Marla
The three men come back inside less than ten minutes later. Whatever conversation happened outside has shifted them into full business mode, and suddenly my small home feels like a command center for organized crime.
Nick's phone rings first. He answers without greeting, his expression hardening as he listens. "How many units?" A pause. "Fuck. Keep eyes on the situation and report back every thirty minutes."
He ends the call and immediately dials another number while moving toward my kitchen table. "I need current patrol schedules for the port district. Yes, now."
I watch him spread maps and shipping schedules across the surface, his green eyes scanning documents with intense focus. His movements are efficient and controlled, every gesture deliberate. This is Nick in his element, commanding and cold.
Russ's phone buzzes next. He steps toward the window, his light eyes scanning the treeline outside as his voice drops low. "What do you mean delayed? I don't give a shit about weather conditions. Those shipments were supposed to arrive yesterday."
The playful warmth that usually radiates from him is gone. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight, and there's a hardness in his expression that sends goosebumps down my spine.
Alex moves through my cottage like he owns it, checking the locks on my front door, testing the windows, his own phone pressed to his ear. "Increase security on all primary routes. I want eyes on every access point."
I stand frozen near the kitchen counter, watching the controlled chaos unfold around me. These aren't the men who were in my bed this morning. These are the dangerous criminals Sharon warned me about, the ones who run illegal operations and pay off politicians and make people disappear.
The mayor revelation is still sitting heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe. The man who gave his son the power to stalk me without consequences and has been taking money from these men for years. The corruption runs so deep I can't even process the full scope of it.
Nick's phone rings again. "Talk to me." He listens, his jaw tightening. "Pull everyone back from the north dock."
"What's happening?" I ask quietly, but no one answers.
The sound of their voices fills the cottage. Russ's frustrated growl, Nick's clipped commands, and Alex's quiet threats. It's like listening to a symphony of violence being orchestrated in real time, and I'm standing in the middle of it all, completely out of my depth.
Russ paces near the window, his voice rising with frustration. "I don't care what excuses you have. Find out who's responsible for the delay and handle it. Yes, handle it. Do I need to spell out what that fucking means?"
The casual violence in his tone makes my stomach twist. This is who they really are. Not the playful men who made me laugh and held me while I slept.
Alex finishes his call and immediately moves to the back door, checking the lock mechanism. He pulls out a small toolkit from somewhere and starts reinforcing the strike plate. "This lock is shit," he mutters. "Anyone with basic skills could kick this door in."
"I've lived here for six months without problems," I say defensively.
"You've lived here six months without anyone having a reason to come after you," Alex corrects, not looking up from his work. "That's changed now."
The words send ice through my veins. I retreat to my desk in the corner of the living room, desperate to escape the suffocating reality of what my life has become. My laptop sits open with a half-finished blog post about winter hiking trails, and the normalcy of it feels absurd now.
I try to focus on the screen, try to lose myself in words and research like I always do when reality becomes too much. But concentration is impossible with three Bratva bosses conducting criminal business ten feet away from me.
Nick's voice cuts through my attempted focus. "Marla."
I look up to find him watching me from the kitchen table, maps spread out in front of him like battle plans. His expression is unreadable, but there's something protective in the way he's looking at me. No, protective is too gentle a description. He looks almost... feral.
"No one is going to touch you," he says quietly. "You understand that? Anyone who tries won't live to tell about it."
The words should terrify me. The promise of violence, the casual certainty with which he delivers it.
But instead, they offer a little relief.
My muscles relax slightly. Until then, I guess I'd been worried about what they were going to do with me.
It'd be easy to write me off and let whatever happen, happen.
After all, I'm just a woman they'd had sex with.
"Damn right," Russ adds from the window, his phone finally lowered. "We'll bury them so deep no one will ever find the body."
I look at Alex, who's moved on to reinforcing the window locks. His words had been much different earlier, promising that I'd wish I'd never heard of them if I turned out to be guilty. Now he glances over his shoulder and meets my eyes.
"No one fucks with you," he says simply.
Unless I turn out to be guilty. He doesn't say it, but I hear the words in my head anyway.
A shiver works its way through my body. I should be comforted since I know I'm not guilty of anything but getting research for my writing—and having a good time doing it.
But there's still a nagging fear that won't quite abate.
My phone buzzes on the desk. Sharon's name flashes across the screen with a text: You okay?
I pick up my phone but my fingers hover over the screen. How am I supposed to answer that? I guess I'm okay, but finding out about Zach's dad's connections has thrown me for such a loop, my head is still spinning. So now, I'm not exactly okay, but I'm also not in immediate danger.
I text back: Fine. Talk later.
Russ's phone rings again, and he answers with barely controlled irritation. "What now?" He listens, his expression darkening. "Fuck. How long ago?" Another pause. "Find out who authorized that route change and bring them to me. I don't care if it's inconvenient."
He ends the call and looks at Nick. "Someone redirected one of my shipments without clearance. Third time this month."
"Internal problem?" Nick asks.
"Has to be. No one outside the organization knows those routes."
The conversation continues around me, filled with references to shipments and routes and security protocols I don't understand. I turn back to my laptop, but the words on the screen blur together meaninglessly.
"You want to help me gather firewood?" Russ asks suddenly.
I look up to find him standing near my desk, his light eyes softer than they were moments ago when he was threatening someone over the phone. He's trying to distract me from the chaos, I realize. Trying to give me something normal to focus on.
"It's freezing outside," I point out.
"Fresh air will do you good. You've been cooped up in here for days."
He's not wrong. The cottage walls are starting to feel like they're closing in. I glance at Nick and Alex, but neither objects to the idea.
"Fine," I say, standing. "But if I get frostbite, I'm blaming you."
Russ grins, and for a moment he looks like the playful man who first approached me at the Ivory Wolf. "Deal."
I pull on my heavy coat and boots while Russ does the same. The cold air hits my face the moment we step outside, sharp and clean after the suffocating tension inside. My breath comes out in white clouds as we walk toward the woodpile near the side of the cottage.
The ground crunches beneath my boots, frozen earth and dead leaves creating a brittle carpet. The woods around us are silent except for the occasional crack of a branch in the wind. It's peaceful out here, isolated, and for a moment I can almost pretend everything is normal.
Russ starts loading split logs into his arms, and I do the same. The wood is cold and rough against my palms. The physical activity feels good, giving my body something to do while my mind races.
"You're thinking too hard," Russ says, watching me.
"I have a lot to think about."
"Yeah, you do." He adds another log to his pile. "But thinking yourself in circles won't help."
"What will?"
"Trusting us."
I almost laugh. "Trust the three mafia bosses who've taken over my life?"
Russ just grins, puts a twig on top of the small load of wood I'm collecting in my arms, and grabs a log for his own stack.
"The mayor announced he's running for office," Russ says after a while.
I freeze, a log halfway to my arms. "What?"
He nods, then winces. For someone who was trying to take my mind off of things, he chose the wrong topic. "Sorry," he says. "He's running for Senate."
I'd seen that announcement weeks ago and scrolled past it without really processing what it meant.
As far as I knew, Zach and his dad were no longer in my life, so the mayor running for a higher office didn't concern me.
But now, knowing what I know about the mayor's corruption and his connection to the Bratva...
let's just say his ambition takes on a whole new meaning.
The man who ruined my life is gaining more power and influence. If he wins, he'll have the ability to hurt even more people and get away with it. My stomach turns violently, and I have to set down the logs before I drop them. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Russ is beside me immediately, his hand on my back. The warmth of his palm seeps through my coat. "Breathe. Just breathe."
"He's going to win," I say, my voice shaking. "Men like him always win. They have money and connections and people like you paying them off. He'll become a state senator, and then what? Governor? He'll just keep climbing higher while people like me get crushed underneath."
"Hey." Russ turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. His grip is firm but gentle. "That's not going to happen."
"You can't promise that."
"The fuck I can't." His light eyes are fierce, burning with promise. "You think we're going to let some corrupt politician hurt you? We own him, Marla. He works for us, not the other way around."
We finish gathering the firewood in silence and carry it back inside. The cottage is warmer than outside but still tense with the energy of three men conducting dangerous business.
Alex is standing near the kitchen table, staring at his phone with a tight expression.
Nick notices too. "What is it?"
Alex doesn't look up from his phone. His voice is quiet, almost conversational, but there's something deadly underneath it.
"The mayor's son was spotted at the Ivory Wolf less than two weeks ago."
Shit. There's confirmation that Zach was in the area.