Page 19 of The Bratva’s Stalked Pregnant Bride

The next voice I heard was CJ’s, a computer specialist who’d basically been sold into our family, and we were all very lucky she decided to stay. If her spy software couldn’t find anything else on Laurel, there wasn’t anything else to find.

After I gave her Laurel’s information, I mentioned the Canyon Vines winery, and Mat jumped back in, listening in on speaker.

“We know that place,” he said. “We went there a couple of years ago, but stopped because the owner has ties to the Angelo family as well as a few other people we’re less than friendly with.”

My blood went cold. Surely not. Not innocent Laurel, who blushed every time she stood up to me. “Organized crime?” I asked. “You think the vineyard’s a front, or a money laundering scheme?”

I could almost hear my cousin shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. All I know is the owner sells to those families, and that’s all I needed to know to take my weekends off elsewhere.”

“Okay, so it could be nothing.”

“Do you think your Laurel is tied to them somehow?” CJ asked.

Your Laurel. I liked the sound of that too much. “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll find out.”

We ended the call, and I watched Laurel’s window, my mind drifting in all directions, trying not to land on the fact that Canyon Vines did business with the mob. It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had a right to buy wine, but if it was something deeper than that and Laurel was involved?

I should have taken my ass home, but couldn’t tear myself away, as if I felt the need to keep her safe from all the bad guys out there in the world. I ended up falling asleep in my car, and woke up just as Laurel was coming out of her courtyard. I had to duck down and hope she didn’t see my car, cursing myself for being so sloppy.

Chapter 11 - Laurel

The morning after the disastrous trip to Napa, I could have sworn I saw Mik’s car parked on the curb when I left my apartment. The car was empty, and I had to run to catch the bus after oversleeping, so I couldn’t confirm it, and by the time I got to the restaurant, I was certain I was imagining things.

Why would Mik be hanging around outside my place? He didn’t even know where I lived. It was only because he managed to worm his way into my dreams, after I spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to forget the kiss. Or the fact he had managed to give me a new memory about Napa Valley that didn’t involve Rand. Or fear. And no crying, either. That was always nice.

The inability to shake the feel of his hands on my waist or the way his lips melded so perfectly with mine was interspersed with curiosity about what was going on with him, and irritation that he just dumped me at the restaurant.

Well, he paid for the cab and made me promise to stay locked in safely before it arrived. That was both kind and sort of cute.

I huffed out loud, making the person sitting next to me on the bus give me a side eye. That’s what I got for thinking such outlandish things as my boss being cute. Which he wasn’t. Hot, sure. Impressive, yes. But cuddly and cute? No.

It was my old paranoia winding me up and thinking I was being followed, and of course, I would have rather been followed by Mik than Rand. The first two weeks in LA, while I was desperately looking for a job, my head was on a swivel, thinking I saw danger around every corner.

Rand hadn’t found me, and he wasn’t going to. The only reason I considered the Napa trip a disaster was that I had a little too much beer and lost my head, and kissed my boss. I was extremely lucky I didn’t see Rand.

I was miles away from him now, and it would be several more months before the restaurant opened and my name started circulating. Hopefully, because the wine selection was a huge success, and not because I had to concede to Mik’s inferior choices. Now, if he wanted to stock a selection of beers, I’d take a step back. He clearly knew his stuff there.

It was midmorning before, and I was walking past the dining area with a checklist of items I had to cross-reference on an order sheet. I just happened to look up to see Mik coming in, and I stopped in my tracks, so shocked I dropped my clipboard.

“What happened to your face?” I yelped, hurrying forward. Not that there was much I could do. Both his eyes were blackened, and his patrician nose was swollen like a boxer after a prize fight.

He held out his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, okay, but what happened to your face?” I repeated.

“I knew I should have taken time off,” he muttered, shutting himself up in his office.

It was a subject of gossip for the next few days, but anyone who dared to ask couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of anything feasible except that he got punched in the face, and Todd and the sous chef agreed with me.

“You don’t think he had it coming?” Todd asked under his breath.

“Come on, he’s not that bad,” I said, because my bar was getting returned to its proper spot.

“How’s he still so good-looking even with double shiners and a smashed nose?” the sous chef asked.

She wasn’t wrong, and if Mik refused my concern, I’d just stop being concerned.

For the next few days, Mik either stayed holed up in his office with strict orders to everyone not to bother him, or he would rush out and not return. I was only disappointed that I didn’t get a chance to speak to him because I wanted to put in another plea to buy the wines I wanted from Canyon Vines before they shipped our order.