Chapter 23 Episode 23

“I don’t want to put you in danger, Freya,” I tell her honestly. “You’ve got enough going on as it is.” She’s the one who grabs my hand this time. “This is a dangerous world for us women. We’ve got to have each other’s backs. You can’t do everything alone.” I smile. “You’re right about that.” “Tell me the truth,” she says. I notice, not for the first time, what a strangely murky brown and blue her eyes are. “Are you in a similar situation to the one I just ran from?” I’m silent, gnawing at my lip. I can’t tell her. I shouldn’t tell her. At best, it changes nothing. At worst, it puts her in just as much danger as I’m in. But she shared her truth with me. I owe her mine. And the light in her eyes says she will understand. “I think I told you part of this, but I was supposed to get married not too long ago…” She listens to my whole story silently, face stoic, brows furrowed. The first time she makes a sound is when I describe the silent gunshot that broke through my little bubble of safety. “He… he actually killed a man?” Freya asks. “And I screamed,” I admit. “I gave myself away like an idiot.” She strokes the back of my hand. “How could you have known?” “He left me in the room while he dealt with whatever kinds of things he deals with. I watched his ‘clean-up’ team handle the body. And when no one was paying attention to me, I took his phone.” Her eyes go wide. “You did what? Do you have it now? Is it—” “It’s somewhere safe,” I say, unwilling to out Chris. “But he’s coming back tonight to collect.” “f**k,” Freya says, her eyes flicking from one side of the room to the other. “f*****g McFuck me, we have to do something about this.” “There’s nothing to do, Freya. He’s dangerous. I can’t cross him.” “Well, you certainly can’t give him back that damn phone, either,” she argues. “You think I shouldn’t?” I ask nervously. She shoots me an incredulous glare. “What’s stopping him from putting a bullet in your head the second it’s back in his possession?” I open my mouth to answer, but the truth is, I have no idea what to say. She’s right. That phone is the last line of defense between me and death at Anton’s hands. “Don’t worry, Jessa,” Freya says, looking me right in the eye. “I’ll have your back tonight.” I frown. “What do you mean?” “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure he can’t hurt you.” “What are you going to do?” She just squeezes my hand. “Whatever you do, don’t give him back that phone, okay?” I have no idea what Freya has planned, but I find myself nodding. God knows I need an ally right now. I’m in way over my head. “Okay,” I tell her. “I trust you.” Lev’s voice crackles through the car speakers. I shouldn’t have answered because there’s a thousand percent chance that all he’s gonna do is piss me the f**k off, but I have too many plans in motion not to. “It’s the girl again, isn’t it?” I take the corner hard and whip down the sloped street. Then I park opposite her building and look up at the window I know is hers. The lights are on in the living room and kitchen. I can see a shadow move across the curtains. Even from down here, her silhouette is enough to get my d**k hard. “I came to get my phone back.” “That’s not why you went,” Lev says shrewdly. “We both know that. This is not the kind of job you do yourself. It’s beneath you.” “I’ve given you and Yulian enough to get done.” “And when have you ever cared about our workload before?” Lev asks. I can practically see the gleeful smirk on his face. “Is there an actual reason you’re calling?” I ask abruptly. “There’s been a lot of chatter lately. The grapevine is buzzing.” “You,” he says. “Marina. Rodion. All your names keep popping up.” “But it is worrisome,” Lev retorts. I roll my eyes. “Do I sound worried to you, sobrat?” “Maybe you should be, for a change.” Sometimes, I prefer speaking to Yulian. He is brash and boorish. Childish at the best of times. But he has a confidence that is infectious. And he believes in the Bratva above all else. Lev, on the other hand, is a worrier through and through. “Well, I’m not. I know what I’m capable of. I know what my men are capable of.” “What if Rodion has us outnumbered?” “Jesus, Anton. You sound like your father.” He stops short the moment he says it, wondering if he’s overstepped some invisible boundary. He’s lucky I’m distracted right now. I watch Jessa crisscross the window again and again. It looks like she’s pacing. No prizes for guessing what’s got her all worked up. I wonder idly if she has the phone in hand and is prepared to hand it over, or if she intends to continue challenging me. I’m honestly not sure which I would prefer. “I am my father’s son, after all,” I tell Lev. “What did you expect?” I frown. “Caution is one thing. Cowardice is another.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Lev asks defensively. Worrier though he may be, he’s a prideful man. Bratva to his core. “It means we may see something as cautious. But to every enemy, every bystander, every neutral third party, we look weak. I refuse to look weak, Lev.” “It’s not weak to be smart. You’re forgetting that forty percent of the Stepanov Bratva’s business interests are mixed in with the Ivanovs.” “I haven’t forgotten anything,” I snap. “You’re the one bleating about nonsense like a sheep at the slaughterhouse.” Lev sighs. “Listen, I don’t relish this role I have. Canary in the coal mine, the boy who cried wolf, whatever you wanna call me, that’s fine. But it’s my job to remind you of the stakes. We can’t afford to burn that bridge. Not until we’ve shored up our liabilities.” Damn it, he’s right. He’s right and we both know it. “f**k my father,” I growl. “He did this. He got us in this mess.” “He trusted in his friendship with Rodion,” Lev says. I know he shares the sentiment blaming my father; he would just never be so obvious about it. It’s understood I can say certain things about my father that no one else can. “Trust,” I spit derisively. “Stupid f*****g word, stupid f*****g concept. He was naïve to think that that level of trust had any place in our world.” “You trust me, don’t you?” Lev asks, somewhat teasing. “Sure, but I still put my seatbelt on when you drive.” “Asshole. That was one time.” I chuckle as the tension between us eases. “I don’t trust anyone, Lev. Not enough to turn my back to them. My father made that mistake, and look what it’s doing to the Bratva. It broke down the moment he died.” “No, it didn’t,” Lev says quietly. “It broke down the moment you married Marina Ivanov.” “We’ll talk when I get back.” I can tell he wants to ask when that will be, but he knows that’ll just piss me off. “Okay, enjoy yourself tonight.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not here to enjoy myself.” “Really?” he asks innocently. “You could have fooled me.” I answer by hanging up on the smug motherfucker. When I look back up to Jessa’s apartment, the light in the kitchen is off, replaced by a television’s bluish, flickering glow. I get out of the jeep and head towards the apartment’s front door. I use Mrs. Donnelly’s code to get inside and then I march straight to Jessa’s apartment. After glancing over my shoulder to make sure the hallway is empty, I jimmy the lock as surreptitiously as possible so that she won’t notice I’m here until I walk in. The blare of the television hides the sound of the tumblers catching. A second later, I walk into her living room. She springs onto her feet from her reclining position on the sofa. Her blonde hair has been freshly washed. The ends are still damp. I close the door behind me and turn the lock. “Having a pleasant evening?” I ask. The initial shock fades and she throws me an annoyed glare. I’ve got to hand it to her—she hides her fear well. “Most people knock, you know.” “Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” She’s wearing dark tights that act as a second skin. They wrap themselves around her shapely legs, leaving little to the imagination. She’s paired them with a white tank top that’s almost as tight, and I realize she’s not wearing a bra, either. Her n*****s poke through—with arousal or fear or both. When I sniff the air, I can smell tomatoes and mozzarella. But underneath it is the faintest whiff of perfume. “Did you dress up just for me, Jessa?” I ask. That gets me exactly the response I was searching for. She scrunches up her nose in disgust and pretends to look insulted. “I haven’t dressed up at all.” “Really?” I ask, my gaze sliding down to the swell of her cleavage. “Could’ve fooled me.” “You’re a textbook narcissist. Of course you think everything is about you.” “Tell me, do you always wear perfume at the end of the day?”