Page 61 of Bratva Prince
To put my mind at ease—because it wouldn’t shut up otherwise—I sent Willow a text. She lost her phone, probably in the crash, but said on the flight to Crete that she would replace it, scribbling down a number and putting mine in Viktor’s phone until she could add it to her own.
That was before she knew her father was waiting for her in Crete, when she was planning to stay with Viktor and Giorgios until I was finished with business and we’d fly back together.
But seeing her father triggered a response that I’d never seen in her. With me, she was open about her opinions, and had no problem letting me know when I was an ass. She was feisty and sometimes a little hot-tempered.
Around her father though… Her reaction to her father left a sinking feeling in my gut. Seeing her silent and complacent—well, it was jarring! Nothing like the Willow I’d met in Crete, or the Willow who’d been stuck on that island with me for a month. And certainly not the Willow who’d been curled up in my arms the past week.
What if she got back and her father already had another suitor, arranged and waiting for her?
I texted the number Willow gave me, hoping she’d respond and put my mind at ease.
Me: Hey, Willow. It’s Ivan. Just wanted to check in on you.
No, no. That sounded too general, and had no emotion. My thumb hit the backspace until the message box was clear again.
Me: Hey, baby. I missed you. Can’t wait to see you again.
Ugh! That wasn’t right, either. It sounded like I was coming on to her. Besides, calling her baby was personal and we had never actually talked about being a couple when we got home. Hell, on the island, we weren’t even sure we would make it back home.
I hit the backspace again, typing 50 more messages until I finally settled on:
Me: Willow, this is Ivan. I hope you’re doing okay and haven’t been forced into another arranged marriage. Please message me back so we can talk. I’d like to see you soon.
Okay, that wasn’t the best message, but it wasn’t too impersonal, and it didn’t sound like I was trying to hop into bed with her, either.
I waited for a response. Nothing. Maybe she hadn’t bought a new phone yet? Not everyone had the luxuries I had, and it had only been a day.
After several hours without a response, I texted Viktor, asking if he’d heard from Willow. He hadn’t.
Hopefully, she was okay.
“Long time no see,” Misha said, standing in the cabin of the yacht, where I currently sat at my desk.
I smiled, standing up to greet him with a brotherly hug. “Tell me about it. Where’s Dimitry? The bastard couldn’t come greet his brother, make sure he’s okay?”
“Yeah, good luck getting him to leave Brazil.” Misha took a seat in the chair and I returned to my desk, leaning back as I checked my phone again. Still nothing.
“Thank you,” I said, swallowing my pride to show gratitude. “For taking care of business while I was gone.”
Before Misha came to Crete, I called him to ask about the weapons smuggling operation that was cut short by my disappearance. To my relief, he’d managed to smooth things over with Speroanddeliver the weapons.
It helped that Arman was gone looking for his daughter at the time, because Misha was able to steal the weapons back while giving Arman’s men a message to deliver to him, warning him that if he dared touch anything that belonged to the Koslov’s, Misha would sever his hand and shove it up his ass. Misha can come up with some interestingly gruesome ways of torture. Me? I preferred to put a bullet in their brain, quick and easy.
I was grateful my brother had taken care of things, but a little disappointed. I wanted to be the one to secure this deal, and here I had Misha swoop in and save the day. Just like an older brother would.
That frustrated the hell out of me. In a way, this was supposed to be my chance to prove myself, to show that I could hook that big client and keep reeling them in. Not that I needed to. I mean, everyone knew I was fucking great with our business, but landing Spero would have really shown that.
I don’t know, maybe it was just my inflated ego struggling to fit through the doorway. Still, I felt bad pushing the burden onto Misha when he already had so much in his life to take care of—both family and business alike.
“So, now that you know Spero is still with us, why are you still here?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair.
I stood from my seat, heading over to the bourbon on the shelf beside me, pouring us both a drink. Downing my drink, I slammed the glass down, pouring another.
Misha swirled his cup, setting it down on the desk and leaning forward. “Ivan, what’s going on?”
I took a deep breath, not even sure myself. This was uncharted territory that I had no idea how to navigate. “Would it be strange to say I don’t know?” I asked, taking a sip of my second glass of alcohol.
Misha let out a light chuckle, but the concerned expression hadn’t wavered. “Ivan, you just returned to your life after being stuck on an island for a month. Even the toughest bratva men would be affected by such a traumatic experience.”
