Page 25 of Oops Baby for the Mafia Boss

“Yes,” Rotherhithe replies firmly.

They’re as easily taken off topic as toddlers.

“I’ll pay.” They all look slightly disconcerted at the sound of my voice again.

Honestly, so am I.

But I’d give anything to get Emily back in my arms. She’s my oxygen. Combustible, elemental, necessary.

“What’s required is some way to sift through them all, and the person to do that is Blackfen,” Rotherhithe says with quiet authority.

I wish right now I kept up more with London mafia dramas and politics, because the taut silence doesn’t inform me of anything beyond the fact that this is going to be difficult.

Mayfair shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to get him to join the London Maths Club for ages. I don’t think?—”

“Contact details,” I grunt.

Mayfair sighs. “He’s more of a pin a note on a lamp-post and hope he gets back to you sort of a guy. I only know him because of the Bratva connection, and you don’t call him, he finds you, and you don’t want that, believe me. But Blackfen is the best hacker in London, and his mafia is smart enough that they once got through my security and left a calling card and a bill for the improvements they made to my system.”

“Fucker, he did that to you too?” growls Rotherhithe.

“We should be grateful he didn’t kill us, or ransom all our data.” Mayfair leans back in his chair. “If anyone can findan Emily Smith among the hundreds of Emily Smiths, it’s Blackfen.”

“Offer any price,” I demand.

“He won’t just do it for money. He has some… Code.” Richmond states with deceptive casualness. “Why do you want her?”

“Mine.” The answer bubbles up out of my chest, instinctive.

“And why did she leave, exactly?” Mayfair’s wife interjects.

I think of the soft feel of Emily’s cunt around my length. The way she moaned for me. Then how I walked away when her mother called because I have all the experience of dealing with the aftermath of sex of a coffee table.

Because I’m a fucking idiot who didn’t use his words. Because it was my first time with a woman—with being so blissfully close to the love of my life—that my brain totally vacated the building, washed out of my body along with the white sticky mess I pumped into her.

Then I think of Denis Petrov’s brains all over Emily’s desk.

“Misunderstanding,” I say, low and ashamed.

I thought she’d be there, as she’d been for the last three months. I assumed she understood that this was far from casual for me.

It’s not as if I’m known as a playboy, like Kilburn or some other prick. I’m called theSilentKingpin of Mortlake, for fuck’s sake.

“This isn’t the death kind of misunderstanding is it?” Richmond says suspiciously.

“No,” I snap.

“How old is she?” Rotherhithe asks.

Oh good, just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse, I have to admit I’m cradle snatching. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I aim for a careless attitude, and miss totally when my voice comes out questioning.

“Twenty?” I gulp. “Twenty-two?”

“Blackfen is not going to like this,” Mayfair mutters. “How did you say you met her?”

“Employee.” I stare him down.

“Your twenty-year-old employee ran away, and you’re tracking her down?” Mayfair shakes his head and glances down at his wife, rolling his eyes.