7. Ivan

7

IVAN

B ecca lowered her head, hiding behind her hands as she cried. No noises left her, but there was no missing how worked up she was. Her shoulders shook. Her long, red, wavy curls hung low, curtaining her face. Crouched over on the floor, she looked broken and wretched with the end of that call.

From a Rossini.

Dmitri caught my attention, gesturing toward the closed door behind us. I nodded, frowning at Becca breaking down on the floor. Staying in here with her would have left us with two options. Ignore her distress and demand answers or try to calm her down so she could speak clearly again. Neither of those appealed, so it wasn’t hard to leave her be, to give her a chance to collect herself as I stepped out with my brother.

Dmitri closed the door, but I reached over to lock it. She seemed upset, but for all I knew, it could be an act. She could be faking it and planning to use her tears and mood as a distraction to slip away.

With all the guards around my building, she wouldn’t get far. But I didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’m not sure that number came from a Rossini source,” Dmitri said, still holding her phone.

“You said it was interesting.”

“Yeah. As a burner that’s come up before. But we can’t place it.”

I shook my head at him. “He identified as a Rossini.”

Dmitri huffed. “So? Anyone could claim to be someone else on the phone. She didn’t seem to recognize the voice.”

I appreciated his insight. Everything that Becca did, everything she said, I took it with a heavy sense of doubt. I wanted to assume she was the enemy. I had to view her as a liar I couldn’t believe or trust. I was second-guessing every moment together. Because I wanted her so viscerally, because she seemed to burrow in deep and capture me in a way not many women could, I was desperate for a solid reason for why I had to forget about anything happening. I needed her to be “bad” or to be the enemy to prevent myself from letting it get into my head that I could enjoy her.

I didn’t think I’d ever wanted a woman so quickly and badly as I did her. I couldn’t explain it, and I didn’t want to.

Hearing my brother’s assessment gave me much-needed guidance. If he seemed to think she wasn’t acting, maybe I was overthinking it all and searching for excuses to pin her as my foe.

“No Rossini seems to be looking for her.” Dmitri set her phone on a table, leaving the tracking ware attached to it. “We’ve already put it out there that Becca’s been taken. Not confirming nor denying that we have her under Valkov custody, just that she’s been taken.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” He shook his head. “The Rossinis aren’t reacting to this news that Becca’s captured. Murphy isn’t either. He hasn’t returned any calls that we’ve set up with informants and moles that he might listen to.”

So… no one cares? That made no sense. She was his flesh and blood. Murphy had to care to some degree. He cared enough to stay in contact with her and lean on her to do favors that she always rejected.

“Something’s not adding up,” I replied.

“I agree, but we’ll have to wait and see what happens.” Dmitri glanced at the time. “It’s early yet.”

I nodded. It was. I’d only snatched her from that club a few hours ago.

The whole purpose of holding Becca hostage was to lure Murphy out long enough so I could kill him. That didn’t mean that everything would happen quickly. The fucker might be biding his time and trying to see how he could play this.

“Did she say anything else?” Dmitri asked, seeming ready to leave.

“No.” I gripped the back of my neck and blew out a long breath. “Silent treatment and being uncooperative.”

He grinned. “Oh, like that’d stop you.” As he went to leave, accomplishing what he’d come for—setting her phone to be tracked—he was done. “Like you can’t get someone to talk.”

I wondered how far I’d have to push her to speak up. In protest as I fucked her. In agreement and begging me to fuck her.

No! I had to stop seeing her as a sweet cunt to bury myself in. This attraction was a problem, but I’d use it to my advantage.

I hesitated before going back to her room. Something just wasn’t making sense about all of this, and I refused to think with my cock or let my darkness take over. I had to be smart about this. If something seemed off, niggling at me, it had to mean something was off.

Are things not going smoothly between Murphy and the Rossinis then? If trouble was brewing between the crooked cop and one of the Italian Mafia lords, I could probably use that antagonism to my advantage and benefit from the trouble. Maybe that was how I could get Murphy to reveal himself.

In the meantime, though…

I faced the door and stalked toward it.

I wouldn’t let a minute go to waste with Becca. Dmitri was right. I could get anyone to talk. Silent treatments didn’t last with me. And she was about to learn that lesson.

She whirled around to face me, her face clear of tears but a scowl of petulance and anxiousness.

“Who is Emily?” I asked as I unbuttoned my shirt.

She opened and closed her mouth, startled with how quickly I demanded an answer for that. Her gaze dropped to my chest—scarred and tatted—as I revealed it quickly.

“I don’t…” She backed up as I stalked toward her. “I?—”

I grabbed her arms and turned her just as I finished getting my shirt off. Using it to twine her hands together, I secured her to the bedframe once more. Still standing, she stumbled to stay upright.

“Wait. No. I?—”

“You tell me who Emily is, and I’ll consider stopping.” I did the opposite, tearing her shorts and panties off her again. The faint twinge of the scent of her cream remained in the air, and I dragged in a deep breath as I kicked her feet to widen her stance.

“No. Ivan, please.”

I was done torturing myself with waiting. I wrenched her camisole up, and it split at the seams, revealing her back to me. All that smooth skin arched back as I reached between us and thrust my fingers into her pussy.

With how fast I’d come upon her, she wasn’t soaked—yet. But it wasn’t a rough slide in. Slick already, she sucked me in. Her head jerked back with a loud groan of surprise and desire.

“Who is Emily? Tell me.” I pistoned my fingers into her fast, punishing her for being so difficult. As she pushed back to me, I pushed my arm around her and took hold of her tit. Squeezing hard, I pinched the hard tip of her nipple.

Her loud cry was sweet music. And her pussy dripped more, coating my fingers as I hammered my digits into her with punishing speed.

“What are you hiding?”

She shook her head, wordlessly denying me any information.

“Where is Murphy hiding?”

Still, she shook her head, gasping at my brutal fingering as I dropped my pants and kicked them off.

“Nothing? You still won’t fucking talk?” I gritted my teeth, lifting her until I could slam my dick deep inside her. In one swift punch into her slippery entrance, I seated myself in her tightness.

Oh, fuck.

I closed my eyes, relishing this perfect squeeze for a moment and staying still to let the sensations of being gloved by her tightness wash over me.

“Ivan…” She struggled to catch her breath, teasing me with that husky moan of my name.

I dug my fingers into her breast, reveling in the exquisite feel of her everywhere. In front of me, wrapped around my dick, and filling my hand.

It wasn’t enough. I strained to wait and let her understand that I was in charge.

“Nothing to say?” I rasped, burning with the need to pound into her.

Her hair brushed against my face as she shook it no and canted her ass toward me.

I held her tight and pummeled her wet cunt. Over and over, thrusting so hard the headboard hit the wall. I had no toys. Only her hands were bound. But it would have to do.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

As she trembled, sweat dripping between us in a slick layer as our skin slapped together and rubbed hard, she whined. “I don’t. I don’t know anything!”

It was possible. And improbable. I wasn’t buying it that she was ignorant and unaware of something I could use to smoke Murphy out of wherever he was hiding.

What became crystal clear and undeniable was how much she wanted this. Hard. Fast. Urgent and brutal. Her pussy welcomed me in, pulling me in deep as she pushed her sweet ass against me and tried to meet me thrust for thrust.

She was caving, no longer protesting but rushing to come for me.

“Fuck.” I stepped forward, lifting my foot to the bed and forcing her head down. At this angle, I could pound into her harder and quicker, driving her body forward without stop. Shoving upward, I hit her just right, so deep in her pussy that she cried out louder.

Clutching her thigh, I wrapped her leg up and out of my way to spread her wide open. Her hair glistened and shone, golden among the auburn as the tresses shook and swung. I couldn’t see it, but one reach down confirmed her generous tits swayed and jiggled violently.

All she could do was hang her head down toward her bound arms and take it. And she did. She took every gritty, greedy bit of this hard fuck, moaning like a sex goddess and feeding my need to explode and soak her womb with my hot cum.

When I did, it was with her long-awaited orgasm. Her pussy walls clenched my cock, milking me with her swollen tissue as I jerked up with a final hard rock of my hips against her ass.

I didn’t get any intel, but knowing I’d fucked her brains out and made her come felt like a decent consolation prize of a reward.

Straining to breathe faster, I leaned back and wiped my hand over my brow, smearing the sweat collecting there to fall to the side. One shove of her ass had her falling forward onto the bed.

Limp and lax, she was clumsy as I slipped out of her. I stood, watching her bare body as she shivered and shook, coming down from the rush of coming so violently with me.

Sinking to the mattress, she ended up twisting her arms, rolling another kink in my shirt that kept her tied up.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. All this sweet innocence that I’d taken.

She landed on her back. Eyes closed. Mouth open as she panted. Flush and thoroughly fucked. Gorgeous.

I furrowed my brow, blinking as I caught my breath yet.

That line…

I focused on the scar low on her abdomen.

A marking of a C-section.

Becca wasn’t just the daughter of my enemy. She was a mother. She’d had a child.

I couldn’t stop the hunch that rapidly formed. The way she’d tucked in and fell when that caller asked where Emily was told me enough. She’d crumpled to the floor like someone had wrenched her heart out. Like her body couldn’t remain strong enough against a chance of Emily being missing.

I gripped her ankle and tugged. It did the trick. She flinched in surprise and opened her eyes to gawk at me.

“Is Emily your child?”