Page 43 of Gangster's Empire: Leeza & Havel

He couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Not since he was a young child and discovered his mother’s body, chopped to pieces and left in a pool of blood. He hadn’t understood that she was dead and had tried putting her back together, but the task had been impossible. The blood was too slippery and there was too much. Every time he attempted to re-attach a piece, it slid from his hands.

His father, the Bratva accountant to the Moscow chapter, had discovered him that way. Sitting next to what had been his mother, covered head to toe in her blood, her severed head cradled in his lap.

Leeza looked like her. Helena Horácek.

Dark hair, pouty lips, velvet eyes.

She was perfect. She always had been.

He’d spent eight years making sure she stayed perfect. An angel, falling only when his dirty urges pushed him into taking her. He knew he shouldn’t. She was his mother. They were all his mother once he purified them and made them perfect.

Inevitably though, they all fell to pieces.

He wouldn’t let that happen to Leeza. He would watch over her, protect her, make her perfect again. And make sure she never fell to pieces.

His heart jerked as she appeared on the sidewalk next to Zmatek. Before he could get a good glimpse, she was surrounded by her security team. Havel emerged from the car, his bald tattooed head a sinister beacon under the glow of the streetlamps.

The giant bodyguard reached into the car, pulling a sleeping Kris out and settling him on his shoulder. Leeza adjusted a blanket around the child.

Adam frowned.

He’d always hated Kris for stealing her attention. All of her doting love should’ve belonged to Adam, but instead she’d been forced to shower it on the child.

Adam would’ve gotten rid of him years ago, except Krystoff Koba had insisted the child live. He was the heir to the Kobe empire. From the day of his birth, young Kristoph was the most protected person on the estate.

Perhaps now that there was a change in management, Adam could get closer, maybe do what he’d wanted to do years ago. Remove any and all obstacles standing between Adam and Leeza. Then they could be together again, the way they were meant to be.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I need something to do,” Leeza announced. “I can’t sit around here all day, every day.”

She’d put Kris to bed while Havel went to Guard Dog to check on a team he’d sent into the field. It was headed by Halil who was young but dedicated and had recently recovered from a gunshot wound inflicted during Jozef’s takeover. This was his first time leading a team and Havel was nervous for him.

Now they were preparing for bed, Leeza sitting on her side smoothing lotion down her leg. Havel watched her as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the direction of the laundry hamper. He missed by several feet.

“You’ve been here for three days.” Havel sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his socks off, throwing them toward the hamper and missing. “You can’t be bored already.”

“I’m not bored… I just…” She made a frustrated sound and stood to face him. “I hated being a trophy wife and I don’t ever want to go back to that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t look like any kind of a trophy wife to me. In fact, you looked like you wore the pants in that relationship.”

She shook her head chidingly. “My stepfather wore the pants in all our relationships. You know what I mean. I don’t want to be a useless bit of fluff that gets trotted out whenever there’s a public event for me to attend.”

“You don’t want to be my arm candy?” There was a hint of sarcasm to his tone. “Too bad, you’re definitely prettier than me.”

She glared at him. “Don’t be stupid, Havel. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” His hands went to the buttons on his jeans and she was momentarily distracted by the treasure trail running from his belly to his groin before forcing herself to look away.

“I want to do something with my life, not just sit around here flipping through magazines and planning shopping trips.”

He pushed his pants down his thighs and stepped out of them, standing in his underwear as he faced her. “How about the job of mother? Not good enough for you?”

Fury lit a flame inside her. Not even his impossibly chiseled body, honed from hours spent in the gym and in the field working with his men, inked with underworld symbolism, could distract her. “Is that your opinion of working moms?” she demanded. “They’re not good women because they don’t stay home with their kids?”

“I have the utmost respect for women who have to get jobs to support their families.”

“But not for women who choose to work, leaving their kids at home,” she countered.

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