Page 48 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

I lean down with a hand on each arm of his chair until my face is close to his. The movement pulls at my ribs, making my vision swim, but I keep the pain off my face. I refuse to show him weakness.

"Let me be plain about where we are. I brought you into my house and put my men's lives in your hands because I trusted you with mine. If I find out you've taken that trust and sold it to a Spaniard, I won't kill you. Killing you would be a kindness, and I'm fresh out of that tonight.

"I'll skin you alive and keep you breathing through every second of it, and the last thing you'll ever hear is the sound of your own gasps for breath… Do you understand?"

His jaw tightens and his lips purse as his eyes narrow. "Understood, Boss…"

Then I fist the front of his shirt and haul him up out of the chair, into the wall where his head slams against the plaster. The effort tears through my side like a blade. He doesn't fight me, which is a small mercy. But he knows if I made one peep, Bart would be in here with his Makarov ready to kill.

"I swear, Sergei," I breathe into his face.

"I've known you twenty years, Dem… Do you think I'm lying?"

I hold him against the wall another moment until the pain in my ribs forces me to stop. Then I let him go and step back. I can't see a trace of deception in his expression, but he's been living on his own for so long, I can't say that I know him well enough now. For all I know, he's been baiting me to bring him back just for this.

"I'm not your leak, Demin." He straightens his shirt where my hand creased it. "Give me three more days. I'll put the man who's doing this on his knees in front of you."

"Three fucking days," I snarl, knowing damn well he won't. If he were anywhere close, he'd have given me a name by now.

But I also don't have a thing I can act on, but a man in my position can't do much. Being wrong about this and moving on bad intel would cost me a hell of a lot more than a mole.

"I'm not gonna find the guy here…" he says, nodding at the door, so I move back, letting him pass. And then I pick up my torn shirt and my blood-stained jacket and move toward the door myself.

I don’t know if that hit was the mole or Solano or the two of them working in conjunction. But I don't want to stand around and find out. I have a job to do, and I need to get it done.

It's time to raise security around my own home and every one of our sites. If the person responsible wants to play games, I’ll play. They just won't like how I play by my own rules.

25

ISABELA

Danya comes in to tidy the room while I'm dressing to go down and see my father. She floats around me, gathering the towels I left on the floor, straightening the bed I never bother to make. It's strange to have someone waiting on me hand and foot like this. Even when I was young and my mother was alive, I don't think she did this. Hell, I'd never do it for a grown adult.

But it's part of the luxury of being with someone who has so much money. He doesn't have to think about anything. He has maids and men to wait on him and cooks to cook for him. It's comforting and something I could definitely get used to.

"You're going to your father?" she asks, smiling at me. She's not usually one for small talk when she's around, but today she seems friendly. I smile back and nod.

"They said I could see him before dinner." I pull a sweater over my head and tug it down. "He's been asking for me every day, apparently, and the doctor thinks it helps his mood." Seeing Papa is always the highlight of my day, and today I have really good news for him. I hope that he will accept what I'm about to tell him and want it. It would be life-changing if he does.

"It would help anyone's mood, a daughter who visits." She folds a towel against her chest and looks at me with a warm, motherly expression. "He's lucky, your father. A lot of men in this house have no one to care for them but me."

It's a sad thing to think that in Demin's world men are so isolated and alone because their lives have too much conflict. It makes me wonder if Demin was lonely before I came here, if that's why he's claimed me so fiercely. I was raised around this life, so I know just how dangerous it can be. Maybe he thinks that makes me more apt to welcome his possessive nature.

I sit on the edge of the bed to pull my shoes on and finally decide to open up a little. Mostly, I've been quiet about my thoughts, but Demin isn't exactly the social butterfly. When we talk, he never quite opens up. I want to find a way into his inner world, and maybe this is the only way.

"Danya, how long have you worked for Demin?" I peer up at her as I run my fingers through my hair and try to work out some tangles.

"Nine years."

"That's a long time." I smile as I say, "And he's never—I mean, is he…" I don't know how to ask it without sounding like a frightened girl, so I just ask it. "Is he a good man? Underneath it all?"

She sets the towels down and cocks her head like she's thinking, which I appreciate. "He's not a soft man," she says. "He does hard things, and honestly, he can be very harsh at times if you don't do things as he requests." She smooths a wrinkle out of the bedspread. "But in nine years he's never once raised his voice to me unless I actually deserved it…" She looks nostalgic for a second and then blinks a few times as she catches my gaze again. "When my mother was dying, he paid for everything and told no one he'd done it. He'd be angry I told you just now."

"He doesn't sound like a horrible man…"

"No." She smiles and pats the towels. "I've watched a lot of people come through this house," she says, picking up the towels again and hugging them to her chest as she stands. "He's a good man to the people he decides are his," she says on her way to the door. "It just takes him a while to decide." Then she pauses with her hand on the frame. "You should go. Your father's waiting, and Bart will be here for you soon."

Danya walks out, leaving me to sit there thinking about what she said. She's a kind woman and I don't think she'd lie to my face. And from what I've seen of Demin, she must be telling the truth. His men don't seem afraid of him. They seem loyal. That loyalty seems to be earning them protection and power, which is exactly what I think about my entire walk down to see Papa.