Page 38 of Kidnapped By the Mafia Boss
Dimitri ignores it, dries me carefully and carries me to his bed. He lays me down, eyes intent on mine, but I can see that he’s concerned.
“Go, find out what it is, at least.” I don’t want to be the reason his mafia is burnt to the ground or something.
“Thank you.” He kisses me very sweetly, then pads away, totally naked.
“Da,” he barks as he opens the door. There’s quick-fire Russian dialogue, as though his men are too unnerved by this news to bother that their boss’ virility is on glorious show.
His expression is grim as he returns, and his erection has gone.
“What is it?” I ask. But really, I’m looking, fascinated, at how big he is even when he’s not hard.
“They’ve found Howard.”
16
JENNA
The kingpin of Mayfair is waiting for us as we walk out of the elevator from the underground carpark beneath his home in the centre of London.
“Artem.” Dimitri greets him with a handshake and a slap on the back. The London Bratvas stick together, it seems.
His pregnant wife—Lina, a girl about my age with black hair—gives me a friendly smile. “They’re waiting for you in the ballroom.” She says that last word with ironic emphasis.
I nod and hide my nerves. I’m wearing an elegant green dress that sets off my blonde hair that’s piled on my head perfectly, but I’m still a little anxious about seeing Howard again. Dimitri looks darkly imposing and gorgeous in a black suit. The silk lining matches my dress.
He had both made weeks ago. That should definitely freak me out, but it doesn’t. There’s a slot he’s created for me in the centre of his life, and as it turns out, I’m perfect for it. For the first time, I fit. I’m just right for this role: his wife.
On the way back to London, Dimitri gave me a summary of the members of the London Mafia Syndicate and how to recognise each member. Most of that has gone pfftt from my head by the time Artem leads us into an enormous gold-and-teal accented room. There is a semi-circle of men in perfectly-tailored suits and as they part, I see what their substantial shoulder’s obscured.
Thick clear plastic sheeting covers the floor, and in the middle a man is taped to a metal chair.
Howard. His eyes are wild and fearful, his cheek is swelling with a red bruise, and there’s silver tape over his mouth. His T-shirt is crispy with dried blood.
Sympathy tugs at me, until I remember his knife. The recollection flashes through me. This man intended to hurt me.
“Rotherhithe.” The kingpin of Westminster peels off from the group and walks over to us. They shake hands cordially. They’re similar ages, but as Dimitri said, Westminster has a posh accent and an air of thinking he’s in charge of London. I’m sure every man in this room would happily abuse him of that notion, but they all seem to respect him enough to permit him to be the figurehead.
“And you must be Jenna.” Westminster turns to me and Dimitri’s grip on my waist tightens possessively. “I’m sorry that this happened to you. There are various claims on revenge, but yours is the strongest.” Westminster’s gaze flicks to Dimitri, then back to me, waiting.
“He wants to know if you want Howard dead, zayka,” Dimitri rumbles into my ear.
“Oh! I…” I am woefully unprepared for this.
“Take all the time you need.” Dimitri is warm and reassuring.
I glance sidelong at where Howard is being held. It’s obvious there has already been some violence, and the plastic sheet isn’t to protect the floor from shoes. They expect blood.
Can I really suggest something like that? I wouldn’t even know the words. And I don’t think I want to live with that.
“I’ll let someone else decide,” I say after a second. “You said others have a claim?”
Dimitri moves before I’ve finished speaking. My brain doesn’t fully comprehend what it means as he pulls a gun from the holster at his side and casually fires at Howard until my ears are ringing from the noise and Dimitri is rubbing my shoulder and murmuring something soothing as I tremble.
Howard’s scream is muffled by the tape over his mouth, but audible.
Dimitri shot Howard.
The hole in Howard’s crotch is seeping blood, and there’s a spray of vivid red on the plastic sheet. He shakes in the bonds, screeching, clearly still alive.
