Page 175 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

“I’m Artem Kovalyov,” the man says.

Oh my God.Phoenix’s father.

“It’s, uh… it’s good to meet you, sir,” I say, stumbling a little.

Is there a protocol for talking to a man like Artem Kovalyov? I’m not sure and I have no idea how to ask with him on the phone. I shoot Matvei a glare, but he’s not looking at me.

“Please call me Artem,” he chuckles.

I make an immediate mental note to never, ever call him that.

“Matvei,” Artem Kovalyov says, his tone shifting considerably, “what news of my son?”

“Nothing yet, sir,” Matvei says. “I’m readying the men. We’re working on a plan to –”

“We’re attacking the club today,” I cut in.

I’m shocked at myself, but I can’t stop it, either. Now that I’ve made up my mind, there’s no turning back. I wasn’t kidding when I told Matvei I would do this on my own if I had to. I’m done sitting around and waiting for men to make all the decisions.

My judgement is as good as the next man’s.

At least, I hope it is.

Of course it is! Girls run the world. The future is female. Lady-boss shit. Your turn now, boo.

I can’t help a sly grin as I push Charity’s voice out of my head and focus on Matvei.

“Matvei and I just discussed it,” I continue, trying to keep my voice strong and confident. “We’re going in soon. A few hours from now.”

“Is that right?” Artem Kovalyov asks.

“Actually—”

“It was my idea,” I say, interrupting Matvei again. “And I think it’s a good one. The club is on high alert now, I know. But that’s going to be true of the next few months, if not longer. We can’t afford to wait anymore. Phoenix is injured. The boys… Their scars run much deeper. I don’t want them in that place a second longer.”

I know my nerves are acting up now, making me speak too often and too much. But I also don’t want either man to convince the other that listening to me is a mistake.

There’s a moment of silence from the machine on the table.

“Well, I have to say, you’re not at all what I expected,” Artem Kovalyov remarks. I imagine he’s smiling.

“What were you expecting?”

“Less,” he replies. I can almost hear the ghost of a chuckle underneath the word. “You sound ready. And I agree. My son and grandsons have been captive for long enough.”

I hear some shuffling on the other line and a second later, another voice comes through on the speaker.

“Elyssa?”

It’s soft and gentle and very feminine. It’s also laced with worry.

“Yes?”

“I’m Esme, Phoenix’s mother,” she says.

“Oh, Mrs. Kovalyov—”

“Esme, please,” she says. “Call me Esme. I would love it if you do.”

---