Page 14 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

FELIKS

The sun rises, pink and creamy-yellow as we drink coffee and eat breakfast. She likes her coffee like her soul, nearly all white milk and sugar and froth.

I slice mango, papaya, and pineapple for her, and she eats it all greedily, seeming to remember that neither of us have eaten properly since yesterday on the plane.

She stares longingly at the sea through the window. Maybe she’s a mermaid, not a little fox.

“Swim,” I tell her, though her brow furrows when I say I need to sort some things, so I won’t join her.

“Not worried I might escape?”

I smile. “I’ll catch you if you try.”

I set up in a chair in the shade, with a good view of the beach, and start dealing with the small crises that crop up for any organisation that turns over more than a billion a year. You’d think that being a mafia boss, I’d be able to avoid this gavno, but apparently not.

It’s earlier in the day here than back in London, so when I call my second-in-command I’m expecting news that he’s found Ivan.

“Still waiting for information to come in,” Evgeni says apologetically. “And there’s a stupid problem with the marriage.”

“Go on.” This sounds like the sort of bullshit I don’t want to deal with.

But I look out at the ocean, and while it usually calms me, the small head of Payton in the water somehow settles me even more.

“The marriage licence for the couple is in their names, with the location of your island. But they’ve decided not to get married. Apparently without the luxury wedding she didn’t want the role of wife.”

“I did him a favour,” I mutter. “This doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“The licence has to be issued through Beckenham, and submitted to the central London registry. Technically it’s already been issued, and the location is unchangeable. So they have the right to go to the island anytime, and get married. Or they can re-assign the licence to another couple.”

Great. Fucking bureaucracy, and Ivan, that mudak, have turned my private haven into a wedding destination.

Payton is pushing her luck, of course, swimming a little around the bay, so I move along the beach to a position where I can see her again, although the house is out of sight. When our gazes meet, I know she’s aware of what I’m doing. Keeping tabs on her.

“I’ve tried to hack into the central database, but I can’t remove the listing. Only alter it.” The apology in Evgeni’s voice says he knows how furious I’m going to be.

But I’m not.

I’m just watching Payton. She’s a drug, and brings the sort of clarity I normally only achieve with several hours in the gym. For a moment, there’s nothing, then a solution bubbles up.

“You can change the names?” It would be crazy. I look at the sand, hoping to ground myself.

“Yes.” Evgeni’s shrug is audible. “But how does that help?”

“Change them to Love, Payton, and…” I pause. I’m really doing this, aren’t I? I push the warm sand with my toes. She’ll hate me. “Rykov…”

“Ivan. Make her a wealthy widow.” He thinks he follows my logic. “I’ll?—”

“Feliks.” My mouth is dry. Ivan would be a smart way to solve this problem. But the idea of Ivan’s name forever with Payton’s is unbearable.

And Payton would be my perfect wife.

“Pakhan?” His shock is a wave down the phone line.

“Feliks Rykov and Payton Love.”

Mine. She’s mine. That’s the only thought I can hold in my head.

“Okay,” Evgeni says dubiously.

And if anyone is getting married on my island, it’s me. “Do it now.”

“Da.” There’s a pause and the sound of keyboard taps. “It’s done.”

“Good. What’s the status of anything we’re working on which is damaging to the London Mafia Syndicate?”

If Evgeni is confused by this second bizarre request, he has the sense to keep it to himself, and merely begins to reel off project names.

We discuss the risks of each one, given I have created what might be considerable tension with Richmond.

It takes a while, with distractions for various other problems, but I’m satisfied that I’m not antagonising them more than is usual.

We’re on the last few issues, when Evgeni stops, mid-sentence.

“Pakhan, a report has just arrived. We know where Ivan is.”

“Where?” I demand. “How quickly can you secure him?”

“Greenwich.”

There’s static in my brain for a second.

“He went there yesterday, and he hasn’t returned. Neither have his friends.”

That’s not good. I’m not a man who’s scared of much, but Greenwich is not someone I’d mess around with. He runs The Lazy Bean cafes that are dotted all through London—even some in my territory—and his reach is considerable. And although he’s Bratva, he’s a core part of the London Mafia Syndicate.

“Is Ivan dead?” I ask bluntly. That would save me a job.

“I don’t know, Pakhan, we don’t have…”

I look over at the water for my fix of Payton, and frown.

She’s gone. I scan the sea, my heart in my throat.

Evgeni is saying something, but I’ve stopped caring. All I can see is that Payton isn’t there and fuck. Fuck!

Has she drowned? Is she in trouble? Where is she?

“I’ll call you back,” I say, shoving my phone into my pocket as I start running to the water, my blood pumping desperately.

The horror of anything having happened to her is ice in my veins, despite the sun rising warm overhead, promising a beautiful day.

I sprint to where the waves lap the shore, and stare at the sea.

She’s not there. She can’t have gone past me, but she could have doubled back and swum the opposite way?

I pray that my guess is correct, and that I can find her, setting off at a sprint back towards the house, feet slapping on the wet sand.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t answer.”

Spray arcs up as I slide to a halt at the sound of Payton’s hushed voice from inside the house and relief crashes over me.

I catch myself and change direction, heading across the beach, my pulse not getting the message that there aren’t any monsters I need to slay to save her, or threat to pull her away from.

I glare at her back, stalking towards the open door. She’s speaking on the phone.

Moya lisichka. She will be the death of me.

“Sorry you didn’t answer?!” A girl who can only be Payton’s sister Hayley yells from the video on Payton’s phone. “Why didn’t you call me as soon as you could?”

“I couldn’t!” Payton glances to the side. “Look, I shouldn’t even be talking to you now, but I heard my phone ringing and ran out of the water.”

“No, you shouldn’t be using that phone,” I say, scowling down at Payton, who peeks up at me. Our gazes meet, and chemistry sparks between us.

On the screen, a man puts an arm over Hayley’s shoulders and growls, “Rykov. What the fuck?”

“Who’s that?!” Payton demands. Her eyes go wide and dart around as though finally taking in Hayley’s surroundings on the screen. The unfamiliar apartment and the intimacy of the pose.

Hayley gives the man a happy glance. “Uh, well, some things have happened.”

He smirks back at her. It takes me second but I recognise Greenwich. What the hell?

“Are you okay?” Payton says worriedly. My sweet girl is concerned about her sister. “I thought you were safe at home.”

“Yeah. Safe.” Hayley slants an eyebrow at Payton. “Your boyfriend tried to kill me, you know? A heads up would have been nice.”

“I told you so,” I say, my arms folded. This is why I kept Payton with me. Safe.

“Oh no.” Payton covers her mouth, but her eyes are distraught. “I’m so sorry.”

“I dealt with it,” the man interjects mildly.

“What do you mean?” I grab the phone and hold it close to my face, scowling.

He turns so the screen is filled by him, trying to look tough. “Bring Payton back,” Greenwich grits out. “And we’ll talk about your son.”

Talk ? That’s a euphemism if ever I heard one. Evgeni said Ivan and his friends hadn’t returned from Greenwich, and suddenly everything slots into place.

“Understood.”

“So you’ll return Payton—” Hayley begins.

“Nyet. She’s mine ,” I snap and hang up.