Mob Bride (The O’Rourke Brotherhood #5)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Carrie

That man is fucking gorgeous as sin, but he’s fucking insufferable.

Pretty sure that’s the second time I’ve thought it in as many days. Fucking wouldn’t let it go. He’s worse than a dog with a fucking bone. Now my happy ass—well—no—not much happy about me right now. My fucking miserable ass—is on a train headed toward Pittsburgh, which is exactly what I didn’t want.

But here I am. I’d bought the ticket just in case I needed to prove to my mom I was supposedly headed home. I should have expected Shane to still be outside the door, but clearly I’m not thinking a hundred percent straight because it shocked me to find him getting out of that car and crossing the street.

It annoyed the shit out of me when he insisted on coming to the hotel with me. Nobody is supposed to know where that is. But what choice did I have? I certainly couldn’t take him to the alternative. So, I had to use the hotel. It’s a good thing I had so little to pack there because that place is no longer safe. Now I have to set something else up as my own safe house.

Finally. Three stops out of the city, I can get off and head back into New York. I doubt he’s followed me this far, but if he has, he won’t notice me. I can slip past him.

He can take his jolly little ass all the way to Pittsburgh.

Well, no.

Fuck.

If he does, that means he knows where I supposedly live. If he knows where I supposedly live, he’s going to come knocking.

Fuck my life.

Why does this have to keep getting more and more complicated?

I exhale a deep sigh as I gather my overnight bag and climb off the train. I head into the station, keeping my head on a swivel as though I’m looking for where I’m going, which I am. But more importantly, I’m watching for whomever might follow me. I don’t expect to recognize anyone, which is what makes it all the more nerve-wracking. But I’ve got a sixth sense about these things, and I’ve been trained enough to know how to spot a person assigned as your safety detail and someone assigned to track you until they can kill you.

I don’t see either type of person—not just man—person. There are plenty of women mercenaries out there. If life takes a different direction at some point, that very well might be me.

Oh, thank God.

There’s a train in an hour. That’s not so bad. I can wait it out here in the air conditioning.

Home sweet fucking home, if you can call that the case for this apartment I’m in near Greenpoint. It’s a pleasant part of Brooklyn, and my supposed boyfriend moved me in a couple months ago. It’s better than the small studio I had when I initially started this assignment. I hate the idea someone is paying for me and keeping a roof over my head. That it makes me a kept woman.

But then again, the apartment I have—that I supposedly live in, in Pittsburgh—as well as the safe house hotel room—are all paid by someone else. So, I guess I’m a kept woman in one way or another.

I’m in what used to be a predominantly Polish neighborhood. Gentrification’s making it a bit too hipster for my taste. The people around here know who I am, which means it was a good thing I bought that hoodie from the train station. I know I looked ridiculous wearing it in this heat, but I needed it and the sunglasses to disguise the mess I’m in. I lock the door behind me, head straight to my bedroom, and toss my overnight bag on the end of the bed.

I try not to look at the thing when I don’t have to. The bed, not the bag. I head into my bathroom and strip off all my clothes. Oh, blessed shower. I took one last night at the safe house, but I had to put the same clothes back on. Blood and dirt and everything. My mom objected, insisted we should go back to my parents’ house where I still have a few pieces of clothing. I argued I should go to my hotel where I already had clothes. She tried to tell me Shane could get something for me from one of his sisters-in-law or his mom or someone, but I categorically refused to take anything else from him.

Thank God I didn’t. Can you imagine what he would have said or at least his expression if I walked out of the house this morning in clothes he got for me? No fucking thank you. I don’t let myself look in the mirror at my bruises until I’m clean and I feel like I can look at the world with fresh eyes.

Motherfucker.

The things I do for work. I lift my arm and try not to howl from the agony. I look at the bruises all along my right ribs. Makes it hard to breathe.

Thank goodness.

My mind might be going a mile a minute, but I haven’t really had to talk much since I got into the SUV last night. It hurts too fucking much. My face is a mess. My eyes remain nearly swollen shut. There’s a bruise across my left cheek. My lips are split. I’m lucky I still have all my teeth. My mom gave me a shot of powerful shit last night. She gave me some pills this morning. I took a dose before I left and one just before the train stopped in the city. It’s the only reason I can keep going.

I twist to look in the mirror. There are livid bruises across my kidneys, or at least where I’m pretty sure they still are. That fucker’s boot felt like he kicked all my organs right through my stomach and left them on the floor beside me. I’d probably be in less pain if he had. I’m lucky I could keep my mom from examining me, but now I need to play the part and put these on full display. I’m not letting that fucker get away with this.

I might have had to grin and bear it while it was happening—really grimace and bear it—but Bartlomiej won’t put up with this. That’s the only consolation I have. It’s knowing my boyfriend will beat the shit out of his brother for beating the shit out of me.

I pull into the driveway, and I recognize the cars parked here. Fucking hell, one of them’s Jacek’s. I steel myself against seeing him, even though it’ll be to my advantage he’ll be here when I tell Bartlomiej what happened. I won’t lay it on too thick, but I also won’t—or can’t—avoid telling him the truth. I head to the door, and the guard nods and opens it for me. I step inside and can hear voices, but none are Bartlomiej’s. I walk into the living room, and there’s a handful of men sitting around watching a soccer game.

Shocker. These guys are the most underemployed henchmen I’ve ever seen. But I suppose that’s a blessing in disguise. I say hi and head toward Bartlomiej’s office. The door’s open, and I can see Jacek, but no Bartlomiej. The fuck is Jacek doing sitting at his brother’s desk? He knows how much Bartlomiej hates it when he does that.

I smile.

He shoots me a grin in return. It’s pure evil.

The guy was in the army as an explosive ordnance disposal tech, and I don’t know if it unleashed a pyrotechnic in him or if that was already there, but he definitely came back from his four tours not right in the head.

He is the top henchman in the Polish mob here in New York. Bartlomiej trusts his advice, but only as far as he can throw his brother. Considering he’s scrawny as fuck and wily as a fucking coyote, that’s unfortunately a pretty far distance since Bartlomiej is only a little shorter and a little lighter than Shane.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

I don’t respond. Jacek grins even wider. It makes my stomach turn over.

“You’re too late, little darling. He had to go out of town this morning.”

I can’t stand him. The day I can put a bullet through his head cannot come soon enough. I turn around and hear him get out of his seat. I’m quick without running. I get back to the living room where I’m confident the guys won’t let Jacek touch me.

He tries to get closer, but he knows there’re limits to even his power when the other men are around. I stand as close as I can to the sofa and cheer along in Polish for the team I know the men favor. They laugh and joke with me, but they all keep an eye on Jacek. No one says anything about my face, but I’m certain word’s already gone around that I can thank Jacek for my new look.

They can all tell he’s paying too much attention to me, and it makes them all wary. They know he doesn’t like me, and they’ve become rather protective of me over the last few months. If they weren’t all psychopaths who enjoy their jobs—not just because they’re paid, but because of their loyalty to Bartlomiej and Jacek’s mother—then they might actually be nice men. But I can never take for granted these men make a living torturing and killing other people.

“Hey, I need to take off now. I’ve got to head back home. I’m not feeling my best today.”

That’s an understatement of a lifetime. I’m still in so much pain, and the medicine is wearing off. I won’t hide it for much longer.

Tymoteusz looks at my face, noting the bruises and split lip, then glances at Jacek. He stands and offers to take me home, and I gladly accept. Jacek tries to block the way, but Tymoteusz pulls out his phone and taps Bartlomiej’s contact.

Jacek knows his cousin won’t back down, not with his temperament and not because of his position. After Jacek, he’s the next highest man in the hierarchy. Tymoteusz escorts me out to a car, and we chat on the way back to the apartment Bartlomiej chose for me. Pays for me.

That reminds me. Once I’m in my apartment again, I grab my phone from my back jeans pocket and pull up Bartlomiej’s contact as I kick off the shoes he bought me. They land in the bottom of my closet. I take off the shirt he bought me as the phone rings. The jeans are mine, and the bra and panties are mine—though he’s picked those out for me too. As the call goes to voicemail, I slip off the jeans and loosely fold them and the shirt before dropping them on the end of the bed.

“Hey handsome, it’s me.” I might have thrown up a little in my mouth. “I’m bummed I didn’t get to see you. Something came up last night I was hoping to talk to you about. Bartek, I really need you, so I’m looking forward to when you get home. Let me know when you’re back in town. I really want to see you. I miss you. Love you. Bye.”

I hang up the call and feel like washing my mouth out with soap. Not just for the lies, but the kind of lies. I manipulate Bartlomiej almost as much as he manipulates me. He believes I’m a good Catholic girl who refuses to give up the V-card until I’m married. He thinks I’m playing hard to get. No shit, Sherlock.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t felt backed into a corner more than once and wound up doing things more intimate than I’d like. The rules are clear: there’s no expectation of sex as part of the job. Other intimate things can happen if refusal results in imminent danger.

Bartlomiej is a fine line between pleasure and pain. He likes both in equal measures, as long as he’s doling it out. He certainly has no interest in receiving pain. He’s never physically forced me, though I wouldn’t put it past him when he drinks. He’s backed me against walls and into corners. He’s grabbed my arms too roughly. He’s threatened me without outright threatening me.

He won’t kill me for not sleeping with him, but he expects everything leading up to that. He gets frustrated when I don’t meet those expectations because I have boundaries I won’t cross. He thinks it’s religion. I know it’s ethics and my sanity.

That’s why I hate looking at my bed. I’ve spent the night a few times at his place, but he says he likes to get away from there since it’s also where he conducts so much business.

He usually shows up here if he’s not already with me. Somehow, I have skills better than I thought because I had him latch onto me like a Stage Five Clinger within two weeks of meeting him. He moved me in here within a month, but I made him sign a contract saying I can leave anytime I want—which is utter bullshit because I can’t—at least not yet—and I live here regardless of whether we’re having sex.

You better believe I had that written in there. That was uncomfortable as hell to have presented before his branch’s elders, but I knew it was the only way to guarantee my alleged maidenhead would stay intact. I haven’t been a virgin in so long, I almost can’t remember.

I’m not looking forward to seeing him since it inevitably means I’m going to have to go to bed with him when he gets back, but he talks in his sleep and not like some shitty eighties song. He really does. I don’t know if his men know or not, but when he’s with me, he falls into a deep sleep. I suppose that says something if he trusts me enough to relax. Being with him all the time also means I’m privy to a lot more than people realize. So far, I’ve turned most of that evidence over. But not all of it yet.

I’m not ready to file a full report. If they knew half the things I had to put up with, they’d probably yank me out. It’s not that I’ve been in direct danger, but the places where Bartlomiej has meetings and the men who attend definitely make me think I’m a cat with nine lives. And there are some meetings where I think I’m on my ninth.

These are the men who are the lowest of the low among the Polish mob, the lowest of the low among the Armenians and the Albanians. He also meets with their leaders. Bartlomiej has more spies than a medieval royal court. He needs them in those syndicates and some of the other lower-level ones because he can’t get any into the Four Families.

The O’Rourkes, the Mancinellis, the Diazes, and the Kutsenkos. Those are the four families who rule New York. They all think they have the biggest slice of the pie, and sometimes they do. It goes back and forth. Right now, none of us are really sure who has it, but the Kutsenkos are my target. So that’s why I put up with all this bullshit and why I didn’t run for the hills and demand to be taken off the case.

Now it’s just a waiting game. I take a nap for a few hours, but I can’t go anywhere until my meeting at one a.m.

It’s quarter to one, and the city is quiet. That’s all relative since it’s New York. There’s still plenty going on. Plenty of lights and noise. But there aren’t the crowds on the sidewalks like there would be at one in the afternoon.

I head to the car I keep parked a few blocks away in a garage I pay cash for. Bartlomiej and Jacek don’t know I have one. They believe I get around either by subway or rideshare. At least before I knew Bartlomiej, and he started sending drivers for me. I know that’s not a courtesy. It’s his way of keeping tabs on me.

It surprises me he hasn’t called yet, or at least texted. He’s somewhere between protective and possessive. It changes by the day. Sometimes I can almost imagine him as a normal man who dates and cares about his girlfriend. But two minutes later, he reminds me of who he really is. A man who has no limits, no boundaries.

I’m one of the few people he appears to respect. I think it’s because I played hard to get in the beginning. He saw me as a challenge, but he also respects I’m among the few who don’t bow down to him and grovel or nearly piss their pants in his presence.

I pretended not to know who he was or how important he was when I supposedly moved into the neighborhood. That was five months ago, and it only took a month before I became his girlfriend. Or at least that’s what everybody believes.

I pull up to the house in Queens and go straight into the garage. I don’t turn off the engine until the garage door is two inches from the ground. I don’t get out of the car until it stops rattling. I slip into the house and greet the two guys. I go straight to my boss.

“You look like shit, Carys.”

“I feel like shit, Johnny. Thanks. In case you hadn’t noticed, I got the shit beaten out of me last night.”

“Yeah, your future brother-in-law certainly didn’t take well to you asking a few too many questions.”

“They weren’t questions that should’ve pissed him off as much as they did, unless he has more to hide than any of us thought.”

I’d managed to shoot off a text before I got to the construction site, telling my handlers what happened. I sent pictures of my face and my ribs, but I didn’t tell them where I was running to hide. I didn’t know where I was going to go. I didn’t know the construction site I picked belonged to the O’Rourkes.

I never would have imagined my mother would show up. I wouldn’t have gone there. I wouldn’t have gotten her or the O’Rourkes involved.

But that’s what ended up happening.

“So, what’s the deal, Carys? Did you see him today?” Johnny’s the least patient person I know which makes him a shit handler. But I don’t get to pick. At least we get along, and I don’t mind him.

“No. He went out of town. He didn’t text me to let me know.”

“That’s pretty unusual, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and it makes me wonder what’s going on. I don’t know if he really left this morning without knowing what Jacek did last night, or whether he knows and he left, anyway. I have more questions than answers about that. Same thing about Jacek. He’s definitely doing more than what his brother ordered. But I can’t tell yet if that’s a benefit or a mutiny.”

“Do you really think he’d go against his brother? Do you think Jacek would go against anybody? Even his mother?”

Zofia Nowakowski. Those two men are boys when they’re around their mother. They turn into spineless, sniveling shells of men. I don’t blame them. The woman is terrifying. I did my best to make sure I got on her good side from the very beginning. I’m the docile little woman she believes her son deserves. She is straight up former Soviet Union gymnast. Not Olympic level. Pretty damn close. She has the discipline of a Soviet general, and she runs her family just like that.

Bartlomiej may head the Polish mob, but she’s definitely the matriarch. She doesn’t call the shots in business. But if she had her druthers, she’d already have Bartlomiej married to me and me four months pregnant. That shit’s never happening.

“Hard to breathe, hard to talk?”

I’ll look over at Steven, the other guy who keeps an eye on me. I only nod. I don’t need to let them know my mind’s wandering, and it’s not because I’m in so much pain. Let them think I’m dazed and confused.

I don’t want them to figure out I met Shane last night, and I definitely don’t want them to know my mother showed up. But I need to know what they know. I need to know if they’ve been tracking her all along, and that’s why I got this assignment.

Steven nods and turns back to the computer he’s sitting in front of at the house’s dining room table. He speaks to me over his shoulder.

“We lost your tracker last night. It didn’t come back on until this morning. What was up with that?”

I look past him and see he has the record of my movements leading up to two blocks before I got to the construction site. I turned it off before I knew where I wanted to go. I didn’t want either of them coming to get me. I’m not ready to pull out of this assignment yet. I put too much into it for one beating to end it all. I don’t think they would intervene. But I didn’t want to run the risk.

Now I’m fucking glad I had the gift of second sight and turned it off. I’m sure we track all the syndicate leaders. The last thing I need is for them to put two and two together and know I met with Shane. No. Not met with. Met. I certainly didn’t plan on meeting him.

Hot as he may be, I know he’s going to be a pain in my ass. There’s no way a man like him will give up wanting to know more about a woman who gets beaten up and happens to be his doctor’s daughter.

“What do you have for me? Any clues about where Bartlomiej might be? Any hints?”

I redirect the conversation back to what I need to know. I can’t let on to Bartlomiej if I find out where he is, but I want to be prepared.

“No, we don’t know where he went. That came as news, when you walked in. Wherever he is, it’s definitely overseas. Most likely somewhere in the former Eastern Bloc.”

That makes me raise my eyebrows.

“Armenia?” I test the waters.

Both men stare at me, then Steven swings back around to his computer and starts typing furiously. I watch as an email account comes up. I walk closer and lean over his shoulder, translating the Polish into English.

I’ll land in six hours. We’ll meet at the cafe. Be there. Don’t make me hunt you down.

It’s an email Bartlomiej sent. But the recipient’s email is a jumble. There’s nothing recognizable about it. It’s certainly one nobody wants easily deciphered. There’s no salutation. There’s no sign off. It’s just those few sentences.

“Can you track the IP?”

“No, not yet. It’s through a VPN. It’s well encrypted.”

I’m sure it is.

I can think of at least four men who could hack the shit out of that and already know. One is Shane’s twin brother Sean. Another two are Sergei Andreyev and Anton Kutsenko, the intel gatherers and hackers for the Ivankov bratva.

Joaquin is the one who serves the Diaz Cartel. The man is probably the smartest of all of them. And across all the syndicates, he’s the fucking laziest. The man does the bare minimum to meet his uncle’s expectations. It’s not even like he’s off womanizing or gambling or drinking like people might expect the stereotype. The guy likes his fucking Legos.

Legos. A fucking cartel barón likes Legos.

Thinking that tempts me to laugh. But I don’t need to share my thoughts with anybody. It’s Lorenzo and Carmine who are the chief intel gatherers for the Mancinelli Mafia. Lorenzo’s a skilled hacker and Carmine’s just nosy as fuck. I’m certain those men know exactly where Bartlomiej is right now.

It’s a shame I can’t go knocking on Shane’s door or even Sean’s and say, “Hey, what’s up? Where’s my boyfriend?” I can only imagine how that would go over. That makes my lips twitch.

“You’ve got nothing for me?”

I turn back to Johnny and cross my arms. Oh God, that hurts. I let them fall to my waist. That hurts even more as it jerks my shoulders.

“Not right now. Keep your tracker on.”

“I don’t know what the deal was. I didn’t think I was anywhere where it wouldn’t pick up.”

I lie through my teeth. Both men stare at me before they nod. I’m the picture of plausible innocence. They know how well I can lie. But they know how often I tell the truth because I hate lying when I don’t have to. I consider this one of those necessary times. They might not agree.

Steven’s a little more thoughtful than Johnny, who’d be all business all day if he could. “Do you need anything? Do you have the supplies to deal with those injuries?”

“Yeah, I got an industrial-sized bottle of arnica I’ll probably go through in the next two days. I got some ice packs as well. I have a stocked first aid kit.”

This is hardly the first time somebody’s whaled on me, but it’s certainly the worst. It’s not an experience I need or intend to repeat. I could have done without it the first go around.

“All right, you can see I’m in one piece, and I know no more than you do. If you’ve got nothing else for me, I’m headed back to the apartment.”

I’m exhausted, and that was a monumental waste of time going around in circles for nothing. I could sleep for a week at this point. Or at least until Bartlomiej comes back in town. Both men agree, so I head to the garage. I back out down the driveway. And look around before I pull onto the street. My headlights are off. I never have the daytime running lights on. I never have them set to auto. I decide who and when someone sees me. And right now, I’d like to stay invisible.

I don’t think I have ever slept so much in my life. The only time I woke up to know what was going on was when I was starving, thirsty, had to go to the bathroom, or for my mom. She’s called every day for the last three days, and I don’t blame her. She thought—blessedly—three days cooped up inside, sleeping most of the time, was the best medicine for my injuries.

I had to be careful about what was in the background when I sent her pictures to prove the swelling was going down. My parents helped me move into the apartment in Pittsburgh, so my mom and dad would both know if the background didn’t match where I supposedly live. Bathroom selfies are the best.

I got a message from Bartlomiej this morning telling me he was back in town, and he expects to see me.

I’m too invested.

I remind myself of that while I dress and head out to the subway. My thoughts keep me occupied while I ride the few stops from my apartment to Bartlomiej’s house. The guys say hi to me, and I can tell they’re all still worried. I look a hell of a lot better than I did the last time I was here.

“ Ksi??niczka? ” Princess?

I hear Bartlomiej call out to me as I walk past an MMA cage fight on TV. I’m not a fan of his nickname, but whatever.

“Here I am.”

I walk around the corner and find him in the kitchen with Jacek and Tymoteusz. Tymoteusz crosses his arms and glowers at Jacek, who smirks at me. Bartlomiej takes in the bruises I’m still sporting. The swelling’s gone down around my eyes enough for me to open them, but they’re still blackened. My vision’s still blurry longer than it should be after I wake up.

“Jacek, you didn’t tell me the truth. You said you roughed her up a little because you thought she was lying. You didn’t tell me you beat the shit out of the love of my life.”

Ugh, that makes my stomach curdle. Tymoteusz pushes away from the counter and walks over to me. He puts his arm around my shoulder, daring to touch me in front of his cousin. He walks me over to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair for me. He stands behind it, my self-appointed guard. When he looks at Bartlomiej, which I can see through the reflection on the window, his expression is clear as day.

“It’s as I told you, Bartek.”

Bartlomiej nods and comes over to me, approaching slowly, uncertain what I might do. It shocks me how easily I burst into tears. Not because I want his comfort. I’d rather go swimming in the sewers of New York than accept his hug, but I do. It’s tears from the pain and frustration. I haven’t let myself feel my fear, anger, pain. I was saving them for this moment. I just didn’t have to make the tears come.

I sob against his shoulder as Bartlomiej alternates swearing at Jacek and cooing to me, trying to calm me down. It surprises me when he lifts me into his arms. He’s gentle. He’s done this plenty of times, but it’s always been from lust or jest. He carries me out of the kitchen and up to his bedroom, where he carefully places me on the bed. He sits down facing me and cups my hands between his.

“Oh, ksi??niczka , I’m so sorry. Jacek said you two got in an argument, and he slapped you around a bit. I’ve already dealt with that, or at least I thought I had. Clearly, he wasn’t telling the truth, and I didn’t believe Tymoteusz. I thought he was exaggerating, since he’s in love with you.”

I shake my head, and I wince in truth. “Bartek, Tymoteusz doesn’t love me. He’s loyal to you, which means he’s protective of me. He knows what kind of man Jacek is. I wish you could see what all of us do. I know you don’t trust Jacek, and you’re stuck because he’s your brother. But he’s way worse than you believe.”

I lift my shirt and pull it over my head, wincing again in truth. Bartlomiej swears under his breath as he feathers his fingers over my ribs.

“Did he break any?”

“No. I don’t know how he didn’t. It certainly felt like it, but I don’t think so.”

His gaze meets mine. “Did you see a doctor?”

I shake my head. “No, how could I? Any doctor would insist I call the police and file a report. I can’t have my name on any records. It’d only point back to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Fuck, I’m laying it on thick, and he eats it up like a bowl full of ice cream.

“My sweet love, if only I could be someone else. If only I could take you far, far away.”

“I wish that, too, but it is what it is. It was what it was. It happened. There’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

“Oh, no, there’s plenty I can fucking do about this. I ought to find an accommodating gulag somewhere for him in Siberia.”

“Maybe, but you know you need him too much for that.”

Weariness crosses his face as he nods. “He still isn’t off the hook. Kaja, there’s no way I can ignore this. He will find out exactly what it feels like to be you.”

My assumed name is Karolina Sobecki, but I go by Kaja.

“No, Bartek, that’s not what I want. It will only make things worse. He already resents me for the time you spend with me. He doesn’t trust me because he doesn’t know me like you do. I don’t want him to know me the way you do.” I give him a pointed look and offer him a shy smile.

He leans forward and kisses my forehead, avoiding my split lips and bruises. “I don’t want anyone to know you the way I do, either.”

“Then you can’t blame him for being protective of you.”

“That may be true, but I can blame him for taking matters into his own hands. He waited until I was gone to do something about his mistrust.”

“I appreciate you want to come to my rescue, but you must be exhausted after your trip. You were gone for three days. I had no idea where you were. I was so worried about you.”

“Worried I wouldn’t come home to deal with Jacek?” He cocks an eyebrow.

I feign hurt and look away. Tears welling in my eyes again. This I have to force. I whisper to him, refusing to look at him when he tries to nudge my chin toward him.

“How can you say something so horrible? If that were true, after this happened, don’t you think I would have fled? Do you really think I would have come here the next morning looking for you, terrified of facing Jacek again? Think what would have happened if your men hadn’t been here, and I’d found him seated at your desk. He could have trapped me in the house, done anything to me. You wouldn’t find my body. There’d be too many pieces if he even left that much.”

“Kaja, you exaggerate.”

“That’s not exaggerating, Bartlomiej. That’s exactly what he told me. I know what kind of man he is. Why should I believe anything other than what he tells me?”

Bartlomiej stares at me and nods slowly. He knows I speak the truth. “Stay here, ksi??niczka . Rest. Text me if you need anything.”

He moves to stand up, but I squeeze his hand. “You’re leaving me already?”

He stares at me once again and shakes his head. He gets up, and I reach for him. He kisses my forehead like he did before and walks around to the other side of the bed. He kicks off his shoes and lies down next to me. Again, he’s shockingly gentle as he draws me against him.

He’s a handsome man. He’s got a good body. He knows what he’s doing with his fingers and tongue. If only he weren’t who he was. Not just my mark, but a bona fide sociopath.

That makes me think of Shane. He’s the same kind of man as Bartlomiej in far too many ways. But I didn’t recoil inside when I saw him or when he touched me. Bartlomiej’s being just as gentle as Shane was. That was completely different. I have no reason to believe that since they’re both mobsters, but it was.

Bartlomiej strokes my hair, and it tempts me to fall asleep since I’m still so tired. I’ll allow him to think I’m dozing. I feel him reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He lets go of me, easing his arm out from under me, checking to make sure I’m still asleep.

Then I know he’s texting. I open my eyes just a slit. Not enough for him to tell I can see out from under my lashes. I’m well practiced at this since this is about as much as I could open my eyes for the past three days. I can see his phone screen. It’s a burner.

Bartlomiej

It was a success. The shipment’s coming in on Tuesday. The handover is Wednesday morning at three. I want all the men there. I don’t trust Bogdan.

I keep my breathing even while my pulse races. This is the type of information I need, but I don’t know what kind of shipment it is. That just leaves me wondering, who’s going to claim it?