Page 58 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Try some of the peppercorn sauce.”

“Why? Was each peppercorn handcrafted with love?”

“Something like that,” says Felix, taking another bite. “The cream is organic, which is why the texture is nice and silky.”

I dip a piece of steak into the source as requested. It is indeed silky, and the flavors work well together.

I tear off another piece of steak with the knife. My heart picks up in my throat as I rip the flesh, inspecting the red middle, a horrible nauseous feeling taking over.

The silverware clangs on the plate as I set it down, needing a break. I go for my wine, raising the glass to my lips, when I take note of the thick, red substance sloshing around in the cup.

I exhale a shaky breath, setting the wine back down, far out of reach.

And then I notice the single flame wiggling on the wick. One wrong move…

Felix could be a more terrible human being than my father, but because he doesn’t exploit me, that makes this okay?

Felix notes the abandoned wine and food, drawing his own conclusions. “I understand this is a lot to digest.”

I glance over my shoulder again, making sure nobody is in earshot. “Murdering people makes you happy?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Please,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Enlighten me. Because from my perspective, being in the mafia could be very detrimental to your career.”

“Firstly, I lead the mafia. I’m not in it. No one gives me orders.” Felix takes a long sip of wine, washing down the steak. “And secondly, we call it the Bratva, not the Mafia.”

“Same difference.”

“We’re Russians, not Italians. There is a big difference.” Felix brings the fork to his mouth, jaw working as he chews the steak. “The Bratva built my success.”

“But you built your success illegally.”

“A lot of people do that.” Felix studies me intently. “Don’t act so surprised, sweetheart. You of all people know about the duality of the human psyche.”

“I think we’re getting too psychological here.”

“No.” Felix sets down his cutlery, focusing on me. “I think you’re just afraid to tell me who you really are, Saskia Brouwer.”

14

FELIX

“We’re done here.”

“No, we’re not.” I grab hold of Saskia’s wrist, sitting her back down.

I raise my hand as the server sails past, requesting the bill

“All taken care of, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I’ll try. I know Saskia might make that difficult for me.

“Were you ever planning on telling me the truth?”

“No,” hisses Saskia in a cold tone. “Never.”

I grind my jaw, understanding things from her point of view. I saw the photos, the way Vesper Brouwer humiliated his daughters in front of elite politicians.