Page 57 of Baby for the Bratva King

And yet there’s a whole other side to him—one I’m curious to learn more about.

Felix carries himself exceptionally well. He wears cufflinks, luxury watches; he always wears a tie unless it’s the evening and he’s hoping to catch an early night. He controls everything, never steps out of line. He runs a tight ship for himself.

But the most polished people on the surface are the ones who have another side.

He came back late last night with blood streaked across his shirt, and I hardly questioned anything.

Did he get into a fight? Murder someone with his bare hands?

This explains why nobody gets on his bad side. They probably wouldn’t make it out alive. The mafia allegations are enough to make people afraid. For all I know, I could be wining and dining with a cold-blooded murder. I’ve seen the documentaries, read more than my fair share of cold cases. There’s more to the mafia than tax evasion and money laundering.

“You look worried about something tonight, sweetheart,” Felix observes, topping up our wine glasses. He sets the diamond decanter between us.

I stare at the candle on the table, the tiny flame wiggling on the wick. One wrong move and this entire place goes up in flames. The tables are made of wood. So are the walls.

Felix is so powerful, but that doesn’t mean he can be broken.

I glance over my shoulder, keeping my voice low. “Why do you need a mafia?”

“Why do we have a heart in our chest?” he taps his in demonstration, and I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “We need it to survive.”

“There are around eight billion people in this world, and I can guarantee you—most are living just fine without committing crimes.”

“Are they?” Felix levels me a pointed glare. “The vast majority of people are miserable, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I tried being like everyone else. I refused to be like my father and break the law to get ahead.” Felix swills his wine around in the glass, contemplating something. “Power can be very destructive if the wrong person inherits it. Only the strongest survive.”

“And you call this surviving?” I gesture around us. “We’re in Mayfair, London, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city, and you’re unfazed. Nothing bothers you. The money. The media stories. But the way you looked at me the other night…”

“You’re not a performance. You come as you are.”

The server places our meals on the table and thanks us as he takes his leave.

“It’s an honor to serve the hotel owner and his woman,” explains Felix.

“Woman.” I contemplate that word for a moment before digging into the steak. “How many other women do you serenade at your hotels?”

“Just you.”

“And the hookups I read about online?”

“Are true, but I would never take them out for dinner.”

“Please,” I scoff. “You’re hardly taking me out when you own this place. Dinner is on the house.”

“Exactly, which is me.” Felix winks, cutting up the meat. “The steak is crossbred wagyu, some of the best in the world. The cows graze on lush green pastures in Japan and Australia. We support the farms there each year.”

“That’s a lot of effort for some steak.”

“I like to know where my food comes from.”

I take a bite of the steak, the meat so tender, it almost dissolves on my tongue. I think about the green juice, all the organic produce in the fridge.

You come as you are.

Felix likes things in their natural state. Got it.