28. Becca

28

BECCA

I van held my hand as we left the room where he’d spanked me and fucked me so well I wished we never had to leave. Of course, I didn’t mean that. Emily was waiting for me. For us.

But it was nice to have that separation. That at the house, we could be more like a family. Two adults—or three, including Margie—to handle one baby. For now. At this club, though, I felt freer to shed my responsibilities and trust in Ivan to steer me to pleasure. Under his control, I could simply be and know that he’d catch me after I fell. It was a liberating feeling, one I wished to repeat as soon as possible.

“What if you move in?” he asked.

I smiled up at me. “Didn’t… we sort of already do that?”

He smirked. “Into my room.”

I nodded.

“So long as you can be a little more quiet at night when Emily is sleeping.”

“I can’t guarantee it.”

He squeezed my fingers tighter, and I leaned against him, loving that I could be this woman at his side. That he’d chosen me out of all the women in the world.

“But after Murphy’s dead…”

I didn’t listen to whatever he might have said. All my senses faded as I locked eyes on a couple of men I recognized. Sounds ceased to filter through my ears. Everything burned down to tunnel vision as I stared at the men over on the other side of the room. My body felt numb and immobile, but my heart raced like I was actively finishing a marathon.

“Becca?” Ivan’s fingers gripped mine tighter once more, jarring me from the shock and fear that washed over me.

“Those men,” I whispered.

The guys turned at just that moment, as if my hissed words floated to them from across this lobby space. One smirked. The other narrowed his eyes. We’d made eye contact, and I didn’t like the implications of seeing them here. They hadn’t been here when Ivan and I walked around, when he kept his eyes on the activity here.

These two were men I remembered from my days with Dominic.

Rossinis.

The men Ivan and his Bratva considered enemies. Between Steven and these Italians, something was in the works, and I didn’t want to know what it meant.

“Fuck.” Ivan reached for his phone, but before he could bring it to his ear and make a call, the doors up front opened. Men rushed in. All of them wore uniforms. Behind them were others with guns raised, the undercover cops or detectives.

They swarmed in so suddenly that it took the DJ or person in charge of the music a full stop to cut off the noise. Shouts and screams sounded instead. Panic filled the room as guests and staff ran to leave.

I couldn’t tear my gaze from the Rossinis over there, noticing that they hadn’t budged. Unflinching and cool, they stared at me expectantly.

Did they know Ivan was here? Did Steven? Or that I was? Questions ping-ponged in my head so fast that I felt dizzy. If not for Ivan’s strong hand in mind, I would’ve fallen due to my shaking knees.

“Ivan? What’s going on?”

He gritted his teeth, noticing the Rossinis.

They weren’t just the enemy. They recognized me. The sensation that they could be here for me was such a horrid one, I couldn’t shake it. I never wanted to be involved in any Mafia matters, and I felt like I was trapped in something now.

“It’s staged,” Ivan hissed. “The Rossinis, the cops. They set it up to be ambushed.”

“Is this one of the Bratva’s places?” I asked, pressing up closer to him as people moved so fast to escape.

Then someone fell.

Another.

In the corner, a woman dropped to the floor, having a seizure.

“What is going on?” I couldn’t keep the hysteria out of my voice.

“The drugs,” Ivan snapped. “They’re distributing the fucking drugs here.”

“What drugs?”

“You!” A cop zeroed in on Ivan and marched over. “He’s the owner.”

“I’m not.” Ivan stood straighter, unafraid of the officer. “This establishment is no longer part of my family’s business profile.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fancy words I don’t give a fuck about. You’re here just like the tip claimed.” He jerked his thumb toward the cops helping the people who’d fallen.

Chaos ensued as another club guest fell, clutching their neck.

Ivan shook his head, holding on tight to me. “You’ve got it wrong,” he insisted to the cop. Another one approached, seeming ready to cuff him. From the side, men hurried closer. I recognized them as some of the guards at the vacation villa. I hadn’t realized they’d been here all along, but of course they would’ve been here as backup. Ivan wasn’t stupid. He likely had security all the time.

As they came closer, I was pushed back. Tightening my fingers on Ivan’s, I gripped hard and fought not to be separated from him.

He turned, glaring in my direction with the determination to keep me with him in this frenzied crowd. His arm lifted, and a cop reached out to cuff him. The metal didn’t lock on his wrist, and I felt safe as I felt his hand taking mine.

Or not.

Someone else had wrestled closer, and it was a stranger who gripped my hand and pulled me back.

“Ivan!”

He lunged after me, his face set in stony fury, but too much was happening. The cops went for him. The Bratva guards interfered. Other club members and guests rushed between us.

Before I could inhale another deep breath to scream for him again, strong arms locked around me. They hauled me outside, strapping tape over my mouth as they steered me into a car waiting in the alley.

A sickening sense of déjà vu hit me. Not again. Not like this. When Ivan took me out of that club, I ended up learning love and lust, pleasure and passion. Those things would only ever make sense with him. And that was why I kicked and flailed so hard that the men dropped me. Pain radiated up from my tailbone at the impact. My ass was still sore from Ivan’s spankings, but this sudden plummet to the floor stung bad.

It knocked the breath out of me. I lost precious seconds to scramble to my feet and run away. To run to Ivan.

They caught me in their arms again, and the Rossinis tossed me into the back of a car.

On the ride, I bucked and fought, resisting the zip ties on my wrists in front of me. No matter how much I tugged awkwardly at the tape over my mouth and sticking far back into my hair, I couldn’t rip it off.

I wasn’t back there for long, stunned and shocked with fear and anger. I didn’t have ample time to plan or pay attention to many details, determined to yank this tape off, then bite at the zip ties. Anything. Something. I’d give it my all to escape and retaliate because I had too much to fight for now.

Ivan. Emily. Hell, even Margie. Whatever these Rossinis wanted, they wouldn’t win. If they were working with Steven, I’d kill him myself. For once in my life, I had a bright, grand future to look forward to. And I’d do anything to get back to my man and know it would still happen.

The men weren’t gentle removing me from the car, and their hands locked down on my upper arms to the point of bruising pain as they led me into a building. They’d parked in an underground parking garage, and I was deprived of seeing what structure they’d driven me to. I was aware that I needed to notice and remember all the details, but my sense of staying alert had gone haywire. Everything passed in a blur of too many things to see and track.

Once they pushed me into a room, something bare but functional like an interview room, I zeroed in on something I could easily remember. Someone I so readily recognized.

Dominic.

He sat on the other side of a fold-up table, distinguished as ever, his graying hair slicked back perfectly, his manicured nails neat and even as he folded his hands together on the surface. That smug smile was the same, his dark, beady eyes just I remembered. Dressed in an impeccable suit, he watched me as his friends shoved me into a chair across from him.

My ass stung. The fall to the floor made my tailbone ache more. But it was nothing compared to the stinging agony of them ripping the tape off and yanking out hair with it.

I breathed hard through it, growling and glowering at Dominic.

No cops were in here.

Just him.

He had the control here, and I hated it. Men always lorded over me, but I wanted to reset things back to where I could surrender to Ivan and know he would protect me and care for me while he was in control.

Dominic cleared his throat, betraying no emotions with his lack of expression. “I’d like to speak with you about your artwork.”

I sat there, still, letting his words replay through my mind. Then again. And again. No matter how many times I tried to understand them, they didn’t fit.

I lost it. Cracking up so hard that my eyes watered, I curled over and laughed. And laughed.

“You what ?”

Now, of all fucking times, he wanted to talk about my artwork? Now? Was he insane? He’d taken me to Europe to “sponsor” my artwork without ever seeming to realize I was a fan of the Impressionist style, not Minimalist. Or that I sculpture bare pieces without paint. Or that I was even a multimedia artist at all.

Was this a joke? A mockery? A fucking game? I felt like I was going insane after he’d so coolly told me the very last thing I’d ever expected to hear. I’d never counted on seeing him again, and certainly never like this—after he’d sent his thugs to kidnap me from a damn sex club.

“My artwork ?” I shook my head. “You don’t fucking care. You never cared. You pretended to be interested in my artwork just to keep me close and keep tabs on Steven somehow.” Chuckling, I tried to calm down.

Laughing at him wasn’t the smart reaction, though. He snapped, perhaps thinking I was making fun of him.

Standing up quickly, he shoved his chair back and thrust his arm over the table, pointing a knife at me.

“You took something of mine,” he seethed, baring his teeth. “And I want it back.”

I swallowed, sobering up with the real and present danger of a weapon that close to me. “I…” I shook my head, determined not to look scared, but mad. Not terrified, but furious and bold. “I didn’t take a damn thing from you.”

Just your child. I debated whether he knew about Emily.

“Your father took something of mine, and I want it back.”

Steven! It was always about him. If he’d used me somehow while I was with Dominic…

I clenched my teeth, breathing through my nose to try to stay level-headed. “I do not associate with Steven. I never have. And I never will.” I was sick of everyone assuming I was his accomplice just because we were related by blood.

“You stupid idiot.” He stood straighter, gesturing for his men to grab me again. “You won’t beat me. He won’t win. I want it back, and I will get it.”

Emily? No. He couldn’t mean her. If Dom wanted something Steven took from me, he couldn’t mean how Steven tried to get Emily taken that same night Ivan captured me.

I tried to understand. As the men pulled me off the chair, I scrambled to solve it all and figure out why Dominic expected anything from me .

If he’s coming for Emily…

I clung to the knowledge that Ivan wouldn’t let Dominic—anyone—near my baby.

He’d keep her safe.

All I had to do was try to do the same for myself until I could run from the predicament I’d fallen into.