Page 32 of Bratva's Stolen Bride
But I look out at the ocean, and while it usually calms me, the small head of Payton in the water somehow settles me even more.
“The marriage licence for the couple is in their names, with the location of your island. But they’ve decided not to get married. Apparently without the luxury wedding she didn’t want the role of wife.”
“I did him a favour,” I mutter. “This doesn’t sound like a problem.”
“The licence has to be issued through Beckenham, and submitted to the central London registry. Technically it’s already been issued, and the location is unchangeable. So they have the right to go to the island anytime, and get married. Or they can re-assign the licence to another couple.”
Great. Fucking bureaucracy, and Ivan, that mudak, have turned my private haven into a wedding destination.
Payton is pushing her luck, of course, swimming a little around the bay, so I move along the beach to a position where I can see her again, although the house is out of sight. When our gazes meet, I know she’s aware of what I’m doing. Keeping tabs on her.
“I’ve tried to hack into the central database, but I can’t remove the listing. Only alter it.” The apology in Evgeni’s voice says he knows how furious I’m going to be.
But I’m not.
I’m just watching Payton. She’s a drug, and brings the sort of clarity I normally only achieve with several hours in the gym. For a moment, there’s nothing, then a solution bubbles up.
“You can change the names?” It would be crazy. I look at the sand, hoping to ground myself.
“Yes.” Evgeni’s shrug is audible. “But how does that help?”
“Change them to Love, Payton, and…” I pause. I’m really doing this, aren’t I? I push the warm sand with my toes. She’ll hate me. “Rykov…”
“Ivan. Make her a wealthy widow.” He thinks he follows my logic. “I’ll?—”
“Feliks.” My mouth is dry. Ivan would be a smart way to solve this problem. But the idea of Ivan’s name forever with Payton’s is unbearable.
And Payton would be my perfect wife.
“Pakhan?” His shock is a wave down the phone line.
“Feliks Rykov and Payton Love.”
Mine. She’s mine. That’s the only thought I can hold in my head.
“Okay,” Evgeni says dubiously.
And if anyone is getting married on my island, it’s me. “Do it now.”
“Da.” There’s a pause and the sound of keyboard taps. “It’s done.”
“Good. What’s the status of anything we’re working on which is damaging to the London Mafia Syndicate?”
If Evgeni is confused by this second bizarre request, he has the sense to keep it to himself, and merely begins to reel off project names.
We discuss the risks of each one, given I have created what might be considerable tension with Richmond. It takes a while, with distractions for various other problems, but I’m satisfied that I’m not antagonising them more than is usual. We’re on the last few issues, when Evgeni stops, mid-sentence.
“Pakhan, a report has just arrived. We know where Ivan is.”
“Where?” I demand. “How quickly can you secure him?”
“Greenwich.”
There’s static in my brain for a second.
“He went there yesterday, and he hasn’t returned. Neither have his friends.”
That’s not good. I’m not a man who’s scared of much, but Greenwich is not someone I’d mess around with. He runs The Lazy Bean cafes that are dotted all through London—even some in my territory—and his reach is considerable. And although he’s Bratva, he’s a core part of the London Mafia Syndicate.
