Page 28 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss
For now, at least, this is my secret.
9
MARKOV
Five weeks later
“You’re not going to like this,” Mayfair says grimly.
I hate everything about my life right now, and it’s such a clusterfuck that speaking on the phone is the least of it. Two months without Emily and I’m torn apart, as though each nerve is being removed from my body every day.
There are a lot of Emily Smiths. Especially since I expanded the search to middle names as well. And most are plausibly in the description ofmyEmily. Short, brown hair, brown eyes, in her early twenties.
If I’d known this was going to happen, I would’ve taken photos—no. I would have kidnapped her the first day I saw her.
I stare out at the river from my office and grunt. Thankfully that’s enough for Mayfair to continue.
“I finally got hold of Blackfen. He wants your entire Mortlake territory and half your assets.”
My heart leaps. Because if that’s the price of having Emily back immediately, it’s nothing.
My men have terrorised, sorry visited, every Emily Smith in London and we’ve opened up the search to neighbouring areas, which is risky. Essex have killed three of my men now.
The way photos arrive at my phone, taken by my men who visit women with the same name as the one I want, is the fucking worst game ever. It combines all the distraction of email, the compulsiveness of snacking, and stomach-churning hope followed by the agony of disappointment.
I’ve never been held prisoner, but I imagine the moment before you fully wake as a captive is like my entire day. A knife-edge of optimism before grim reality sets in.
By comparison, this is cheap.
“Fine—” But I don’t manage to finish the word.
“And you have to ‘stay’ with him for a month.”
What?
“I’m pretty sure ‘stay’ is a euphemism for ‘be tortured’,” Mayfair adds with a serious tone.
A month. I’m devastated.
I’d put up with torture for Emily, that’s not the issue. But a month is too long. I’ll find her more quickly going door-to-door.
“I don’t think he’s trustworthy, either.” Mayfair huffs with disapproval. “I hoped he’d be more reasonable to a Bratva Pakhan. I’m sorry.”
Two months has already been too long without Emily. I can’t waste another month with whatever game Blackfen wants to play.
One month later
I turn up at Blackfen’s headquarters with nothing. Not even a gun.
I did consider other options, like force. I have the men to achieve it, or at least to have good odds.
But if it had gone wrong and Blackfen had become stubborn or been killed, I’d have lost everything.
Thankfully, I’m not shot on sight by Blackfen’s guards, probably because he knew I was coming.
“What the hell are you here for, Mortlake?” Blackfen’s expression is simultaneously confused and annoyed as I appear in his lounge, the door shut behind me by his head of security. It’s a bright room, with grey furniture and a cold marble floor.
Easy to clean.
