Page 9 of Bratva's Secret Girl

Shit.

“The café! We didn’t lock up!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says abruptly. “Stay here.”

Without waiting to hear my stuttering reply, he gets out and slams the door. Around us, the black cars all have their doors open, and Maxim, my sweet bear of a boss, rattles off orders in Russian while striding towards my house.

Wait. No. That’s my home. I tug at the door handle, but it immediately smacks into a solid object. A man.

I look up at a man in a suit.

“Hi, sorry…” I call to him.

“Nyet,” he says simply, and firmly pushes the door closed again. I gulp.

This is crazy. The blood that covered me earlier is beginning to dry and go a bit crispy, but just as a freak-out is rising in my throat from noticing that, a bang comes from my little house, and suit-clad men stream in, guns raised.

Into a house with my sister potentially inside!

I glance around, thinking of sliding over the centre console and getting out of the driver’s side, but there’s a man there too.

It’s only then that I remember I have my phone in my pocket. I grab it out, and smash the dial button for Payton as I look out of the window.

The house is silent, though there are a lot of curtains twitching at the neighbours’ windows. I sink down in the seat. Crap. We’re going to have to move, because my landlord—the estate company of the kingpin of Richmond, no less—will be furious about the broken door.

It rings, and rings. And when it times out, I call her again.

Nothing.

I tap in a message, just saying “Where are you?” but it doesn’t even flag as delivered. And that’s when my chest really tightens with fear, and the weight of all my responsibilities.

More harsh words in Russian make me look up, and Maxim slips back into the driver’s seat. “She’s not there, and I don’t think anyone else was in there before us. My men will fix your door.” He spots my phone in my hand. “Find anything?”

I shake my head.

What does he mean by “his men”?

“Okay, we’ll meet some people who can help.”

“Shouldn’t we go back and lock the café?” I put my life on the line saving that money, and then left it open to be robbed. I’m a twit.

“I don’t care.” He shakes his head, and the black cars around us start up, one by one, except the one parked closest to my house. Two men remain standing outside, as though on guard.

“It does to me.” I’m the café manager, and this is negligence. I rub my palm over my face. Will I have to pay back everything that’s been stolen? What about the damage?

I know this is a displacement worry. Something I can control when my sister has gone missing.

My second sister. My stomach lurches uncomfortably.

I should go to the police, right now. But then I remember the five dead men in the café, and flick my gaze across to my boss.

“Why are you so worried about the café’s takings?” He shakes his head, baffled. “And come to think of it, why didn’t you immediately give them the cash? They could have killed you overmoney. That was stupid, Hayley.”

The insult stings. “I was looking out for your business interests,” I say in a small voice. And because if I can’t look after my family, at least I can try to be a good café manager. “Because I know the café isn’t profitable.”

And I don’t want to be unemployed because the café I manage gets closed down. Then I wouldn’t see Maxim again.

“Oh no.” He sighs. “No malishka. You have it totally wrong.”