Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart

Chapter Twenty-Three

Olivia

The machine beside me beeps. Another powers the cuff currently squeezing my arm without mercy. And a third is connected to a mostly empty fluid bag on one side and a tube taped to my arm on the other. I sit up. Obviously, I’m in a hospital. And over the scent of antiseptic and heavy cleaners, I can smell Leon. His cologne. His scent. It’s intoxicating. Probably I’m here because I got drunk on it and fell and hit my head.

Or maybe it was seeing Jacob beaten by the various men who worked for Leon. Being threatened with death while they took turns punching the poor kid who was failing at playing in the grown-up league of criminal activity. Maybe the stress of it was too much, and I passed out in self-defense. I should blame Leon, but I’m desperate to talk to him, desperate to see his face. Desperate to love him.

I’m pathetic. A disappointment not only to myself but to women everywhere. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

He breathes out softly. “Should I get a doctor?” There’s panic in his tone, but also relief. And I don’t read into the fact he was worried. But if I did, I would say he cares about me more than he admits to me. More than he probably admits to himself.

I stare at him for a second because I don’t know how long ago it was, but last I remember, he had me in a basement, and he was pointing a gun at Jacob, threatening and ready to kill.  “No. Not yet.” I want to talk to him first.

He moves to sit beside me on the bed, our hips touching, his hand cradling mine now. There are about a thousand things I need to say to him.

“Leon.” For a second, his name is all I can manage.

“I didn’t kill Jacob. I know he was only trying to protect you, so I’ve granted him another chance. He will have to return the favor though. Men with skills like his are hard to find in our circles so we’ll keep him busy and monitor him.” His voice is deep, gravelly, like he’s struggling to contain whatever emotion he’s feeling.

“Thank you.” I should say more, but the words are stuck. All the thoughts I had in my head are gone.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” He looks down at our clasped hands, depriving me of the beauty of his eyes.

“So. you believe me now?” I don’t ask what changed. It matters, but not as much as it probably should. I’ve never been one of those girls who would surrender her entire belief system for a man.

He nods. “Sometimes, jealousy makes a man a fool.” He shakes his head. “I saw you with him, and I wanted to kill him just for having a moment with you I didn’t have.” He sighed. “You put your body between Jacob and the barrel of my gun.”

“Because I didn’t want to have to go to his mom and tell her he died.” I swallow hard. I’d done that already for her daughter. Sat with her while she cried for her loss. Listened to her grief, watched how it changed her entire body.

“Not because you love him?” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I shouldn’t care. I’m trying not to care.” There is a moment when I think he might say he loves me, but he snaps his mouth shut.

“I do love him. But not the way you mean.” I sigh. Maybe I wasn’t clear before on my relationship with Jacob. And it shouldn’t matter to me whether or not he understands. I shouldn’t care. But I do. So much. “He’s always been around. My little brother. The only one I ever had. When his family took me in, when Denice’s family took me in, he became my family. I don’t love him romantically, but he’s my brother, and if something happens to him…” I glance away.

“I kill people.”

It is a three-word sentence, but it’s an entire wall of story built between us. “I know.”

“I would’ve killed him.” This time I nod because he isn’t finished. “In my world, people who lie, who betray, who are guilty of spying have to die. The threat has to be extinguished.”

“Or…?” What consequence could be bigger than the guilt of taking a life?

“Or the target on my back has a bigger bullseye. I am weakened, and men who want to unseat me have a giant arrow pointing to whatever it is that is my weakness.” His accent thickens. “Today, I am weak. For you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Before I can answer, a doctor in light blue scrubs and a white jacket strolls in. She has an iPad in one arm and she’s scrolling through screens. “Miss Hudson?”

I nod as Leon stands. “I have some business stuff.” He leans down to kiss my cheek. “Would it be okay if I come back?”

Maybe he really has work to do and maybe he just doesn’t want to know what made me faint, or assumes he already knows and doesn’t want to hear a doctor say it was his fault.

“Yeah.” I smile when he brushes my hair off my forehead then stands and nods to the doctor, and when he walks out the door, I watch because that man has a walk that needs to be watched.

The doctor smiles at me. “I have your test results all back.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“The bloodwork says you’re a bit iron deficient. We’ll get you some supplements before you go home.” Scrolls more. “And some vitamins.”

“Does iron deficiency lead to fainting?” If this is going to be a regular thing, I need to know it. Need to know if I’m going to have to start wearing elbow pads and a helmet, or if I’ll have to hire someone to follow me around to catch me.

“In some instances. When it’s severe. But in your case, it’s combined with stress and pregnancy.”

“Oh.” Stress and pregnancy. “Stress and pregnancy?” Math was never my strong suit, but I could read a calendar. And… pregnancy. With a crime boss. With Leon. When I think of his name, my heart is lighter. The burning in my chest is lessened. I’m not afraid because I know I’ll never be safer.

Leon would never let anything happen to his child. He killed a man for threatening Anna. A man who never even got close enough to touch her.

And the love for her… Whatever he’s doing, he stops, always has a smile for his niece. For his own child, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do. It isn’t a stretch.

“Being pregnant is like needing two times the nutrients, two times the calories, two time the water. When you came in, you were dehydrated.” Well, and I don’t tell her, but I spent the night in a dark room in a warehouse deprived of said nutrients.

The thought tarnishes the glow around Leon I kept seeing, but I understand. He has trust issues. Loving me—and whether he said it or not, he did—made him scared. It was a talk we would have to have. We would have to find a way to build the trust between us, and I would need assurance that locking me in a room won’t be a go-to for whenever I piss him off—undoubtedly, I will—and he will need to know I am always on his side. No matter what.

“You have to make sure you eat and drink plenty. The baby is growing and needs you to be vigilant.” Her voice isn’t stern, but she knows how to issue orders.

I nod. She hands me a pamphlet for the Women and Infants Center affiliated with the hospital, then she breezes back out like she hasn’t just dropped a life-changing bomb in my lap.

But I smile. A baby. With Leon. And I want to tell him. And I don’t want to tell him. Not because I’m afraid of how he’ll react. He values family. He’s shown that to me over and over again. And whether I am or not, this baby is his family. Of course, it will be an adjustment. For both of us, and for Anna, but she’s going to be so excited.

Before I can have a second thought or even a sliver of doubt can filter in, I pick up the bedside phone and dial Leon.

His voice is warm, smooth, like syrup when he answers. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Is everything okay?” The worry that deepens his tone notches another spot for him into my heart.

I nod like he can see me. But because I’m not a total fool, I also add, “Yeah. I have to talk to you. Is there a way you can come back? They’re going to let me out this afternoon.”

His smile is almost as beautiful to hear as it is to see in person. “You bet. I can pick you up. Maybe come early, sit with you.” Softer he adds, “Look at you.”

My heart thumps a crazy little dance inside my chest. “You say the darnedest things, Leon Krilov.”

He chuckles and the sound goes straight to my belly and settles there. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

An hour. I can wait that long. I can sit with my news. “Yeah.”

But ten minutes later, I’m sprung. Free to go. By the time I’m dressed, he’s standing at the door. But for a man who wanted to look at me, he isn’t doing much more than glancing every once in a while.

“Is everything okay, Leon?”

He lifts his head. “Fine. You ready?”

Something is off. But I’m happy to see him, happy he’s here and ready to take me home. I can brush off the effects of traffic. “I have something for you in my car.”

“Convenient since I need a ride.” I grin. “You plan it that way?”

He nods. “Yeah.” His voice is deep and dry, like he needs a drink.

“You okay?” Because it’s more than his voice. It’s his posture—stiff and awkward—the hard set of his face, like he’s angry.

“Fine.” Even his tone is off. The accent that only comes with emotion or fatigue is thick and coats every word.

I’ve already signed the papers, have the referrals, the trial packets of iron supplements and vitamins and prescriptions for more to hold me until I can get an appointment with an obstetrician. All I need to do is hit the call button so they can wheel me to the door.

But instead of waiting, Leon walks out, and I follow because I’m suddenly a puppy dying for his affection and he’s holding it back, even though on the phone…

Something is off.

And it isn’t until I’m in his car, I try to bring it up. “Leon, is something wrong?”

He doesn’t speak, just grunts and backs the car out of the space.

I look at him. Really look. His mouth. His profile. The ticking of his jaw. The expanse of his throat. The breadth of his shoulders. Chest acreage. Muscles forearms.

He’s holding the steering wheel at the bottom, lazy, like he can’t be bothered to lift it. Or even grasp the wheel. It’s just lying on the curve. But because it is, I see it. A burn. A fucking burn. On his right hand.

My stomach clenches. Not Leon. Danger. Danger. Danger.

My brain isn’t registering sentences because I know this guy. Not in person, but I know him. He’s a rapist. A man who takes what he wants without regard.  And obviously he knows who I am.

The resemblance though… remarkable. Except the burn, I can’t find a difference between them. Same eyes. Same hair. Same hands.

It can only be Igor. The dead brother. Obviously not dead.

I’m in danger. The kind I should’ve known would find me.

“Leon, I don’t feel good. I think maybe we should go back to the hospital.” I add a note of pitiful to my voice because I truly am. And I’m sick enough the hospital might not be a bad idea, but he continues driving, speeding now. Fast enough I’m holding onto the doorhandle, my mental berating fierce.

How could I not know this wasn’t Leon, the man who looked so tenderly at me when I woke, the man who held my hand against his cheek and practically cried—if he was able, he would’ve anyway.

I controlled my breathing because last thing I needed was to hyperventilate and pass out before I could figure out how to get ahold of Leon.

Throwing myself out of the car isn’t an option because he thinks he’s Jeff Gordon and we’re at Daytona. We’re flying through the city and away from Leon. Away from the man who will ride in, guns blazing to save me because he loves me.

And there’s no way he knows his brother is alive or that I’ve unwittingly—stupidly—ended up in a car with Igor.

And that is the last thing I remember.