Ben listens, pale faced, as George explains what has happened, to the best of his knowledge. The details are scant. Tom was spending a couple of days camping with a friend, and it was only when he didn’t arrive back as scheduled that George realised something was up.
Then the message from the Bratva arrived. Moments later, a tip-off the same as the one that had alerted Ben to my being at risk.
“Bring the girl were definitely his exact words?” Ben asks again.
George nods soberly.
“It’s a trap.” Ben paces around the office like a caged panther.
“Obviously,” George concurs.
“In what way?” I’m standing awkwardly to the side, next to the desk where Ben took my virginity not that long ago. We both threw on clothes in record time.
Nothing like realising someone might die to kill the warm afterglow. Pun not intended. Mostly.
“He knows you’re my priority. But he’s got my son. Get you both together, he has you both at risk, and me off-balance.” Ben scowls at the floor as though if he’s scary enough he’ll terrify physical structures to rise up and do his bidding.
“It’s going to be okay.” I catch his hand as he passes me.
“For you, yes.” He stops and strokes his knuckles over my cheek. “You won’t be in danger.”
“I’m not being left here.” Whatever is happening, I’ll be at Ben’s side.
“You’re staying here.” His voice is steel.
“One, last time I was home without you I was kidnapped. Two, telling me to stay put doesn’t turn out how you think it will. And three, I’ve got skin in this game. If my future husband and my ex-boyfriend are doing something important, you better believe I’m going to be there.”
Ben grabs my hand and jerks me abruptly into his arms. A sense of calm envelops me as he presses his forearm into my back and a kiss to the top of my head. I breathe in his scent. Spicy and masculine, as well as musky. He smells like dark sex and warm pine forest breezes.
“Putting you in danger isn’t worth it,” Ben mutters. “I should just leave Tom to it.”
“No way.” And though I’m speaking into his chest and my selfish heart is gleeful that Ben would give up everything, even his son, for me, I can’t let him do that. “I’m in Westminster now.”
“Really?” He sounds a bit shocked. “You’d accept being part of Westminster?”
“Yes,” I insist.
“This will end in bloodshed. Are you prepared for that?” He’s checking, I think. Probing to see if this is something he has to give up for me.
“I know. I’m ready.” That’s a total lie, I’m one for plants and books, not guns and knives. But I’m going to be Benedict Crosse’s wife, and Westminster is part of him. The kingpin and the sweet paternal figure, I love both sides. Whatever happens with Tom, I’m not having my man give up on his life’s work.
He stares at me, incredulous. Minutes, days, aeons tick past. It’s probably only ten seconds. A slow, pleased smile spreads across his face, lighting his eyes to silver. “I think it’s time for a regime change in the Bratva.” He nods thoughtfully. “I don’t usually get involved with such things, but I’ll make an exception. Do you want to help?”
“Yes.” Fear pulses through me but I’m here. I’ll be by Mr Crosse’s side and in Ben’s arms until the end of the world.
“Good.” Just that word from him sends pleasure skittering down my spine. He pulls his phone from his pocket and opens a message. “Remind me the name of your friend at the cafe you work at?”
“Uh.” I don’t have any friends there. Unless you count the girl who does the shift before me. Sometimes I chat with her. “Lina?”
“Yes. Thank you.” He holds up his phone and speaks into it. A voice message maybe? Or speech to text? “Artem, I’m thinking of offering Lina a job. If you don’t want that, you should call me.”
I frown, and Ben reaches over, smoothing my brow with his thumb. “Nothing’s going to happen to your friend, don’t worry. But it was recently impressed on me how significant a little pressure on a girl can affect a man.”
Me. He means me. I open my mouth to ask him what happened, but he beats me to it.
“You’re a clever girl. Much cleverer than the Bratva think, Anwyn. Are you willing to work very hard for me, darling?”
“Always.” I’d do anything for Benedict Crosse.
“Then I have an idea of how you can come with me. As Queen of Westminster.”
We arrive at the warehouse designated as a neutral place to meet just as the colours fade into grey night. Ben has been drilling me all day. I started off not having ever touched a gun, but now I know every part by name, how to keep my arms braced, and I’ve taken it from the holster on my thigh a hundred times or more.
Exactly as Ben predicted, they’re all patted down by the Bratva goon, and one of the Westminster men does the same to the Bratva men. Everyone is unarmed.
But when the Bratva goon approaches me, Ben growls, dark and feral.
“Touch my fiancée and it will be the last thing you do.”
So low and possessive, his rumbling words send a bolt of pure longing from my throat to my pussy.
Gulping, the goon backs off.
And the gun remains in its holster on my leg. An insurance policy, Ben said. There is a plan A, and although he explained it to me, I’m… Sceptical. I guess having no family myself, I can’t imagine betraying them.
The Bratva delegation is five men. The aforesaid goon and a man about my age stand together. My ex-boyfriend Tom, eyes wide and mouth taped, a man behind him. He’s as tall as Ben, with black hair and I think they’re about the same age. Attractive if you like jawlines so square you can cut yourself on them.
Then the Bratva kingpin stands alone. A little shorter than the other man, he has all the same features but they’re mixed up differently. Two plants with lush green leaves and red berries—one poisonous, one sweet.
“What do you want, Victor?” Benedict asks from next to me.
“Your territory for your boy.” Victor flicks his fingers at Tom, who is shoved to his knees by the taller man. He catches Ben’s eye above my head, and there’s a tense moment. The younger Bratva man is looking at the floor, seemingly impotently angry, eyes hard.
“That’s unreasonable and you know it, Victor.” Ben is completely unflustered. Calm. You wouldn’t know he paced this afternoon, or patiently showed me time after time after time how to pull the safety off the gun I’m wearing, even as I got it wrong repeatedly.
“You want me to compromise?” Victor has a strong Russian accent, whereas his brother’s is less noticeable. “I compromise. Half of Westminster for half of the boy.”
He barks out a cynical laugh that makes it clear he’d enjoy cutting someone in half.
“I keep the half with The Busy Bean coffee shop. My fiancée works there, you know. I’ve been keeping a close eye on it. Sweet place. But you wouldn’t have any access to it. No crossing the lines at all. For anyone.” Ben’s gaze flits between the other two Bratva family members.
“Don’t,” the second man says, eyes flashing.
“Shut up, Artem. If I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.”
Oh, that’s Artem. Ben said he was Victor’s brother.
“Enough talk of coffee shops,” Victor snaps and points the barrel of his gun to the back of Tom’s head. Tom is trembling and his grey eyes are brimming with fear as he looks to his father for comfort. To Benedict.
My stomach plummets as I realise my ex-boyfriend might die because Ben prioritised me instead of him.
This isn’t going as I expected from the plan. Why has he allowed it to happen? Surely Tom is in danger?
I attempt to assess the situation, even though I have literally zero experience with this. I could pull out my gun and try to kill Victor, as Ben showed me. But if I miss, Tom will definitely die. If I hit Victor, will he be able to shoot Tom before he goes down? I have no idea. This is not my area of expertise. I am significantly better with plants.
If only the mafia all sat down and resolved their differences with who was faster at genetic sequencing, I would be a perfect asset to Ben. As it is, I’m a liability.
“Dad.” The youngest of the Bratva men steps forwards. “Don’t do this. Please.”
I see Tom’s eyes flick up to the young man with pain and hope and betrayal and I still.
He’s gay, and I can read Ben’s face so easily. It’s Tom’s choice of partner that surprises him, not their gender. Tom has been in a relationship with the Bratva.
“Shut up, Sergey.” The Bratva boss doesn’t take his gaze from Tom. “Crosse. It’s a simple choice. What do you value? Your territory, or your son?”
“It’s not that simple though, is it? I don’t like the way you run your operation, Victor. You’re asking me to put the lives of numerous women and children under my care over that of my own son.” Ben is calm, impassive even, but I can see the war raging inside him, even as Tom’s shoulders shake.
Tom makes a muffled attempt to speak, and Artem sighs dramatically, stomps over to Tom and brutally rips off the tape from his mouth with a sound that makes me wince.
Victor’s hand doesn’t waver as Artem steps back.
“I love you,” Tom blurts out. “Dad.”
“I love you, too.” Ben’s jaw clenches. It’s taking everything in him not to cave.
“And Sergey,” Tom adds quietly. “I loved you as well.”
He’s already talking about himself in the past tense, resigned to his death.
“Tom…” Sergey breathes, stepping forwards again, his face stricken with grief.
“You stupid p—” Victor begins, turning to his son.
“Dad, don’t give—” Tom looks up.
A gunshot blasts out, and Victor slumps to the ground. Blood trickles from a hole in his temple.
On the other side of the room, Victor’s goon steps towards Ben, a knife glinting, while he is focused on Artem.
The rage is instant, red hot, and furious. After everything that has happened, no one is going to take Benedict Crosse from me. I snatch up my dress, yank out the gun and fire at the man’s chest, squeezing the trigger the moment I line up the sight on him. The biggest target.
The noise doesn’t even register. All I can think is, Ben.
The man staggers, arms falling. Then Sergey races to the goon, snatching the knife from him and I’m not as quick this time, staring at my hand. That hand shot a man. Sergey doesn’t hesitate. Knife in hand, he falls to his knees at Tom’s side, just as Ben stops George and me, a hand out in both directions.
Sergey cuts the ties at Tom’s wrists, and Tom collapses forwards, Sergey catching him in his arms. Tom’s mouth finds his lover’s, kissing him in a way that he never did with me, before burying his face in his neck.
There’s a silence as we all watch Sergey comforting Tom.
“Thank you,” Ben says softly, his eyes meeting mine, and I’m covered in warmth. “And you too.” He nods to Artem.
The gun slips from my hands. I just shot a man. I look at the goon bleeding on the floor. His eyes are open but glassy. Lifeless. My gaze springs back to Ben. I should feel bad, but there is no room for regret. I’d a thousand times rather he was dead and Ben safe.
“Well, I think that’s the end of that,” Artem says, pocketing a gun.
I get it now. That was what Ben meant when he said I wouldn’t be the only armed person present. George deliberately didn’t take one of Artem’s guns when he frisked him. Ben threatened Lina in the mildest terms, and Artem murdered his brother rather than have her in the Westminster territory but forbidden to him. By Ben’s account, Victor had it coming but still. Artem made a bleak choice.
“I’ll be taking over the Mayfair Bratva. I hope we can deal politely with each other, Mr Crosse. I can’t pretend I’m delighted that my nephew is banging your son.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “That was very nearly Shakespearean. I suggest we do something to prevent such occurrences again. A London Mafia Syndicate, perhaps. I’ll have invitations sent.”
Artem looks down at his dead brother with distaste. “So long as they can be together without compromising the security of either of our activities, I have no objection.”
“About those operations.” Ben has taken this with the sort of sang-froid that makes him a terrifying mafia boss and me his student girlfriend. “I don’t like—”
“Neither do I.” The new boss of the Bratva nods. “You’ll find I run things differently to my brother.”
“Do you want to take that corpse, or shall I have my men dispose of it?” Ben doesn’t even spare a glance for Victor’s dead body.
“I’ll take him. I don’t want to inconvenience you. But…” Artem looks with undisguised contempt at the man I shot.
They sound like they’re discussing who will pay the bill. Very courteous.
“Not at all,” Ben replies. “I’ll handle that mess.”
“Kind of you.” Artem sucks his teeth. Victor is not a small man, but Artem sighs wearily, kneels and hefts his dead brother over his shoulder. “My thanks. Saved me a job. Come, Sergey. Fuck, I need a coffee,” he mutters, then leaves.
“Thank you,” Ben states. “For the tip-off.”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s talking to the youngest Bratva. Sergey.
Ohhh. Tom’s boyfriend alerted Ben about my impending kidnap. I guess he didn’t know that when that failed, his father would take Tom instead.
Sergey swallows and jerks a nod. “No problem.” He transfers his gaze to Tom and I see adoration in his eyes. “I’ll message you,” stammers Sergey, and races away.
We’re left, just the three of us.
“Dad.” Tom doesn’t move, and there’s a new wariness on his face, different to the outright fear when he had a gun to his head.
“George, could you…” Ben waves at the dead goon on the floor.
George winks. “Got it, boss.”
“Come.” Ben wraps an arm around my waist and tows me out of the warehouse, Tom following. When we’re safely ensconced in the limo Tom looks between Ben and me. We’re not hiding. Ben has his hand on my shoulder, gently stroking me there. He kisses my head as soon as we are settled into seats, me next to Ben and Tom opposite.
Tension prickles up my bones as Tom takes in the casual intimacy.
“So… You two.” He scowls.
“Yes,” Ben replies simply, tilting up his chin as though to dare his son to say something.
“But… Anwyn?” Tom’s lips press into a displeased line. “My ex-girlfriend? That’s just… She’s my age.”
“A sexually mature adult, then,” I point out.
Ben raises one eyebrow, a glint of amusement on his face. “The heart wants who it wants, Tom. Love isn’t about age or nationality or… gender.”
Tom digests that. “You knew.”
“I’ve known you a long time,” Ben replies.
“Right, but Anwyn.” Tom rounds on me. “My dad? Couldn’t you have—”
“You don’t speak to her like that,” Ben snaps. “And if we’re talking about inappropriate choices of partner, we can start with the son of the mafia who has been attempting to take down Westminster for ten years.”
Tom swears and drags both hands through his hair in a frustrated gesture so like Ben I have to laugh. “Are you going to ban me from being with him?”
Ben huffs out a breath that’s equal parts irritation and amusement. “No. But I might use it to force you to accept Anwyn as your step-mum.”
“No!” Tom looks so horrified.
“That’s not how it will be,” I cut in.
“Though you will have some half-siblings,” Ben adds lazily. He’s enjoying this and I shoot him a look. He gives me an unrepentant wink, mouths breed you, and I blush.
Tom winces. “Fine. If I can be with Sergey, fine. I never want to hear about any of how that happened. Ever.”
Ben and I grin at each other. “Deal.”
