Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart

Chapter Seven

Leon

It’s been three days. I’ve watched her with Anna. Watched her while she ate dinner. Watched her while she slept—not in a creepy way, just a check in here and there to make sure she’s okay.

She hasn’t tried to escape. She hasn’t tried to tell Anna anything awful about me. She hasn’t mentioned Denice or McKenzie and the basement. Instead, she’s teaching Anna to paint. Told her she went to college to be a nurse, but ended up becoming a teacher instead—what she said was more useful than art and also explained why she didn’t become sick when I shot McKenzie.

She shows Anna how to hold the brush, how to make broad and thin strokes, how to mix the colors. Then she lets Anna create.

Her hair is pulled back from her face and I can see the curve of her jaw, the smooth skin, unhidden by makeup she doesn’t need. She’s beautiful in a way most women have to work to be.

The thoughts in my head don’t belong.

Didn’t belong yesterday when she came in with Anna to show me the puzzle they put together.

Don’t belong today while I’m sitting in my office chair, supposed to be working, but instead, I’m watching the sun come through Anna’s window and shine on Olivia’s hair. And I’m dying to go into the room and run my fingers through it.

I shake off the thoughts because she thinks I’m a rapist. Knows I’m a murderer. Makes a relationship or even a good fuck out of the question. Especially since I made promises. Promises to find who hurt Denice.

For a minute, I glance at the other screen, the one with the photo of Denice Miller. I’ve had this information for a while—since before the trial—but I never looked too hard. Never read the report.

I didn’t want to know too much about her in case their attorney—her family’s attorney—asked me questions I shouldn’t have known the answers to but were in this report.

Instead, I turn back and look at the monitor with Olivia and Anna. If I had time for a relationship, if having someone in my life wouldn’t make me weak, I would make her mine. Not by force. I wouldn’t need force. She would be with me because it’s what we want. Both of us.

If only.

Aside from the personal reasons I can’t have her, I don’t know yet that she doesn’t work for the Irish or the Italians. That the reason she’s strong enough to watch a man be killed in front of her isn’t because she’s seen it before.

Adrian stands at the door. “You busy, Leon?”

I should be, but I’m not so I shake my head. “Come in.”

Adrian is tall and lanky, wiry, which makes him as dangerous as any of the other men in our employ. And he’s young, with a lot left to learn but a desire to learn it, which also makes him a powerful tool. Not to mention the loyalty.

He sits across from me and slides a piece of paper across the desk. “Flinn made contact.”

Flinn is Irish. He’s high-ranking. And things in Ireland are volatile. He’s looking for something. Help, maybe, and this makes him useful to me.

“Good.” I stare at the note. For something so important, it looks like scrap. I don’t spend time on it but tuck it into my pocket.

“The South Side Nines need more product.” They handle a large portion of our distribution.

Good news since we keep a warehouse of product. I nod. “See to it.”

And he will. Not only because I am the brother who cares for him, who makes sure he has money in his pocket and the respect of a Krilov son, but because I’m the boss.

“The Irish took three more of our men last night. Boris, Dmitri, and Aleksander.” He lowers his head for a moment. Dmitri was a friend, one of the team of guys he spent his Saturday mornings with playing hockey.

“I’m sorry, A.” And I am, but I need more. I need to know what the hell happened. “Where?”

“Waterfront. They ran up on an Irish meet with some biker gang.” He shrugs like it isn’t killing him to tell me.

“Do we know who the bikers are?” The Irish use bikers to smuggle their shit. We let them because the bikers want too big a cut. We use gangs for sales, but I’ve built an intricate shipping network using our corporate allies and interests. The Italians and Irish can’t compete.

“Some group from down south. They’re trying to break into the St. Louis network.” He speaks too matter-of-factly for something else not to be the headline. “But…”

There it is. “But?”

“The bikers burned Boris. They carved up Aleks and they shot Dmitri in both kneecaps before they killed him.” He doesn’t look at me because he knows I can’t be sympathetic. I am the boss. Although, I am sorry he lost a friend.

“Adrian, I need your focus.” He nods, and when he glances at me there is anger, burning hatred in his eyes. “Find me who did this.”

He nods. “They took the merchandise.”

This wasn’t about a shipment of guns. They’d shot one, burned one, and cut one. This was torture. They must have wanted information.

“Do you think anyone talked?” These were Adrian’s men. The guys he trusted. Dmitri was the only one with any information that could be useful. He was trustworthy.

But we are both powerfully aware pain is a powerful weapon. And if anyone knows, it’s Adrian. Last year, the Irish captured and beat him to within an inch of his life, but still, he kept his mouth shut.

“No. If so, they would’ve hit the shipment. Instead, they only took the crate from the shed. When the delivery came, the place was empty. The driver called me.”

He’s seen this before, but never lost a friend.

I stand and walk around the desk. “We need to move the shipment. Burn the shed.”

“I did.”

“And the bodies?”

“At the mortuary.” We own it, too. He stares at me for a minute. “I see the woman is still here.” His voice is thin, questioning more than speaking.

I go easy because he’s lost his friend. Answer with a shrug instead of reminding him to watch his tone, not to question me. Ever. There will be time another day. He can have his moment of grief.

“Anna likes her. I need a nanny. And she needs information.” It’s all very simple math on paper. Why it’s so complicated in my head, I don’t know.

But Adrian smiles.

I sigh. His moment is over. “Get out. Go do your damned job.”

He chuckles and I want to smack him.

I walk around and glance at the monitors again. Anna and Olivia are still painting, and I should be working, but instead, I watch her like I’ve never seen a woman before.

I’m fucking pathetic.

It’s why I dial Larry, the criminal lawyer whose retainer could finance a small country. He also defended me in the civil suit with the Millers, so he has information I need.

When the secretary puts me through, I don’t wait for Larry to say hello. I want to know what he knows. What he’s found out. “I still don’t know why the girl thought it was me who raped her.”

Larry stutters for a second, then says, “She made a report. Told the police it was you.”

I know that much. I don’t know why she said it was me. “Yes, but why did she tell them that?”

Larry, a fifty-something lawyer with Einstein hair and Lennon glasses and a vintage Mercedes, chuffs through the phone. “Because she thought it was you.”

Our signals are crossed. He isn’t understanding and I’m not explaining. “Larry, I was in Russia with Adrian and Max.” It had been my defense then and it’s just as true now.

I know the date. The time. The circumstances and every detail. Not because I was there, but because I’d read that part of the file, the evidence.

Larry laughs like I’m not the client who keeps him in business. “Then you have a twin” — four years ago that would’ve been a working theory— “because three separate witnesses were willing to testify. They saw you take Denice Miller into your private room at the back of that club.” Papers shuffle on his end of the phone. “It cost you a pretty penny to shut them up.”

He’d paid them off. Of course. That’s why the case the Millers brought against me failed. The club—one of ours—is dark. Loud. It had to be a case of mistaken identity. I was in Russia even if there’s no flight plan or other way to prove it.

“I want to talk to them. To find out what they actually saw.”

“To the witnesses?” I picture him shaking his head. “No. No. No. Very bad idea, Leon.”

So is letting someone tarnish my reputation.

And I don’t need Larry Wilzhalski to tell me. “Just set it up.”

I end the call. There’s nothing left to say.

If Igor was still alive, maybe I could blame him. But he’s been dead four years.

So, someone else must be posing as me.

As I’m about to log in and check my accounts, Anna and Olivia knock on the door to my office. I look up and smile because Anna is excited, bouncing, giggling quietly. Hiding something behind her back as she creeps over to me.

I should pretend I can’t see her, let her have this little part of the game she likes to play. Let her “surprise” me, but I’m annoyed by the call with Larry. It’s a miracle I can even smile at her.

Olivia isn’t so timid that she stands beside the door afraid to enter, but she doesn’t walk around the back of my desk with Anna either. She stands a few feet away by the credenza, but I can still smell her shampoo when she moves her hair, still see those shiny flecks of gold in her eyes.

I look at Anna because I’m not in the business of showing my hand, and if I see Olivia, all bets are off.

But I’m staring at her. Can’t stop. Even when Anna tugs my sleeve. “Leon!” But her shrill little voice is enough to snap me out of it.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Her paper is one of those five-year-old drawings, but it’s painted in the watercolors I’d watched them use on the screen. “I drawed this for your office.”

“It’s drew.” She has enough of my accent that people will look down on her if she doesn’t speak properly. I grew up in America with parents who only spoke Russian. My accent is real. Hers is a byproduct of living with me.

She rolls her eyes. “I drawed a picture for your office.” And before I can correct her again, she continues. “This is me.” The yellow haired stick person holding hands with the larger stick people. “And this is you.” My stick person has giant feet. “And this is Olivia.” Her stick person has oversized eyes. And looks at me and in perfect Russian says, “moya sem'ya”. My family.

“It’s beautiful.” She has a blue sky and a yellow sun and a pink and purple house. “What’s this?” I point to the bunch of flowers growing in the sea of green.

“That’s where my daddy is.”

And if I wasn’t already prepared to give her the entire world, that would’ve done it. She knows her father is dead but not what happened to him. But we don’t generally talk about it either.

I pull her close and kiss the top of her head. “Where should I hang it?” It’s the very first picture she’s ever made for me. I don’t do much business from this office so I can hang it here. If I had my enemies in, I would never expose Anna this way.

“Do you love it?” Her hope is wrapped in a big dose of adoration, and I’m powerless against this kid.

“I do.” Really. I do.

I smile at Olivia who hasn’t moved but is watching me with those eyes of hers. She’s a distraction I don’t need. Anna walks from behind the desk and takes Olivia’s hand, smiling up at her, and I’m not the only one in trouble here.

Anna is falling for Olivia. And it’s going to destroy her when Olivia leaves. She’s already suffered so much loss. And now, I’ve done the one thing I promised myself I would never do. I’ve exposed her to another someone who won’t be in her life for long.