Sold To The Bratva Boss: An Instalove Older Man Younger Woman Possessive Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 193)

by Flora Ferrari

  “So what’s this?” I say. “You’re calling to say hello?”

  You won’t guess who I’m with right now.

  But he’s right.

  All of my men are too well-insulated to fall into Emilio’s grasp. There might be fighting, wars, skirmishes, blood, but there’s rarely capture.

  “Let’s just say you and your lady friend are going to walk out of that restaurant into the street within the next ten minutes or something very bad is going to happen.”

  “Vague threats won’t get you anywhere,” I snarl.

  “No,” Emilio sighs. “But a dog named Rocky might.”

  I feel my blood turn cold in my veins.

  “It was easy enough,” Emilio goes on. “We found his previous owner and dragged him outside your estate. The poor bastard, Artem, you should’ve seen him. Scared out of his mind. Dogs, you see, they’re loyal. We could learn something from them. When he heard his previous owner’s voice, that terrier found a way out and came running. They’re very resourceful little fellows.”

  “What’s happening?” Anna whispers.

  “An enemy of mine is saying he has Rocky,” I tell her, remembering my promise never to lie, even about the evils of the world. “But he has no proof. Just bluster.”

  “Proof?” Emilio laughs. “Fair enough. Wait a second.”

  A moment later, my screen blips and it shows that ‘Gavrie’ is requesting a video call.

  I accept and then the screen fills with Rocky’s innocent face, his mouth open, tongue lolling. The only sign that something’s wrong with him is the rumbling, whining noise he makes, far back in his throat.

  “You wouldn’t harm an innocent animal,” I growl. “What sort of fucking monster hurts a dog?”

  Emilio turns the camera on himself, smiling his jackal’s smile, seeming very fucking proud.

  Beside me, Anna gasps.

  “I don’t want to,” he says. “But if you don’t get out here in – let me see – in eight minutes and twenty-two seconds, I’ll be forced to. And let me tell you, it won’t be quick for the little guy.”

  “It’s you,” Anna whimpers. “Oh my God, it’s you.”

  “Ah, so you remember me,” Emilio laughs. “Good little whore.”

  “Show some fucking respect when talking to my queen or I’ll wring the life from your neck, worm,” I snarl.

  “He’s the one, Artem,” Anna goes on, voice ghostly and distant. “He’s the one who kidnapped me.”

  “That’s right,” Emilio grins. “I’m a man of many talents. Now get out here before things get nasty. Oh, and if I see a single guard, a single fucking one, I’ll send you Rocky in ten different parcels.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Anna

  My heart begins to jackhammer in my chest as I remember the look of the man, his gaunt cheeks, his skeletal features as he leered at me in the deserted kitchen. The lights were low and he was standing in shadows, but it’s definitely him.

  He looks the same.

  And he sounds the same.

  When I walked into that kitchen, he leered and laughed and then said, “You stupid fucking whore. What’s the matter with you? Get her, fellas.”

  They did, right away. A black bag over my head. Sudden darkness and stabbing panic.

  Now I lean against the kitchen counter and let out panting breaths, remembering the groaning noises that Rocky was making on the phone. His tongue hanging out of his mouth, his mouth split into a grimace. I may have only known the little dog for a little while, but I don’t think I have it in me to let anything happen to him.

  “Artem, what are we going to do?” I whisper. “How long do we have left?”

  “About six minutes.”

  “That’s not a lot of time to decide, is it?”

  “No,” he growls. “It’s not. Shit. I could risk it. I could have twenty-five men out there right now. But …”

  “But what?” I urge.

  “But Emilio is a psychopath. He killed his father to take over the Italian mafia. He’s made a legend of himself as a sadist, and a lunatic. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll harm Rocky. The monster.”

  I drink in the sight of my man, hearing the emotion in his voice. I can’t believe he ever thought his childhood stole his capacity to care, his capacity to ache for another living thing.

  “But if we go out there, I don’t know what will happen to us,” he snarls. “I can’t believe he’s the one who kidnapped you. He invited me to that auction. I guess he had some sort of plan in play. Perhaps buy you and give you as a gift to me, the twisted bastard? He didn’t know I’d …”

  You’d what, Artem?

  You’d fall in love with me like I’ve fallen in love with you?

  “We have to go out there,” I say, grabbing my chef’s hat and tossing it to the ground.

  I feel tremors cascading through me, trying to cripple me with waves of nerves. But then I picture Rocky’s innocent face and something hardens inside of me.

  A maternal instinct in me calluses and becomes tough and gnarled in a matter of seconds.

  “We can’t let him hurt Rocky.”

  “I agree,” Artem says. “But I can’t let him hurt you, either.”

  “Artem,” I say firmly. “I’m going out there.”

  I spin for the door, fists clenched, remembering that first morning when Rocky licked my face to wake me up. It may have only been a short time ago, but I’m already starting to think of my life in terms of before and after.

  And the moment when Rocky’s happy face greeted me into wakefulness definitely belongs in the after segment of my life.

  This segment.

  This new beginning.

  I barge into a hallway and start stalking down it, ignoring the doubts flurrying around me.

  The time for doubts has passed.

  I picture that jackal’s face, the way his lips peeled back over his teeth so that he could leer at me for all he was worth. He was up there in the darkness, then, at the auction, probably leering the same way he did in the kitchen.

  Even if I’m almost two feet shorter than Artem, he has to quicken his steps to keep pace with me, his cell phone to his ear.

  He barks instructions into his phone as we walk, telling his men to be ready to sprint into the street the second shooting starts, telling them to kill any Italian’s they see on sight if they have guns in their hands.

  “But don’t – don’t – shoot anywhere near my queen. She’s the goddess in the chef’s whites.”

  “Goddess?” I whisper, somehow able to smile even now, when we may very well be walking to our deaths.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he growls. “You’re heaven made flesh. You know that. Is there any chance I’m going to convince you to stay behind, Anna? You shouldn’t go out there.”

  “I heard what he said. If we don’t both go, he’ll kill Rocky.”

  Artem heaves a sigh, his jaws tight, his eyes brimming with a hundred unsaid things. “He might anyway.”

  “No,” I snap. “I won’t let him. We won’t let him. Rocky is our first child. And we’re—Jesus, Artem, we’re the fucking Bratva king and queen. That has to count for something. We can do this.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes it in support. “You’re right,” he says with passion. “But if fighting starts, you get yourself out of the way. Get yourself to safety. Don’t worry about me. Get Rocky and get out of there.”

  I laugh, but without humor, a hollow sound.

  “Do you really think I’ll be able to do that?” I ask him.

  “You have to,” he says, both of us walking quickly now, almost at the end of the hallway, at the fire escape that will take us onto the street. “If you don’t, I won’t be able to focus on what I need to do.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Then … yeah. Okay. I can’t believe this is happening. How long do you think we have now?”

  “Maybe two minutes. Are you sure you won’t stay behind?”

  “I’m sure,” I sa
y firmly. “I’m tired of running, Artem. I’m tired of living in fear all the time. And, well, there’s an innocent dog that’s going to be killed if I don’t go out there. It’s hardly rocket science, is it? I have to go.”

  A smile touches Artem’s lips, briefly, a smile, not a smirk.

  “Okay,” he growls, the smile slipping, sounding none too happy about it. “Then let’s fucking go.”

  As we walk onto the street, Artem stands in front of me, his shoulders wide.

  The bulletproof vest feels bulky under the chef’s jacket, but Artem made me change into it just before we emerged onto the street, four of his men appearing from the shadows like helpers at a play, assisting us with the vests and then helping us get our clothes back on over them.

  All in under a minute.

  I look up and down the street, dark now with the sun having set, the only light coming from the dim streetlamps. Streetlamps, it seems, that are darker than usual. I glance up and see that somebody has tied fabric around them, dimming them, and at both ends of the road roadblocks have been put up, diverting traffic and pedestrians.

  Artem strides forward, being careful to keep himself near me as a shield at all times.

  I can sense the violence thrumming beneath the surface of his movements, his animal capability just waiting to be unleashed.

  “Enough hiding,” he growls, glancing across the street to the eaves of a building.

  To me, it just looks like darkness. But then I see the white of eyes and a smile, and Emilio walks out, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

  Behind him, seven men emerge, all of them with the same vicious smirks on their faces, nothing like Artem’s.

  There’s nothing good about the way these men bare their teeth.

  They look like torturers about to unveil their tools.

  My heart skips when I see Rocky tied to a streetlamp behind them, a muzzle over his mouth, the terrier straining at the rope as he spots us and tries to bound over.

  Artem moves his hand back, subtly guiding me so that I don’t sprint forward to the dog.

  “You overpaid for her,” Emilio says proudly. “I was going to give her to you as a gift.”

  “Yeah,” Artem sighs. “I guessed as much. That just proves how much of a clueless amateur you are, Emilio, that you thought giving me such a gift would make me like you. I think it’s time you left this city. In fact, I think it’s time I gave you over to the police and let them lock you up for the rest of your worthless fucking life. The files I have on you, my friend, they’d make Satan blush.”

  “You’d … work with the police against me?”

  “Yes,” Artem says, chin lifted high.

  My pride for him swells to even greater proportions, something I thought impossible.

  “You should know that if my men hear a single gunshot, they’re going to come out here and slaughter you all. You see, Emilio, your little game has achieved nothing.”

  “No,” Emilio whines. “You’re going to come with me. Both of you.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Are you insane, Emilio?” I snap. “I think maybe you might be. Either that or just plain fucking stupid. God, you look pathetic right now, using a dog like this. You know, I was scared of you before the auction? I had nightmares about you? Now I just think you look like a pathetic little man.”

  Emilio grinds his teeth, annoyance flittering across his features.

  “Artem, I’d advise you to shut your bitch up before—”

  What?

  What the heck just happened?

  The speed with which Artem moves is truly terrifying.

  It’s like watching a predator in the Savannah, the power of nature in his muscles, the intent of a hunter as he speeds across the road and hammers Emilio across the side of the face.

  I gasp, my hands going to my mouth, as I half-watch the mayhem but also try to creep around the edge and get to Rocky. Rocky’s straining at his rope now, trying to break free so that he can help Artem.

  Emilio falls to the ground, landing with a thump and a high-pitched squealing noise, the sort of noise that makes it difficult for me to believe that I was ever scared of this man.

  Immediately, Emilio’s men surge toward Artem, but either they remember his warning about guns or they’re too caught up in the moment to go for them.

  All of the Mafiosi are muscular, over-inflated in their suits, the sort of men who, when I look at them, my mind bring up images of needles and steroids and under-the-counter enhancements. Their bodies bulge unnaturally, and yet that doesn’t matter, does it, if there’s seven of them and only one of Artem?

  Stay calm, stay calm.

  I creep towards Rocky as the men all bulrush Artem, leaping on him and smothering him under their combined weight and pressure.

  It’s impossible to make out any individual movements in the darkened fray, just the mad thrashing of limbs as though the street has become water and they’re all drowning.

  But then I peer closer and see that Artem is the only one not drowning, the only one in control.

  He ducks and slides away from punches, his expression intent as he counters with quick strikes of his own, always moving so that the Mafiosis’ punches swipe through empty air—and then he’s there, hitting them and ducking away so they can’t hit him, a bear crossed with a jaguar, a hunter, a million cuts above these men.

  I kneel down next to Rocky and take off his muzzle, his barks rising into the air as I run one hand over his body to calm him and start whispering soothing words. I don’t take off the rope yet, though, because I don’t want him to charge into the mayhem and get himself hurt.

  Artem swings with big bear swipes now, his fist hitting chests and necks and cheeks, causing the men to reel back or collapse into the ground.

  And then they’re all lying around him like scattered bowling pins, except bowling pins don’t groan and clutch their injuries.

  Artem walks over to Emilio, who’s rolling onto his back and clawing at his jacket, clearing going for his gun.

  Artem lays his shoe on Emilio’s chest, his face twisted in rage, his eyes flaming. I keep one hand on Rocky’s body and smooth the back of his neck with the other, his favorite place for being stroked, whispering words of comfort that I barely hear myself.

  “Tell my queen that you’re sorry, Emilio,” Artem snarls. “Beg for her forgiveness. Otherwise, instead of spending the rest of your worthless life in a maximum-security prison, I’ll put a bullet in your head with your own gun.”

  “You really think you can put me in prison?” Emilio wheezes, squeezing uselessly onto Artem’s ankle, trying to dislodge his foot.

  “I know I can,” Artem growls. “I’ve got all the dirt on you I need, motherfucker. Now apologize.”

  Artem leans his weight on Emilio’s chest and he starts to gasp and wheeze, and then he lets his head fall and his gaze finds mine, this man who kidnapped me and tried to use me as a pawn in some twisted game.

  “I’m sorry,” he cries. “Christ, I’m so sorry. Okay? Please. Please.”

  I untie the rope from the streetlamp and pick Rocky up, laughing when he licks my face, feeling powerful as I carry him over to Emilio and stand tall.

  I feel like a queen.

  No, fuck that.

  I am a fucking queen.

  Queen of the Bratva.

  From slave to queen.

  “Apologize to Rocky,” I tell him, my voice ice, my gaze even colder.

  “S-sorry, boy,” Emilio wheezes, Artem crushing his shoe even harder into his chest.

  “Good,” Artem sighs, taking out his cellphone. He holds it to his ear after pressing a few buttons. “Call our contacts in the department. I want Emilio off the streets. I’ve got him right here. Send some men out to make sure he doesn’t scurry off anywhere like the fucking rodent he is.”

  Artem looks at me and, amidst all the mayhem, we share a look.

  With seven injured men lying busted and groaning all over the road, with the light of the malformed st
reet lamps casting shadowy illumination over us, he looks into my eyes and I look into his.

  I can read the message in his face.

  I’ll always protect you. No matter what happens, I’m here for you. For now and forever.

  I’m not crazy. Or maybe I am. Maybe I’m crazy for Artem. If that’s the case, then I’ve got no desire to become sane.

  I send a message back with my expression.

  I’m here for you, too. Whatever we face, we face together. If you’re the king, I’m your queen.

  And then Rocky has a message of his own.

  He barks happily and laps at my face, a rough, warm lick as Artem’s men spill out of the building, a whole army of suited Bratva soldiers with their rifles and pistols aimed at the Mafiosi.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Artem

  I let the dust settle in the week after Emilio’s little ploy.

  Once I have Emilio in my custody, it’s easy enough to have him planted in a convenient location for my police contacts to apprehend … on an anonymous tip, of course.

  We’re in the garden, Rocky running his frantic laps around the fountain, when Anna glances at me with her blue eyes brimming with questions and her lips pursed.

  “What is it?” I ask, a smirk touching my lips as I gorge on the sight of her, sitting there in her form fitting dress, the fabric like vapor over her perfect form.

  “It’s just, well, I didn’t expect you to call the police.”

  “Would you rather I killed him?” I ask, standing up and walking over to where she sits, sliding down next to her and wrapping my arm over her shoulders. “I don’t ask that to be cruel, Anna. I’m genuinely asking. Because there’s a big part of me that would have enjoyed putting him down. But … shit, my life, this Bratva – the one I built – it’s not run like that. I don’t deal in blood, not when I can avoid it. I use information and blackmail and intimidation when I need to, I won’t deny that. But blood, outside of battles and wars and skirmishes? No, Anna, I steer clear of that. It’s bad for business and it’s bad for the long-term functioning of the Bratva.”