Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart
Chapter Nineteen
Olivia
On one hand, I have the diamond encrusted hairpin Leon gave me. My salvation. Valuable enough to pay the rent I’m behind and tide me over until I can find a job to replace the one I lost because I was at Leon’s during the required annual training sessions at Bleddington Prep. And now the school year has started, so I’ll have to wait until midterm to be more than a sub at public school. But I can’t bear the thought of pawning it. Or selling it. Or giving it up in any way no matter what I lose. Apartment included.
On the other hand, I have the eviction notice from said apartment’s landlord. Two days ago, I had three days to pay or quit. I know what it means. I have effectively loved Leon to my own detriment, to my own homelessness, to my own stupidity.
Worse than being pathetically homeless, I’m pathetically lovelorn. Heartbroken. Crying myself to sleep at night because I miss him, and he hasn’t called. Neither have I called, but I also don’t have his number. Of all the things he gave me, hairpin included, the thing I didn’t get—his number—is probably what I want second only to the man himself.
Instead, I hold my hairpin and my eviction notice. One from him, the other because of him. And me. Mostly me. I could’ve made a call. Saved my job. But I’d forgotten all about the training.
And once I tried to save my job and found out it was too late, I was already too far behind in the rent. I’d spent all my savings on Denice and paying Veronica to set up Leon.
“Hey you.” Jacob sits beside me on the floor among the ten boxes of my belongings in the living room.
I glance at Jacob. “Everything I own fits in ten boxes. I’m officially pathetic.” I’ve never been so alone or lonely. “How does it feel being BFFs with someone who can pack all her shit in the space of two hours?”
“Feels like I lucked out in the best friend department. More boxes won’t fit in the closet at my place.” He chuckles and smacks his hand on the top of the one marked kitchen. It has four plates, two bowls, a Scooby-doo coffee mug and a pot I use to make Ramen noodles. I probably could’ve added all the stuff to one of the other boxes, but a kitchen deserves its own box.
And pathetic or not, I nod at him. His place is a relatively new development and I have no idea how he’s affording it, but I’m grateful. Mostly grateful I don’t have to cover myself with one of my ten cardboard boxes and live under the El.
He sits beside me and flips open the pizza box he brought with him. “So, ask me how things went at work today.”
“Don’t be a bragger just because you have a job.” But I smile because Jacob not only has a job, but he also has one that pays him a lot of money. Probably dirty money, but he’s my last connection to Leon, and sometimes he gives me a tidbit or two about Leon. Just a namedrop here or there, but it’s enough. So, I don’t judge because I can’t. I’m using his job to keep me on the fringes of Leon’s life.
The depths of my patheticness know no limits.
“Your boyfriend himself came by today.” Jacob says it with the exact amount of smug to make me jealous.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” And never have words tasted so bitter.
His smile brightens. “Good. You can do better.” He snarfs half a piece of pizza before he gets to the headline of his day. “He wants me to find some information on …” he chuckles. “It sounds so stupid.”
“What? Tell me.”
“He wants me to find some information on this Irish guy. He calls him the Lucky Charms guy.”
Jacob is taking a lot of joy in a job that should be more somber since any information he gives Leon could get someone killed. “His brother is the cool one, though.”
“Whose brother?” Even talking about Adrian like we’re more than acquaintances would make me happy.
He shakes his head. “Jesus, Liv. You sound desperate. I wasn’t even talking about Krilov. I was talking about McGrath. Connor McGrath.”
Oh shit. He works for Leon. He shouldn’t know Connor McGrath or anyone in his operation. “How do you know McGrath?” I’ve seen what Leon does to people who cross him. And my stomach knows what’s going on even if my head doesn’t. It’s churning and rolling. The smell of jalapenos on the pizza doesn’t help, but it’s mostly Jacob’s response. His lack of one until I huff out an “Oh, shit, Jake!”
“What?”
Fucking Jacob. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
He can’t be so dumb. Or naïve. Or reckless. “Nothing. Come on. You know me.”
“Jacob, I know what happens to people who cross Leon Krilov.” I’d seen it up close and personal. I’d worn splotches of Callum McKenzie’s blood after Leon shot him in front of me. “I don’t imagine it’s different if you cross Connor McGrath considering they’re all big bad criminal minds.” I say all the words in one breath while my mind spins with pictures of Jacob, eyes open, lifeless. “Jake…”
He takes another bite of pizza and chews while I stare. I don’t need him to lay out the details for me to know what he’s done, but I need to hear the words.
“It’s protection, Liv. For both of us.” I still can’t speak, but Jacob is not so afflicted. “Look, Connor came to me. Didn’t drag me out of my place, didn’t threaten me. He sat in my apartment, made me an offer.” When my gaze remains hard and I don’t applaud his stupidity, he sighs. “Connor McGrath is paying for the place we’re about to go to.” I’d thought the money came from Leon. “My palace upgrade is all thanks to McGrath.”
I don’t know how to convince him that using one gangster to cross another probably is a one-way ticket to Torturesville or to Bullet-between-the-eyes-town. He isn’t about to listen anyway, but this can only end badly. I can’t let him do this. “Jacob, Leon isn’t a guy you should double cross.”
“Look, I’m not. I’m doing what I have to do to make our futures safe.” He puts his pizza down and looks at me. “I care about you so much, Liv.”
I’m trapped in an uh-oh moment, and I know what’s coming—know it with unblinded certainty when he scoots a little closer, leans in, his gaze dropping to my mouth, and then his mouth is on mine. I pull back quick. Too quick not to hurt his feelings, but I don’t want to be…I’m not….dammit.
“Jake…” I’m disappointed. And embarrassed. I could’ve just kissed him. I could’ve let it happen then told him the truth, said we can’t ruin a good friendship. Instead, I pulled back and gave him the face. The grimace. The one Denice said always looked like I ate a big pile of rotten pickles.
He moves back to his spot and wipes his face with the napkin. “Hey, it’s good. We’re good. I took a shot. You’re not into me.” He shrugs. “It happens.” But his face is dark and he’s not looking at me.
“Jake…”
“Were you sleeping with that fucking guy?”
“Leon?” Apparently, it’s all the confirmation he needs. As he shakes his head and wipes his mouth though he hasn’t taken a bite, I sigh. “That’s not relevant.”
“Really?” Now he gives me his own version of the look, but his is curled-lip disgusted. “You slept with him?”
“Jake…” Dear God. There’s nothing I can say that will save this moment.
He sighs. “So, it’s okay for him to be Captain Danger and carry a gun…”
“You want to carry a gun?” This is worse than I thought.
“No. It’s just…you like him because he’s dangerous. I could be dangerous. I mean”—he chuckles, and I’ve lost all control of the conversation—“I’m dangerous, right?”
Dangerous. Stupid. Not much difference. “Jake, I’m not, I mean, I don’t like Leon.” And now I’ve lied to him. I do like Leon. Too much. But Jake doesn’t need the semantic version of my untruth. “And certainly not because he’s dangerous.” It really wasn’t an attraction for me. Every other single thing was, though, and talking about it with Jacob Miller felt so wrong. Made my gut clench in a bad way. I didn’t like lying and every word out of my mouth since he’d tried to kiss me—the ones about Leon, anyway—were blatantly untrue.
“Please stop.” He won’t look at me, and it’s a good thing. I can’t face his scrutiny and come out on the right side of it.
“Jake…”
He holds up his hands. “No, it’s cool. You’re not into me. I’m…just…” He stands in one fluid movement and picks up a box. “I’m going to start carrying your boxes out to the truck.” He’d borrowed a pickup from some other friend of his. “You finish eating.”
“Jake…”
Sharper, harder, like he’d had enough of me not managing to say more than his name, he glares and says, “I need a minute, okay?”
I’m an ass. And it’s hard to take with how kind he’s always been to me. “Yeah. Sorry.”
At some point, we’re going to have to finish all the conversations we’ve almost had here, but for tonight, enough has been said and done that we have to stop. Our friendship might not survive otherwise.