15. Ivan

15

IVAN

S he’s siding with me. Not Steven. Not the Rossinis.

Becca wanted to stand by me and the Valkov name. By hurrying to record that call, she proved that she wanted me to hear it and learn more about whatever I could use against her father. The urgency that she obeyed, leaving her bed and coming to find me right away, attested to her commitment in her decisions. This wasn’t a whim. She wasn’t helping me with information as a fluke moment. She was considerate and smart with a kind of quick thinking that I admired.

Becca chose to tell me about that call as soon as she could.

And the ramifications of her decision hit hard. She trusted me. She’d stalwartly refused to give in to any of Steven’s demands. He’d asked her over and over to reveal her location, and she held strong against him.

Besides, she didn’t know. No one had told Becca where we were, exactly. This Valkov vacation villa was upstate, but there was no way she could’ve tracked the path here when we’d left the city. She hadn’t been blindfolded in the backseat, but her focus had been on Emily, not the scenery passing by.

When Murphy asked where I was, she was again ill-equipped with an actual answer. She was napping when I left, unaware that I had taken off, and even if she had been awake, I knew she wouldn’t have asked. She wouldn’t have taken the risk to be nosy about my affairs. All this time she’s been here more like a guest than a hostage, she’d kept to herself and minding Emily. Not once did she inquire about what I did or where I went, intuitively respecting that it wasn’t information she needed to know. Maybe she preferred it that way. The less she was aware of, the safer she was in ignorance. I couldn’t fault her for that mindset, but I ignored it because considering what she did and didn’t know led me to wonder what would happen to her after Murphy was dead.

Still, the realization of her loyalty stunned me. She was loyal to me, not her father or the Rossinis.

Which made it all the more interesting why she was so quick to clam up about my single, pointed question about Dom.

Because something is there between them. A history in the past? A dream for the future? Becca was familiar with Dom. There was no chance in hell she could deny that, and it burned me to understand she had been downplaying her connection to him.

Dmitri showed me the lengthy list of calls she’d had with the most reputable number that we felt was Dominic’s. The first assumption that came to mind was that she’d dated him, but she’d rejected that.

Jealousy filled me immediately. It streaked through my veins, lighting up a unique version of rage I’d never experienced before. Women never mattered. They never lasted. I never wanted them to last because I knew every single one of them wouldn’t actually want me for who I was, a criminal Mafia man with a preference for hard fucks.

Becca was sneaking further under my skin, though. The mere idea of seeing her filled a dark, twisted corner of my heart. I didn’t know how it happened or why. She was supposed to serve the purpose of being here to lure Murphy out. She was not here to make me wonder about love and belonging in the sense of a proper relationship that would endure more than one fling.

But maybe she is doing that, bringing Murphy out of hiding.

The call that she recorded was the first means of communication since we’d made it clear to the criminal world that Becca was captive under the Valkov family. We’d left plenty of messages for Murphy to understand we had his daughter. He hadn’t taken the bait yet. He hadn’t responded or reacted to any of the news about Becca being held hostage by us.

Until today.

He’d reached out, calling her specifically, and I was damned thankful that she'd recorded it. I already sent the recording from her phone to mine, then shared it with all my brothers and Yusef.

The fucker knew. He knew that we had Becca, but he wasn’t interested in negotiating with us. He instead decided to contact her.

As Becca paced with Emily, soothing the teething baby, I mulled over all that his call signified. Murphy was aware that I had Becca. Why else would he have asked in that call where I was? The crooked cop knew that she was with me, that Emily was with us too.

I fisted my hand then released my shoulders, wishing that clench would vent out some of my anger. The thought that Murphy had set up Emily’s being taken just to interfere with her captivity… It pissed me off to no end. How could any man have the audacity to set up his infant granddaughter to be a token in this war?

He’d tried to use Emily as a way to get to Becca. To me. And I would not stand for that. His call revealed a critical clue that I wouldn’t soon forget.

Knowing where Becca was had to be Murphy’s attempt to track me. To know where his enemy lurked.

This was all a game of cat and mouse.

And I was fine with that.

I could manage the pressure because Murphy would not win this game. He would not slip away, nor would he harm Emily or Becca ever again.

What I couldn’t manage was how Becca went quiet at any mention of Dominic Rossini. It didn’t sit well with me how she continued to pace and not answer my question about him. She’d referenced Murphy scaring off boyfriends. Banking on the assumption that Dominic had been a boyfriend of hers, I wasn’t happy with her silence.

She wasn’t repeating that silent treatment crap. This was different. Her showing me the recording of that call was the opposite effect of a silent treatment or withholding information.

So, why does she go quiet and look uncomfortable?

I stood, sighing as I left her to handle Emily. Without another word, I left to pour myself a drink in the other room, needing a moment to think without the distraction of her beauty so near. Distance hadn’t helped me yet, but I tried to pick through the options of whatever could be at play here. That spike of jealousy wouldn’t fade, but when I reentered the room that Emily slept in, I hoped the alcohol would counter my rising temper.

Becca didn’t flinch when I returned. She merely carried Emily, swaying slightly like the baby enjoyed. Each move of her hips taunted me, and I wished I could get over this aching desire for her.

“What aren’t you telling me about Dom?” I asked, carefully but firmly. I didn’t want to enter a shouting match and argue to the point of bothering Emily. I felt bad to “use” the baby as an excuse to ensure a civil conversation, but I’d do whatever was necessary.

“Dominic wasn’t a boyfriend, Ivan.”

I sipped then shook my head. “Your starting with that disclaimer leads me to believe otherwise.” Almost like someone would start with a plea of Don’t get mad, but…

Her shoulders slumped.

“Start at the beginning.”

She turned, walking with Emily. “I first heard of Dominic through someone at school. I never had a chance to go to college. No money. My grades weren’t good enough.” She shrugged. “To get anywhere in the art crowd, you have to study with the right people and earn a rub-off of their clout. You have to mingle and socialize and rub elbows with other artists or sponsors to even get anyone to know your name. I never had time for that. Since I was sixteen, I’ve been working one, if not two jobs to put food on the table.”

“For Murphy too?”

She rolled her eyes. “He gambled. He owed debts. He operated with favors and still does. Every penny I earned, he saw as his. He’d blow it on drugs or booze. Or try to pay off someone for a better investment. I learned to hide as much as I could so I could simply survive.”

She’s not kidding about no lost love there.

“I never wanted to give up my dreams, though. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, had a studio in the city, and since it was paid for through a friend of hers, the small space was something he couldn’t touch. He never wanted it, anyway. So it was there I could keep up with my hobby when I ever had free time. When I went to a gallery opening for a friend, I saw Dominic there. He was curious about my name, saying I looked like someone he knew. He recognized me through Steven, and once I admitted that he was my father, he got very interested in me.”

I let her walk and mull in her silence again. It seemed like she was searching for the right words, picking through her memories, and she continued speaking again.

“At first, I was too excited that a rich man like him was even talking to me. He was charming. Knowledgeable about art. Meeting him seemed too good to be true, but I was so enthusiastic for someone—anyone—to pay attention to me and my art. I was suckered instantly. I looked him up that night, and I realized he was an influential, well-off man. I never realized he was in the Mafia. I only looked for his art ties. So, when he offered to sponsor me and show me to galleries in Europe, of course, I said yes.”

“You just up and left? Traveled with him?”

I nodded. “I’d just finished my lease for the apartment I had at that time. I was sick of my jobs, and they were dime-a-dozen gigs, anyway. For the first time, I thought why not? Maybe this would be my big break. I traveled with him, like a friend. I always had separate lodgings, and most of the time, I was alone. He had ‘business’ to do. He was often on the phone or meeting with people. I didn’t care. I was just so excited to be in Europe. I saw all the museums. Spent lots of time in galleries. With my sketchbooks, I prepared to make so much artwork, assuming this was it, that I’d be an artist, and not a starving one with a man like Dominic Rossini interested in what I could make.”

I rubbed my lip with my finger, watching her open up. “Then what?”

“Then, a few months after I’d been with him, I realized he’d been manipulating me just to keep an eye on what my father was up to.”

“Did you ever ask Murphy how or why he knew Dominic?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t speak with Steven since I met Dominic. My father had never given a shit about my art. Never will. I didn’t want to tarnish my time or association with Dominic by bringing my father into anything. He was so negative, so cruel and dismissive, I wanted to believe that Dominic could almost replace my father’s significance in my life. I felt that Dom could be the man who’d look out for me. Who’d want me.”

Fisting my hand again, I breathed through the anger filling me at her heartbroken honesty.

“When all he’d done was trick me. He’d conned me into thinking he cared about my artwork, but one night, I overheard him speaking with my father and my eyes were well and truly opened. He and Steven were arguing about a plan.”

“A plan for what?”

She shrugged. “No details were shared, probably on purpose. Dom seemed to argue that he thought this plan would be impossible to pull off, but Steven said they had to keep their eye on the long-term goal.”

There was my proof. Steven was trying to collaborate with the Rossinis. This wasn’t good news for the Bratva, and I was renewed with a sense of putting out the fire before it could take flame.

“I wanted to leave right then and there when I overheard that call. Knowing that Steven could interfere with what I had assumed was a legitimate interest in my artwork was equivalent to my world crashing down.” She glanced at me, sadder yet. “I had this gut instinct, you know? I just knew something fishy was going on, and I didn’t want any part of it.”

“Did you leave?”

She nodded. “I told Dominic that I wanted to go home. That I overheard him and I refused to be associated with anything my father was involved in, that I didn’t trust him, and therefore, I didn’t trust Dominic either. He didn’t take the confrontation well. It was stupid, from an amateur artist’s perspective, to ever talk back to a prospective sponsor. But he didn’t even mention my art. He admitted that he only ever approached me as insurance to keep a closer eye on my father, that while I was with Dominic, Steven would have to behave.”

Just like I’m doing with you. She had been a pawn before, but I hated to think I wasn’t any better. Against my judgment, I was falling for her in a way I never had for a woman.

“He scowled and lashed out, telling me he was sick of me, anyway. Sick of pretending that my artwork was good. Sick of spending so much energy to keep an eye on a man who only lied and played games. So sick of me that…” She sniffled, tipping her chin up defiantly. “That he raped me that night before I flew home.”

I tensed. Clenching my fists tight and bracing my legs to stand, I stared at her. “He raped you?”

She nodded, unafraid to look me in the eye now. Almost as though she challenged me to judge her.

“Is Emily the product of that rape?”

Once more, she nodded, but this time, shame filled her eyes as she turned to look away.