Page 15

“I’m to make sure you don’t pull up Mama’s pea harvest.” She laughed and stuck out her hand. “I’m Evangelia, by the way.”

“Serena.”

In the span of a few minutes, I gathered that we were in an area of Florida heavily populated with Greek immigrants and people of Greek heritage. This was a secluded community northof the Tampa Bay and Clearwater area, but away from the more touristy hub of Tarpon Springs.

While Evangelia chatted, we worked the garden. Sweat beaded across my spine, under my boobs, and pooled at my lower back. My clothes were damp, sticking to my skin. The cool breeze that occasionally swept through the garden was no help.

“So if you’re just part of a quaint little Old World fishing community, why won’t Markos let me leave?” I hedged, tugging a particularly long rooted weed from the soil.

Evangelia stilled.

Oh, no!“Did I pull the wrong thing?” I turned sheepishly, holding up the plant. The earthy scent of freshly turned soil and sun-warmed grass filled the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of flowers. Which was completely at odds with the look of surprise and confusion on the woman’s face.

“I’m not supposed to know this, but Markos brought you here to marry you,” Evangelia breathed quietly. “Didn’t he tell you?”

It was my turn to wear the shocked expression. “No, he said nothing.”

“You’re the Bratva princess, right? Daughter of Ivan the Red Sock and sister to the current pakhan?” she insisted, grey eyes blazing with intent.

Pakhan. That was Russian mob. And if the owner of the cottage wanted a bratva bride, that meant....

“I’m just a rich girl from suburbia who was kidnapped after a New Orlean’s parade,” I rushed to say.

“Oh, good saints in heaven! They got the wrong girl,” Evangelia gasped, clasping her hands and placing them dramatically on her chest. “That’s what Iosif was in a huff about yesterday. No one tells me anything, that’s why I should keep my mouth shut—”

“Why would Markos want a mob wife?” I whispered, cutting her off.

Evangelia blanched. “If they find out I told you—oh, heaven! Oh, heaven! I’m dead! The boys won’t stand a betrayal of the syndicate.”

I squeezed her fingers. “Who are Markos and Iosif?”

The woman swallowed hard.

“Are they Greek Mafia?” I asked, using the colloquial term.

She nodded helplessly.

Oh, boy.What a plot twist.

I didn’t know much about other organizations. Alessandro kept me out of the loop, preferring to protect me with a web of ignorance. But growing up with a don as a brother, I heard things. It was safe to say that organized crime groups ran various parts of the world, having some kind of presence in every major city.

The breeze teased the whisps of hair falling around my brow. I swiped at them with the back of my hand. “Markos is the boss?”

“No, nottheboss—one of them.”

One? How many were there? I frowned. That wasn’t typical...was it?

“Oh, shit, they’ll kill me,” Evangelia whimpered. “I broke the code.”

I shook my head hard. “I’ll play ignorant. This won’t fall on you, I promise.”

She blinked up at me, tears glistening and making her grey eyes seem silver. “But...you don’t know me. Why would you stick up for me?”

Because if she was this scared of the men who’d taken me, there was undoubtedly a reason. “I can’t stand a bully.”

“He’s not though,” she sniffed. “He’s protecting us—they all are.”

I highly doubted that. It was exactly the kind of savior complex a tyrannical leader would want his followers to buy into. Arguing with the woman, however, was probably not the best course of action.