Page 62 of Bratva Prince
I stared at my drink, the way the brown liquid lapped over the ice that clinked against the glass when I moved it. My eyes hovered on my phone and back to my drink. Without looking up, I asked, “You think I’m traumatized?”
My eyes met his and he shrugged. “Maybe. That, or you’re confused. The whole reason you left on the jet that day was to hold Arman’s daughter hostage. Then, you got trapped on an island with her. Could you be having a conflict in feelings?”
I shook my head, feeling in my bones that my feelings weren’t conflicted. I knew how I felt about Willow and I no longer believed she was working against me. “Willow and I talked about that on the island. She wasn’t involved with Arman’s business. Actually,” I said, laughing to myself. “She hates the son of a bitch.”
Misha huffed out a half-laugh, finally taking a sip of his drink. “Well, if it isn’t that, then what’s putting you at odds?”
I shook my head, biting my lip. “I guess I just wanted to stay on my yacht for a night before heading back to Moscow. I like my yacht. She comforts me. And I just needed a night to think, you know?”
Misha nodded. “I do. And judging by the way you keep checking your phone, I’m guessing you’re thinking about Willow.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked, shoving my phone into my pocket to get it out of my mind.
“Ha!” He barked out a laugh. “You’re like a lovesick puppy. Quit tormenting yourself and just call her.
“I tried sending her a message, but she hasn’t responded yet. I’m worried something may be wrong. Her father is a piece of shit who tried to arrange a marriage for her. I mean, how archaic?”
“You mean Dominik?” Misha asked, knowing the situation already, without me even telling him. Our intel on Arman was enough for him to know those details, and possibly more.
“Yes! He’s dead, but what if Arman found someone else for her to marry?”
Misha chuckled, tilting his head. “Are you jealous? You want her to marry you?”
Though he was teasing, the idea had intrigued me. But I shook it away. Marriage was the last thing I should be thinking about.
“No,” I denied. “But I’m worried. You should’ve seen the look on her face when her father pulled her away. It was like she was broken.”
“Then go save her like a bratva in shining armor,” Misha joked. “And if you’re not going to do that, then shut the fuck up and quit whining so you can come back to Moscow. Haven’t you had enough of the ocean yet?”
Fucking right I had. Maybe going back to Moscowwasthe best thing for me right now. I’d had the night to clear my head, even if it had done little good. Besides, I needed to get back to my life. Plus, I hadn’t seen Mihailo in a while, and missed my buddy.
“Yeah. Let’s go home.”
31
Willow
The door shut and a loud echo reverberated throughout the walls of my father’s den. A menacing smile curled at the corner of his lips, and he motioned for me to sit in the chair that was parallel to his desk.
He let out a long sigh as he stared at me in disapproval. “Willow, do you have any idea the trouble I had to go through to locate you? If it weren’t for the tracker I put in your phone, I’d have never even known you left for Greece.”
Somehow, it didn’t surprise me that he’d had a tracker on my phone.
To the outside eye, someone who didn’t know the truth about my father, might assume his words were spoken with concern.Concern for himself.
He was just pissed that I didn’t beg him to let me leave before I ran off to Greece with Viktor.Well, tough shit, dad. I’m 23 and don’t need your permission!
“Where did you find it?” I asked, curious what happened to my phone.
“I didn’t. I’d have never known you were missing if Viktor hadn’t contacted me in a panic.”
Viktor knew I wasn’t fond of my father, but he’d always assumed it was typical father-daughter issues. He didn’t know the truth.
“I sent Dominik after you,” he said, shooting me a sharp glare. “But I’ve yet to hear from him and he’s yet to return.” He let out another sigh, this one more exhausted than the last, and walked over to his bar to pour himself a drink.
Thanks for offering me one, asshole.
The old me would have felt bad about putting my father through so much trouble. I would’ve apologized relentlessly before being ushered to my room to think about how my actions affected the whole family—namely him. Then, I would’ve remained in my room, a hushed resentment filling me as I detested him for trapping me there… and myself for allowing him.
