Page 12 of Baby for the Bratva King

“I don’t need a PR team.”

“Well, you’re getting one. Fire the maid before this becomes a PR nightmare. You’ll feel better after a lap dance.”

I’ll feel better when I see Saskia again. She’s the most interesting woman I know as of right now, and she walked straight out of my life without hesitation.

I click on my phone and find her job application again, scanning through her resume for the hundredth time.

Saskia Quinn. Very impressive. She’s worked multiple jobs over the last two years. Bar work. Waitressing. Caring for the elderly. Her most recent form of employment was at the Empire State, where she worked as a tour guide for five months.

She graduated high school and pretty much jumped straight into work, forgetting about college. There are occasional gaps in her employment history. When I enquired about this in the interview, she shrugged her shoulders, saying she needed breaks to work on herself. Her answers were clipped, much shorter than I wanted them to be, which is half the reason why I hired her—I was curious to know more.

Three weeks later, I’m still curious…

So much that I’m willing to lift my head up from the floor and tune back into the outside noise.

3

SASKIA

“Been swimming?” says Fleur, rising from the couch.

“Unfortunately not,” I reply, raking a hand through my hair.

I raced straight over here from the Upper East Side. I needed air and my sister, but now I’m having second thoughts about the latter as I stare deep into her eyes, realizing I let her down by putting my own needs first. And that makes me no better than our father.

As the older sister, I’m supposed to be the responsible one. Fleur parties on the weekend, accepting free drinks from strangers, and I stay home being the concerned older sister.

Regret eats me alive. I fucked this for both of us, trading good money for ten minutes of bliss with Felix.

And now I have the rest of our lives to think about.

“Jesus, no wonder Felix sent you home early.” She scans my face. “You look dreadful.” She narrows her eyes, stepping closer. “Have you been drinking?”

“No, but I could use a drink.”

“What the hell happened?”

I slide next to Fleur on the couch, reaching for the magazine she abandoned. Of fucking course Felix is on the front cover, perched on a stool, hands clasped in his lap. Those hands have touched my body, and those hard muscles were pressed up against mine only a half hour ago as he devoured my virginity, leaving no fucking crumbs.

And now, I have to suffer the fallout.

I toss the magazine aside, staring vacantly into space as guilt sinks its familiar claws into my heart.

“I know, right?” scoffs Fleur. “What an ugly piece of work.”

“The ugliest.”

“You could get away with murder with a face like that.”

“He does, according to ABC.”

“Right,” says Fleur. “The mafia allegations. He certainly looks like a mafia boss.”

“Thankfully, I haven’t stumbled upon a gun yet.”

Like Felix would even need a gun to kill someone. I mean, the man is killing me now.

“The world crumbles and that man stays exactly the same.”