It’s pure instinct to throw myself over my girl, rolling in the air so I take the brunt of the fall, but flipping her and pinning her to the ground as another shot blasts over my head.
Fuck. Have to get her out of here.
A fucking mafia war isn’t the place for my sweet little barista. My kisa, my kitten.
I hold her down as she whimpers in fear, grab my pistol, and fire over my shoulder. There’s the squeal of wheels and more gunfire as I shoot again at whichever not-long-to-be-alive bastard who dares try to take me out, and more importantly, risks my girl.
“Come on.”
“Wha-what?”
Hoisting Lina’s shocked body into my arms, I half carry, half encourage her to the back of the coffeeshop and barge into the storeroom as another cascade of bullets shows this isn’t over.
“The other exit,” I demand. Those bastards think they have us trapped. Thankfully my bulletproof SUV is on a quiet backstreet.
“There…” She gestures around some shelves.
I shove my way through the clutter of half-opened serviette packets and piles of bags of coffee beans.
“What’s happening?”
“I’m getting you to safety.” That’s not the question, really, but it’s all I’ve got as I set her onto her feet, shielded by the wall, put my finger over my lips to indicate she should be quiet, and creek open the door an inch. The street is hushed. I’m suspicious as I creep out, gun ready, but it’s empty.
They’re at the front. Thank god.
Low-key paranoia is part of being in the Bratva. It pays to be unexpected in my line of work, like parking at the back and walking around. Any other mafia boss would pull up ostentatiously at the front door. But I’m sloppy. A kingpin for only two months, I’m still used to being the man who arranges hits on our enemies and protects the boss.
Which was fine until I killed him.
I turn and reach back inside for Lina, and our eyes meet.
She understands. I drag her out, holding her fingers in a punishing grip. We cross the street and duck down the shadowy side alley where I left my vehicle.
It’s not a second too soon. A car cruises by with a throaty roar, then stops at the rear of the coffee shop.
A few more steps and Lina is walking on her own as we reach my car.
“Get in,” I say as I unlock it.
“No.” She snatches her wrist from my surprised hands—I’m not used to anyone telling me no—and darts her gaze to the main street we came from. “I can’t leave work, and I’m calling the police.” She turns on her heel and panic flares in my chest.
I grab her. Fingers over her mouth and pressing her torso to me as I open the passenger door and shove her in, my gun still in the other hand.
“Stay there,” I snarl. No compromise. My enemies cannot get hold of her.
Her gaze goes to my weapon, the whites of her eyes large like a frightened animal.
Fine. If that’s what it takes to protect her.
I’ve slammed the door, and I’m in the driver’s seat and firing the engine in a moment, gun still in hand.
“Put on your seat belt,” I snap as I drive away. My whole body is on alert for continued danger, and tingling from the brief contact with Lina and her proximity.
“What the hell?”
“The seat belt, kisa. Now.”
“You’ve kidnapped me!” She eyes my gun and then the car door, nervously. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me—”
“Seat belt!” I roar as I take a corner fast.
“No need to be a dick about it,” she mutters as she straps in.
I place the gun in my lap and focus on driving. Getting home as quickly as possible so I can keep Lina out of harm’s way and sort this mess.
“What’s this about?”
I grit my teeth and don’t answer.
Obsession.
It’s about my obsession with her.
I should have stopped.
She’d have been safe if I hadn’t shown my hand, day after day, visiting this innocent girl. I already knew one other London mafia had figured it out, but that had been a fluke. Chance. I told myself I was careful.
Not careful enough.
The Mayfair Bratva is known for being obscenely rich and mean. The mean part died with my brother, Victor, but anyone who thinks there is vulnerability or an opportunity to get even now is dead wrong.
How did they find her? I’m so careful about my daily indulgent trip to visit Lina Breock.
I hacked the employee records so I could groan her name while I stroke my cock in the shower, hot water coursing over me as I jerk myself to an orgasm with a sharp edge of guilt. She’s young. Innocent. Naive and nothing to do with the bloody mafia world I inhabit.
A split second before she lunges for the door, I see what she’s trying to do and engage the locks.
She howls with frustration and fear as she pumps the handle. “Let me go!”
“Nope.”
I catch her fist before it hits my jaw, and smile. The kitten is attempting to find her claws.
“Don’t do that,” I say mildly. “It won’t work, but might hurt you.”
She wrenches her hand away and from the corner of my eye I see her rub her knuckles.
I refuse to apologise, but I’m proud of her for attempting to fight, even if it’s inconvenient, and obviously makes her hand sore.
“Arsehole,” she grumbles.
“If you really wanted to get away, you should have dropped to the ground quickly, and kicked. Not let me get the upper hand and scoop you up. Used your legs, not your arms. They’re much stronger.”
She scoffs. “You just told me how to escape.”
“You’re not going to escape me now,” I reply evenly. “Like I said. It’s too late.”
There’s a long, thick silence.
“Tell me why were they shooting at you,” she demands eventually. “Us? Me? Surely not me?”
Ah shit. This is complicated. “Because I’ve done some bad things.”
“Oh.” Her voice is full of disappointment. Small, and a bit fearful. “If they’re not after me, why don’t you let me go?”
Because they know I care about her now. They’ve seen me hustle her out. I can’t release her because whoever they are, they’d take her and torture her, and I’d rather see London burnt to the ground than allow anyone to touch her.
It’s my fault this happened. I shouldn’t have continued to visit the Lazy Bean. Should appoint a second-in-command and get comfortable with being the boss. Alone. When I became kingpin that was the moment to put aside the sweet fantasy I acted out. The one where I was an averagely immoral man who flirted with the pretty barista.
“I won’t hurt you, kisa,” I say as I fly through yet another red light. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Sure,” she scoffs, but then falls silent.
I sigh and call today’s duty guard, Kirill.
“Get everyone up,” I bark as he answers. “There’s a meeting in the main hall.”
“Yes, boss—”
The ten-minute journey across the city takes five. I’m going to have to pay off some cops because I’ve been through a dozen speed cameras.
Lina’s gaze flits around skittishly as the door opens to the underground car park below my house in Mayfair. It’s bloody good I don’t have anyone to answer to—except my own conscience and that’s a sick, skeletal ghost of a thing—because I have no idea what I’d say as I abandon the car next to the elevator.
I stride around to open the door and offer her my hand like this is the date I’ve been secretly dreaming about, rather than whatever shitshow this is.
She doesn’t take it, and I’m struck anew by her proud resilience. Even in her coffee-stained clothes, she’s a queen.
My queen. The thought is quiet but insistent. I cannot give in. She deserves better than me. This sweet kisa should have…
Ah fuck, I’m not a good enough man to imagine her with someone else. No one would take care of her as well as I would, but I can’t have her and draw her into my dark world. She’s just here until I can murder every member of the mafia who threatened her. Then I’ll set her free, and return to watching from a distance.
“Come.” I indicate the brushed steel doors. I feel her reluctance and the furtive way she checks her surroundings. “It’s pointless running. I’ll catch you.”
She has no option, and she knows it. Folding her arms, she stomps into the elevator. The mirrors reflect her stormy expression. It was less than an hour ago that it was a normal day for us, flirting lightly, longing for the next time I can see her, trying unsuccessfully to keep my cock under control.
She’s slight and small, her dark hair pulled into a simple ponytail. I’ve made myself come more times than I care to remember over the thought of what her hair would look like down, falling over her shoulders as her perfect pink lips took all of my cock. And her tits. The way they’re hidden under a baggy white shirt is a greater crime than anything the Bratva does.
The doors open into the original foyer of the house, and a chaos of my black-suited men milling around with more weapons than buttons on their shirts.
“Boss!” Vlad looks like he might vomit. “We were coming to look for you. We thought…”
Lina shrinks to my side and without my volition my hand goes to the small of her back.
“We’re fine.” I glance down at Lina, and I think that’s when Vlad first notices her, such is his panic.
Around us, silence falls. All my men turn to look at me.
“Someone shot at us this morning,” I tell them. “And there will be consequences.”
There are murmurs of excitement and concern, along with lingering glances at my girl.
“This is Lina. She got caught up and is my guest. No one touches her,” I say a little louder. “You understand? She’s under my protection.”
There are some curious stares and my control snaps. “She’s mine.”
The eyes that had been speculative, taking in Lina’s beauty and the significance of her being here, snap to the floor, confused.
“Arrange the briefing rooms,” I tell Vlad. He’s remarkably awake when everyone else, except Kirill who was on duty, is still dopey with sleep. I really should appoint him as my official second-in-command. I don’t know why I haven’t. He’s eager and always there when I need him. “Work on any intel you can find. I’ll be with you soon.”
I guide Lina through the maze of formal rooms. She looks around in awe.
I suppose my house in Mayfair is quite impressive. I’m used to it, but the Georgian mansion is all wide spaces, high ceilings, marble floors, and wallpaper that is as detailed as the art of the gold-framed paintings on top.
At the back of the house, I stop in a garden-facing sitting room I use sometimes. It’s less priceless furniture and more relaxation. There’s a television and everything.
“Sit.”
Her brows knit together and I think she’s going to argue. She decides against it.
“Would you like something to drink? Eat?”
“No, I want an explanation and to go home. Back to work. Whatever. My boss will probably dock my last pay packet and I can’t afford that.”
“Last?” I catch onto that detail, because it’s been my job for many years to notice everything.
She huffs. “Well, it’ll definitely be last now, won’t it? Because she’ll sack me for leaving the place unattended.”
“Fine.” I reach into my inner suit jacket pocket and pull out my personal bank card. A sane voice in my head points out she could spend a lot of money with that card. Millions. I’d love to see what she’d buy if money isn’t a limitation. “This will fix any of those problems.”
She picks up the bank card and there it is. The reason I haven’t told her anything about me for the whole year I’ve been going to the Lazy Bean to see her. Realisation. Fear.
“Artem Moroz,” she says softly, and hell but I really like the sound of my name on her lips. Even better if hers was paired with it. Lina Moroz. “You’re in the mafia.”
“The Bratva,” I correct her, because this distinction matters, somehow. I’m not like the dozens of mafia bosses in London. I’m worse. Even if I’m cleaning up the worst of Mayfair businesses, I won’t hide from who I am.
“What’s that?” Her forehead creases.
“The Russian mafia.” I tip my head ruefully. “I lead the Mayfair Bratva.”
She closes her eyes and there’s a sort of pain in her expression, and also understanding. “You’re a mafia boss. I thought you were a CEO or something.” She half-laughs. “I was so stupid.”
“No. No, Lina. I…” I sink into the chair next to her and take a breath. Her blue-ringed green eyes flutter open and regard me. The fear has eased into distrust, but I don’t like that any better. “Not only did I take some care to be normal, I wasn’t the kingpin when we met.”
Hope flares in her expression and as she tips her head, curious. A strand of her soft-looking black hair falls across her cheek. My fingers itch to push it away.
“But now you are, and someone is after you?”
“Yes.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
Everything. Somebody knows that I’d risk everything for my girl. I compromise, given she isn’t aware she’s mine. Yet. “They know where you work.”
“I was trying to tell you, that was my last shift.” She leans forward, and for a second my body tightens. I’m convinced she’s going to touch me. “I’m moving out of London.”
No. No. A dragon in my chest breathes fire. “You wouldn’t be safe,” I grind out. “You’re staying here until I find and eliminate the threat.”
“You can’t just kidnap me! People will notice…” she tails off.
“Then call whoever will miss you. Now.” I circle my hand impatiently. “Tell them you’re okay.”
Sliding her phone from her pocket, she looks at the screen, indecision flickering over her pretty features. “No.”
I raise one eyebrow. Trying my patience as well as my self-control was not something I had on my list of possibilities for this scenario.
She huffs and slumps onto the back of the sofa, chin in her hands. “That was supposed to make you realise you can’t do this.”
“I can do whatever I want, Lina.”
She jerks at her name. “How do you know my name…?”
We’ve been talking almost every morning for a year. She’s told me about many things, but we’ve never exchanged names. I call her kisa and she calls me sir.
“The Bratva has a long reach of influence.” Better that vague statement than letting her find out I’ve been stalking her. “Now phone.”
The corners of her mouth turn down. “There’s no point.”
“Go on,” I urge. “Call your friend who takes over after your shift at the coffee shop.”
“Anwyn,” she replies, and oof, the way she says it sounds like a sore spot. “She doesn’t work there anymore. Since she got engaged, I don’t see her much.”
“I might be able to arrange for you to see her.” The words are out before I can stop them, an attempt to make her smile. My girl is skint? I have money. My girl is lonely? I’ll fix that too.
Lina blinks at me in confusion and shakes her head slowly. To be honest, that’s a good thing. Anwyn is married to the Westminster mafia boss, who also happens to be the only person—to my knowledge—who knows about Lina and how I’d do anything for her.
After all, he saw me murder my own brother in cold blood rather than allow any threat of harm to Lina. And in return, I promised that his girl would be safe from me. It would be a very awkward conversation all round if it turned out I had to kill Lina’s friend because her husband hadn’t kept his word.
I know from our conversations that her parents aren’t around. “Your housemates then.”
“There’s no one, alright!” she blurts out. “I’m alone!”
She hugs herself and I have never needed to take her in my arms as much as I do right now. Not to ravish her, as is usually what I want, but to comfort. To tell her she’s loved and safe and beautiful, and that I’m going to give her everything she needs.
I can see that isn’t welcome though. And the only thing to say is something true.
“So am I.”
“Pfft. You’re a mafia boss. You have all this power and money. I bet you have no shortage of company. You could click your fingers and have supermodels on your doorstep, begging you to…” She swallows and looks away.
Reaching one finger beneath her chin, I guide her face to look into mine. What I see there is enlightening. A grumpy sadness with a layer of—yes, I’m reading this correctly—jealousy.
“I don’t want a supermodel.” I just want her. She’s all I’ve wanted since we met and there haven’t been any women in my bed or life for this whole year. “My job isn’t easy, and I don’t have anyone to confide in. I have everything to lose if anybody sees weakness.” That was true, perhaps more true before I killed Victor. “No one to talk to. When I say I’m alone, kisa, I mean it. And a genuine connection with someone who doesn’t just value me for money or power means the world to me.”
This confession is an unravelling, painful and revealing.
She scans my face and I wait, impassive, hoping she’ll see the truth there and not recognise the infatuation. The obsession.
“Is that why you come to the coffee shop?” she replies at last.
“Yes.” That at least is honest. I come to see her.
“Well. I won’t be at the coffee shop, but if you let me go, we could talk on the phone instead?” she offers.
I let her chin go and fold my arms. She really isn’t getting it. “We’ll be spending a lot more time together talking in person.”
Enough time for her to fall in love with me? That’s probably not achievable in decades. But I’ll take Stockholm syndrome if she’ll look up at me with reverence like she has every weekday morning since we first met.
“You think I’m going to talk with you?” She shakes her head firmly. “No way. You don’t get to kidnap and imprison me and also banter about how you like big books.”
I ignore her jibe. That was a fun conversation about big books, and worth repeating. But I’m stuck on another point. “You’re my guest.”
“A guest who can’t leave is a prisoner.”
“Fine,” I snap, and stand. “You’re my prisoner.”
“What am I supposed to do? Just sit here until you’ve achieved this goal of hunting down an unknown person or persons?”
Come on my face. Repeatedly. Take my cock like a good girl.
The tint of sarcasm in her tone irritates me. As though I’d leave her bored.
“Use that.” I indicate the card lying forgotten on her lap. “Buy whatever you want to amuse yourself.”
And if you don’t find anything to do, I’ll make you come over and over until you can’t think of leaving because you’re gooey with pleasure. Then I’ll fuck you and fill you up until you’re pregnant with my baby and that will keep you busy instead.
I grind my teeth. Yeah, tempting as that idea is, it’s not the way to treat Lina as my guest. Prisoner. Whatever.
“I’m going to call the police.” Her mouth sets into a mulish line and she picks up her phone.
“If you do that either they will ignore you, because they’re in my pocket, or you’ll wish they had. My men will kill them if they insist on coming into my domain.”
She gapes. “You’re a madman.”
“Now you’re getting it.” I prefer to think of myself as merely unhinged and powerful. But she might be right. “They can’t help you, kisa. I’ll let you go once the danger has passed.”
It’s a lie.
She’s mine. And I will never let her go.
All I have to do is get her to fall in love with me.
