’m in a Bratva bar, nursing a beer.
Four days since I lost my mind and took Mara’s virginity. Four days since I broke her heart. Four days since I left her without an explanation. And four damn days of not being able to get her out of my head.
It’s not just the sex. Not just the way she opened up to me, gave me every inch of her perfect, raw lust. It’s her passion, her spirit, the way her eyes light up when she talks about photography. Her brave, outgoing attitude. Her sass. Her playfulness. Her deep wells of emotion … just, her.
I’m in no mood to do anything except take the next sip.
Across the other end of the bar, Sergei, Alek, and Leo are doing shots of vodka. Leo is the Pakhan's nephew, so he can be as loud as he wants. I’m just an enforcer. A killer when needed. I do the right goddamn thing. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel that way.
Leo sidles up to the bar. Throws his arm around me. “Hey, big man,” he says, breathing harsh vodka breath in my face. “I heard you took out that wannabe Epstein. Left a daughter behind, but. Why didn’t you just do both?”
I grind my teeth, try to lean away. But he doesn’t take the hint.
“You know, no loose ends.” He wags a finger in my face.“Why not just do the bitch too?” I take a long sip of beer and a deep breath, then turn to him.
“He deserved it,” I snarl. “She didn’t.”
“No? He looks down and whispers. “Or did you do her too? He raises his small glass between his two fat fingers. “Maybe took her as your personal—”
I move fast. Grab his wrist and slam the glass right into the middle of his face. It shatters. He squeals, spits and shakes his head. I twist his arm up behind his back and slam him into the counter so hard teeth go flying.
Big mistake.
My life in the Bratva, in this city, is over.
The other two, Sergei and Alek, rush me. They have to. I’ve just crossed an unholy line.
I weave to the side, duck Alek’s punch, and hit him so hard across the face his neck makes a crunching noise.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I am literally sacrificing my life here— for Mara.
My Mara.
But, just as when I was buried inside her, intimately roleplaying with her, listening to her sassy voice, seeing her passion for photography or watching her walk away from me in tight jeans, I can’t stop.
Don’t want to stop. What’s wrong with me?
I cannot remove any thoughts of her from my mind. In my business, this is not good.
Sergei ends up in a bloody heap on the floor, glass all over his face.
“We won’t forget this,” he croaks, barely clinging to consciousness.
Dammit. They’re right.
I flipped out over Mara. They know she’s alive, and now they know I care about her. It’s a weakness, a chink in my armour, a problem.
And not just my problem— it’s hers too.
I need to go.
Now.