Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Rayna
Federico was an asshole of the highest order, but he was a rich motherfucker and he didn’t starve us.
We didn’t live like royalty, but it was a far cry from poverty.
My little brother was able to go to sleep in a warm bed—his very own bed—and slumber without the nagging discomfort of an empty stomach. He was safe.
And I stand by my belief that Federico could have been much worse.
He shoved me around, got angry and made me feel weak.
But he didn’t force me into his bed, and he never hurt Yordan.
Being saddled to him at twenty-one was less than ideal, he was already forty-three and he made my stomach churn during our first meeting.
Still, I didn’t have another option. I knew that the Bulgarian Mafiya was coming for our father before he did.
I wasn’t always this cold and reclusive.
I had friends. Plenty of them. Women I grew up with, women I trusted.
Women who knew how to listen while men treated them like arm candy or clueless objects that simply decorate the rooms they command.
I got the tip that my father was being watched and suspected of stealing money from his leaders, and I knew I needed to act.
Yordan was only thirteen, but I couldn’t trust that his young age would save him from retaliatory men.
Our father had stolen millions over several years, and he was going to be caught.
He was going to be executed, nothing could stop that from happening. It was an inevitability.
I wouldn’t allow the same to happen to my little brother.
Luckily, Damyan was a talkative drunk. The same night that one of my friend’s tipped me off, he came home slurring about Romeo Giuliani.
His own bosses weren’t the only ones who wanted him dead, he’d also wronged The Capo of the Casa Nostra.
He was responsible for putting Romeo’s brother in the hospital, and eventually in the ground.
The man had seen something he shouldn’t, Damyan said. So he shot him.
He never expected the man to live long enough to give Romeo his name.
Though his brother died in surgery, the notoriously vicious Capo knew who to hold responsible.
It became abundantly clear that my father wasn’t a smart man.
He lost most of his wits when his wife died, after all.
Yordan was only five, and I had just turned thirteen.
He checked out, and my brother became my responsibility.
My responsibility that I took gravely serious.
So I did what any protective, desperate older sister would do. I called Romeo, and I made a deal to save my brother’s life.
Shaking myself out of memories long past, I look at Yordan again, resisting a frown. Leon Moretti must be close to double his age, and yet his T-shirt and sleep pants only look a bit oversized on him. He’s grown up so fast, sprouting up like a weed right before my eyes.
“You know I love you more than anything, don’t you?”
Yordan drops down onto his temporary bed, scrunching his nose at me. “What are you getting all sappy for?”
I huff, tossing my pillow at him with a half-hearted reprimand. “You used to love when I was sappy, milichko. My sweet baby brother who loved my hugs and snuggles.”
He rolls his eyes, tossing the pillow back. “Years and years ago, maybe.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t remember how much you love me,” I tease, standing up to stretch. I’m far too restless to lay down right now, though our accommodations are relatively cozy.
The room we’ve been put in is nice enough.
Two twin beds, a shaggy rug, a few small dressers, and a private bathroom with a shower.
It feels like camping, almost. If I try hard enough, I might even be able to convince myself we’re here having a little family trip.
I could forget all the nonsense that brought us here, and just enjoy the peace and quiet.
“You bribed me with sweets,” he argues, hiding a smile.
I chuckle, remembering all the fond memories we’ve made while baking. Working on pastries is something I’ve always enjoyed, though we haven’t always been able to afford. It was a useful escape from the ugly world, making pretty desserts to stare at and adore.
“You begged for sweets,” I counter. “You always wanted to eat the raw product. So impatient.”
Yordan chuckles, but the laugh dies down as a familiar voice sounds from the hall. Apollo is talking to someone, whether it’s a guard or a member of his family. I make a move toward our door and Yordan sends me a worried look.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m just going to talk to him.”
“Rayna,” my brother pleads. “Don’t mess this up for us.”
“I won’t,” I promise, voice firm. “I’m only going to ask what his plans for us are. Stay here, Yordan. We need to have an adult conversation.”
I don’t allow him to object before I slip out of our room into the bright hallway.
My sock-covered feet hit the cool cement floor and I shiver, looking up to find Apollo only a few feet away.
Whoever he’d been speaking with has already begun to walk away, and he stares at me, as if daring me to approach.
He can dare all he likes, I’m not scared of him.
My spine snaps straight and I stride up to him, folding my arms over my chest like a shield.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice a smoky drawl.
“Is this your room?” I gesture to the door behind him. “Did you put us right next to you to keep an eye on us?”
“You’re next to me because it was an open room with two beds,” he replies mildly. “Is that why you came storming out here? Are your accommodations not to your liking?”
I don’t believe him for a second. He wanted us close by, probably thinking we’ll try to rob him and run away. Asshole.
“I need to know what you want with me and my brother,” I state, trying to eliminate any nerves from my tone. “If you’re planning something for the pair of us, tell me now. I won’t take kindly to being blindsided.”
His tongue clicks, an obnoxious air of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” I hiss, stepping closer, a thunderous expression painting my face.
“I know you must think I’m some kind of cowardly weakling for allowing my husband to physically abuse me, but make no mistake, everything I’ve ever done in my life has been for Yordan.
If I get even the slightest inkling that you plan to harm him in any way, I will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to eliminate you. ”
Apollo doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. An unarmed woman threatening him is hardly something he’d find frightening, I’m not naive enough to assume otherwise. My point still stands.
“So, I’ll ask again, what are you planning to do with us?”
He stares at me, eyes searching for something on my face. Whatever he sees, it eventually convinces him to speak.
“My family owns an apartment building, it’s a safe house of sorts.
Victims of domestic violence, or trafficking in the area are offered clean and safe apartments, rent-free.
There’s twenty-four hour security, and everything you need to live comfortably.
There’s a place for Yordan and yourself there. ”
My brain short circuits, digesting the information with complete and utter disbelief.
“That’s it?” I scoff. “You expect me to believe you’re simply giving us a place to stay out of the goodness of your heart?”
For once, his face shifts from cold indifference. He scowls, looking properly insulted. “What other reason could I possibly have, Rayna?”
I could think of at least twenty off the top of my head. None of them would be appropriate to list. I doubt he’d take kindly to the accusations.
I decide to continue to grill him instead.
“And what about money, huh? How are you expecting us to provide for ourselves? You will not be making Yordan into a soldier in exchange for our safety. I won’t allow it.”
“By all means, seek employment if you please,” Apollo replies, sounding bored.
“You won’t need it. Food, utilities, and necessities will all be included in your stay.
Yordan will not be forced into anything, including by you.
If he comes to me, wanting to learn, I’m not going to turn him away to appease you. ”
I swallow hard. Why does he have to be such a well spoken, quick witted bastard?
He has an answer for everything.
“And how long before we outstay our welcome?” I challenge, lifting my chin. “How long do you plan to bankroll a pair of strangers? Should we expect an eviction in a week? A month?”
“You’re a greatly distrustful person, do you know that?”
“You’re a greatly suspicious person, do you know that?” I snap. “Do you even understand how unbelievable this is? People don’t do this. They don’t give handouts and expect nothing in return. No one is that generous, everyone wants something.”
“Even you? What do you want, Rayna?”
“What I want has never mattered, don’t pretend that that has changed now, Apollo.”
His eye twitches. “You’re going to have to have some faith, I suppose.”
“Faith?” I laugh bitterly. “Faith? You’re more delusional than I thought if you think a woman like me is capable of something so ludicrous as possessing faith.”
“What are you truly afraid of?” he questions, sighing like I’ve exhausted him. “What do you think I’m trying to do here?”
“Control us, isolate us,” I begin, trying not to scream at him.
“I think you’re going to steal my little brother away to be one of your mindless minions who will stand in front of a bullet for you.
I think that you could do anything you wanted to us and no one could stop you.
And I think you’re flat out ignorant if you can’t see why trusting you is an utter impossibility. ”
I release a breath, steadying myself and looking at him straight on.
“I’m trusting you enough to get us out of here, and keep us safe from Romeo and Abramo.
For Yordan’s sake. But I’m keeping my guard up, Apollo Moretti.
If I sense the smallest bit of betrayal coming from you, I will do whatever it takes to shield him from it. ”
The future Capo blinks, his eyes leaving my face and shifting downward.
“Are you wearing Leon’s shirt?”
My mouth drops open at his abrupt shift in topic. “Have you even been listening to me? Why the hell are you asking about my shirt?”
I look down at the navy blue cotton, dumbfounded as to how it’s caught his attention at all. It’s a plain T-shirt, too big for my frame but unspecial in every other way.
Too suddenly to react, a thick, veiny hand clutches the fabric around my middle, fisting it tightly. Apollo uses his unwelcome grip on the shirt to tug me forward, pulling me into his room and slamming the door behind us.
“What the actual fuck?” I hiss, shoving his hand away like he’s scalded me. “Are you insane? I will rip your balls from your body. How dare you?”
“Take it off,” he demands, ignoring the threat entirely and turning away from me swiftly. His large body makes it across the room in what feels like the blink of an eye.
“Excuse you?” I screech. “I certainly will not!”
A bundle of black cloth soars across the room, landing at my sock-covered feet.
“Change,” he says, the command holding no room for argument.
Well, I don’t need any fucking room to argue.
“Why the hell would I do that? What’s wrong with this shirt?”
Apollo’s jaw ticks. “It’s his.”
“So, what? It’s a fucking T-shirt. Yordan is wearing his clothes too!”
“A married man’s T-shirt,” Apollo corrects, crossing his arms with a glare. “You want Cleo to see you wearing that tomorrow? Yordan is a teenage boy, you are not.”
A nagging sort of discomfort tugs at my stomach.
Is Cleo the jealous sort? Is that why he seems so offended by the shirt? Is he trying to avoid drama, or is this just some kind of controlling asshole move to make me feel guilty?
“Why would he give it to me if it was going to be a problem?”
“Husbands are notoriously dumb.”
“Are you calling your own brother dumb?”
“Rayna,” he snaps. “Change. The. Shirt.”
“Fuck. You,” I growl, bending down to pick up what he’s thrown toward me. I chuck it back at him, sneering. “I’d rather go nude than wear anything that comes from you, you entitled jerk.”
“Okay.” He folds his arms, looking me up and down. “Go nude, then.”
The urge to slap him hits me like a truck.
“Why are you so infuriating?”
“Why are you so eager to wear Leon’s shirt to bed? You want a shot at him? Are married men your thing?”
The cutting comment makes me want to puke.
“You know what?” I try not to croak. “Screw you and screw this fucking shirt nonsense.” Storming toward Apollo, I rip Leon’s shirt over my head and throw it right in his face.
Ignoring the fact that I’m only wearing a bra and loose sweatpants in front of the fucking heir to The Outfit, I resist the opportunity to punch him in the nuts. Picking up the black shirt he originally offered off the floor, I tug it on and push my hair back out of my face.
“Married men are not my fucking type,” I say darkly, hands fisted at my sides.
“I’ve never been afforded the luxury of discovering my type.
I’ve been bought, sold, and shackled to men for my entire life.
The only male I concern myself with is my little brother, I know you know that.
And for you to imply otherwise is fucking low, Apollo. ”
He has the decency to wince. It’s only slight, but I damn-well see it.
“And for the record, when I have the opportunity to discover my type, I can promise you that cocky asshole mafia heirs will not be it. I’m now under the firm assumption that every woman who’s ever wanted you has never heard you open your mouth before, you prick.”
I’m still fuming when I storm back into my room, breathing hard. Yordan blinks owlishly at me.
“Did you change?” he asks, mouth hanging agape.
“I will not be discussing it,” I warn, flicking off the light and aggressively climbing into bed.
He clears his throat awkwardly. “So…how’d your talk go?”
“I hope a wild animal breaks through his window and bites his dick off.”
“Ah, so good, then.”
“Go to sleep, Yordan.”
A moment of silence and then:
“I love you too, Rayna.”
A warm smile creeps onto my face despite my frustration.
“Thank you, milichko.”