Page 55 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

Fuck.

My hands flew into my messy hair, and I reflexively rose to my feet, panicking.

Had I fucked the most dangerous man in my investigation?

I paced the length of my room, absently chewing on my nails as I thought about how this whole thing was a setup. We didn’t meet in my favorite café by accident. No. That event was orchestrated by him.

My heart was racing like a galloping horse, my heaving chest too tight for me to breathe.

I wasn’t completely certain of my assumptions, but with what I’d gathered, I was 85% sure that I was on the right track.

But wait, if Anton Vasylenko was R.T., and R.T. was the Mafia boss, Rodion Tarasov, then who was my mystery man? And why did Anton’s touch and presence feel an awful lot like my mystery man’s?

Deep down, I suspected all three men were the same person. But I needed proof. If I could get access to the CCTV footage of the festival on campus and footage of the café where I met with Daniel Whitfield, then I’d have the answers I so desperately needed.

My mystery man was present in both cases, and I didn’t bother with the alleyway incident because there weren’t any cameras in that area.

But how was I going to get access to that footage?

You can’t, Reason said. But you know someone who can.

Jimmy.

Jimmy Johnson was my nerdy friend who helped me with the fake ID I used to bypass security at the Hargrove Annual Investment Summit.

If anyone could get access to that footage, it was him.

I rushed over to the table, grabbed my phone, and dialed his number.

It rang on the other line.

“Come on, come on, come on, pick up…” I murmured, the words flying out in a desperate rush.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Hey, Jimmy, hi,” I said, my voice smooth and bubbly.

“Aria, is that you?” he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of excitement.

“Uhh, yes.” I raised my brows, wondering why he asked me that when he already had my number.

“I’m sorry, I answered the phone without checking the caller ID,” he said. “What’s up? Do you need something?”

That question caught me off guard. “What—why—why would you think that?” A nervous chuckle fell off my lips.

“Because you only call me when you need something.”

“That’s not true.” I denied it because hearing it out loud made me feel like a terrible friend.

“Really? Mention one time you called just to check on me.”

Silence.

I couldn’t.

There wasn’t a time like that.

Damn, I was a horrible person.