Page 39 of Savage Bratva King

“When will she be leaving?”

“When I am ready to let her go.”

I turn around and walk away, but not without catching the look of comprehension in my sister’s eyes.

15

GIANNA

Leonid Ivanov has a dog!

I don’t know why this changes everything, but it does. The way his expression softened when he looked at Marvel, the way the dog was with him, totally trusting and affectionate, means that the gun-toting, Armani-wearing, thin-lipped façade is exactly that: a façade.

The problem is that Leonid Ivanov has been wearing the Russian mobster suit for so long that he doesn’t know who else to be. Apart from when he is with Marvel. But he doesn’t even realize what the dog does to him; if he did, he would never have let me meet him in the garden. Because now that I’ve had a glimpse of the man who loves his dog, there’s no going back.

It opens all kinds of doors, and hopefully one of them will lead to my escape.

I don’t want to use Marvel against Leonid, but having the dog on my side will make me feel safer, not that I would risk his life for mine. He’s the chink in Leonid Ivanov’s armor, and he doesn’t even realize it.

That night, in bed, I run through what happened in the maze. It’s becoming a regular occurrence, and one that gets my pulse racing when I think of what might happen next. I know what should happen next of course, but if this was just a taster of what Leonid can do to me, I’m not sure my mind—or my throbbing pussy—will survive it.

I’m disappointed when, the next morning, Tamara brings me a pair of white Capri pants, a navy-blue cut-off T-shirt, and some functional underwear. She stands by the door and watches me pick up the plain white panties, her expression unreadable.

“Something wrong, printzessa? The clothes not to your liking?”

I turn around and face her squarely.Shechose the outfit. I don’t think she knows what happened between me and Leonid, but she has picked up on the different dynamics and she doesn’t like it.

“I prefer lace.” I shrug. “But I’m grateful to Leonid for providing me with clothes. I truly am. Without them, I’d be wandering around his house naked, and I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate the distraction, given how busy he is.”

Her expression hardens. She steps away from the door and walks closer, holding my gaze. Without warning, the back of her hand slaps my cheek, the rings on her fingers biting into my flesh. I feel warm blood trickling down my cheek, and I cover the side of my face with my hand.

“Just because I wear my hair in bangs, don’t be fooled into believing that I am nothing like my sister. We serve the Pakhan, and he will never choose you over us.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them back. “If you’re so confident, why do you need to tell me this, huh? What are you afraid of, Tamara?”

She shakes her head, her mouth contorting into an ugly expression that finally resembles her sister. Ivana must live with this permanent fear and mistrust always lurking beneath the confident exterior, while Tamara has learned to hide it well. “I am afraid of nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. Everyone is afraid of something. Are you scared that the Pakhan might fall in love someday, and that his woman will turn him against you?”

“That will never happen. He is married to his family.”

I smile. “But he isn’t married to you.”

“I am family.” Her face has rearranged itself into the beautiful woman I first met, only, like her boss, she too has unwittingly shown me what lies underneath. “Something you will never be.”

She leaves the room, and the key turning in the lock sounds more final than it has ever sounded before. She and Ivana wouldn’t risk Leonid’s fury by disposing of me themselves, but I have no doubts they could make my death look like an accident if I push them too far.

In the bathroom, I splash my face with cold water and stare at my reflection in the mirror. Raised pink welts form a jagged pattern on my left cheek, the skin sliced apart where her rings caught the tender flesh. I soak the corner of the towel and dab the cuts carefully, pressing the cold cloth to my cheek to take down the swelling.

My face stings. Tears spill over my bottom lashes now that I’m alone, and I feel the sharp stab of homesickness in my chest.

I miss Mel and Lucian and my father more than I ever did when I was working in Montenegro because I always knew that they were here in Chicago, a flight away, probably missing me too. What hurts is how badly I miss Montenegro. I miss my friends, my job, and my apartment. I miss being able to make a difference where it’s needed most, but more than anything else, I miss my freedom.

I never appreciated the luxury of making coffee in the morning and standing by the window to watch the world go by. Throwing open the closet and choosing my own clothes. Grilling a cheese sandwich and eating it standing up with a family-sized packet of potato chips because I can’t be bothered to cook a full-on meal.

Back in the bedroom, I dress in the clothes Tamara left for me and wait for her to come back when it’s time for my walk.

Sergei brings my lunch, a grilled chicken and red pepper baguette with a crisp, green side salad. He sets it down on the desk, eyes up the marks on my cheek, but doesn’t ask me how it happened.

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