Page 21 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

I pause, because if I don’t have the controller in my hands, the drones take longer to deploy. But I glance between my wife and her sister’s partner, and the men who came to fetch and defend Payton.

Really, I have no quarrel with them so long as they don’t touch Payton. With a sigh, I send the drones back to their bases, and close the app. “Let’s get out of the sun before everyone turns into a beetroot.”

With Payton and Hayley squashed into the passenger seat, and the rest of the visitors in the flat bed of the pickup, we’re in the house and cracking open beer and soft drinks within ten minutes.

Since I can’t keep my hands off Payton, and Greenwich is Hayley’s huge lumbering shadow, we end up all talking.

And I confess he’s not a total idiot. Before long, there’s a festive atmosphere, and snacks out, people sitting on the decking, and it’s altogether not what I expected for a mafia get together, never mind a rescue attempt.

Greenwich shares an anecdote about his data collection from the cafes he runs, and given my business in drones, security software, and defence, it’s annoying to find that not only is he a decent guy, I suspect we could do some work which would benefit us both.

He apologises again for Ivan and tells me how he killed him for threatening Hayley. I shrug. Shot through the head was better than my son deserved, and a quicker death than he’d have had from me.

Everyone has rolled up sleeves, has taken off their suit jackets, and two of the London Mafia Syndicate members are comparing guns, and debating the advantages of a printed custom weapon versus an old-school pistol. A shrill tone cuts through the voices, and I reach for my gun.

So does Greenwich, and it’s only when Payton laughs that I pause.

“Thats’ my phone!” In a second, she’s found it from where I discarded it, and blinks at the screen.

“It’s the private investigator. Hello,” she answers before I can say it might be a trap, or Hayley can finish the exclamation of surprise she’s beginning.

Then Payton’s eyes go wide. “You’ve really found her? !”

“Oh my god. They’ve found Taylor?” Hayley gasps.

“Yes, yes. Hold on, I need to go somewhere quieter to talk,” Payton says.

“I didn’t even know Payton had a PI searching for Taylor,” I hear Hayley explain to Greenwich as Payton takes the call onto the beach. I grab a pen and notepad and follow my wife, handing both to her.

She gives me a surprised look then a grateful smile, and I’m as warmed by providing for her and the appreciation that reflects back as the tropical sun.

“You know,” she says as she puts the phone down several minutes later. “Indirectly, you paid to find Taylor.”

Through my son giving her gifts, and her selling them.

“Your cleverness had two advantages. It brought us together, and it has found your sister.” I put one finger beneath her chin and lift it to place a soft kiss on her forehead, then her lips. “Now let’s go in and tell the others.”

Everyone turns as we walk onto the deck.

“Well?” demands Greenwich.

“Taylor is with an exclusive, private ballet troupe—” Payton says.

“She’s a soldier?” interrupts Harlsden.

“She’s not a troop. Troupe is the word for a group of ballet dancers,” I snap. “Under-educated idiot,” I add under my breath.

“It’s secretive, and the girls who dance are basically prisoners,” Payton continues.

“Which is why she hasn’t contacted us.” Hayley’s face is full of distress.

Greenwich pulls her into his chest, both facing forwards. “We’ll go and get her.”

“It’s not that easy.” I heard some of the conversation and read Payton’s notes. “We’d need a contact to get a seat at a show, and the PI only has one. They’re going back to Russia and doing a performance for the Volk Bratva.”

Greenwich makes an injured sound.

“Who is that?” Payton asks me.

“A Bratva even I wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with,” I reply. “I wouldn’t be welcome.”

“Neither would I,” says Greenwich, regretfully. “We’ll just have to fight our way?—”

“And risk Taylor getting caught in cross fire? Absolutely not,” I interject.

“Surely we can—” Richmond begins.

“He’s my old boss.” We all fall silent as Harlsden swigs his beer casually. “The Pakhan of Volk,” he clarifies unnecessarily. His rolled-up sleeves reveal a jagged, geometric wolf as he lowers his arm. The sign of the Volk Bratva. Greenwich and I see it at the same time, and exchange a look.

How did he get out alive?

“I’ll go.” Harlsden shrugs. “It’ll be messy, but I have business that could plausibly take me there.”

“This would be a suicide mission,” Richmond says, scowling. “If they find out you’re part of the London Mafia Syndicate, they’ll string you up.”

“Fun.” Harlsden nods grimly. “I’ve been a bit bored recently.”

Payton nibbles on her fingernail.

“I think it would be better if Greenwich and I—” I don’t like the man. He’s not trustworthy.

“No.” Richmond steps forward. “This is my call because Taylor Love was last seen in my territory. And Harlsden is the best person to do this. We’ll fund the trip.”

“And I’ll provide a bonus if you bring Taylor back safe,” Greenwich says.

Harlsden rolls his eyes. “I have plenty of money.”

“And untouched,” I growl. I don’t trust this svolach.

“Of course,” Harlsden scoffs. “It’s just getting one girl away from a dance group. It’ll be fine.”

I’m momentarily appeased. Then I look down at Payton, drawing her to me instinctively as she smiles up at me.

If Taylor is anything like her sister, Harlsden might find this mission more difficult than he expects.