Page 53 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“You don’t know that.”

Charity gives me a long-suffering sigh and looks down at her list before adding a couple more things.

“What are you writing down?” I ask suspiciously.

“Stuff,” she mutters, just as a knock sounds through the door.

It swings open before either of us can even get up. I’m expecting to see Phoenix, but it’s not him. There’s a stranger standing in his place. A tall, tattooed stranger we’ve never seen before.

He’s got a prominent, hawk-like nose and dangerously alert eyes. Something about him radiates violence. I have to force myself to suppress the shiver running down my spine.

“I’m here to collect a list,” he informs us without a trace of emotion.

Charity hands it over and gives him a flirty wink. An impressive feat, considering she has only one eye to wink from at the moment.

“Anything else you wanna collect?” she asks coyly. “I don’t mind delivering.”

He doesn’t react. “Just the list.”

He takes it, steps back outside, and closes the door on her smile. Again, the click of the lock echoes throughout the room.

“Damn,” Charity says, turning to me. “He was hot.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, staring at her in disbelief.

“What?”

“He’s dangerous. He’s probably, y’know… killed people,” I say, lowering my voice.

She sighs. “I don’t think it’s a secret that the men around this place have killed people. You don’t need to whisper.”

I glance at my son gurgling contentedly on the bed and move a little closer to him. “Phoenix Kovalyov,” I whisper absent-mindedly, trying his name on for size. “Theo Kovalyov.”

“Did you know?” Charity asks gently. She walks over and sits on Theo’s other side.

“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I had no idea who he was. I didn’t even know his name until the detective mentioned it.”

“Fuck.”

I flinch.

“Sorry,” Charity says. “I thought you’d be over that by now. You did use the word yourself earlier today.”

“That was different,” I protest. “That was warranted.”

She smiles. “For the record, I don’t think you have to fear Phoenix Kovalyov.”

“Because I have his son?”

“No,” she replies. “Because of the way he looks at you.”

I stop short. “Huh?”

She smiles. “Oh, honey. You’ve always been so naïve about the way men look at you. Even when you were pregnant, they still looked at you.”

I shake my head. “You’re imagining things.”

“I can read people,” she says proudly. “Especially men. And the one we met today… he’s got his eye on you.”

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