Page 25 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“I asked if her sister was at the port too, but she didn’t answer.”

“You know what you need to do then,” Connor says. “Find her sister and prove to her that she can trust you. I still think that you should tell Aiden though. No secrets, remember.”

I smile. “I will.”

Something is holding me back though, and I’m uncomfortable with this feeling of disconnect between the beautiful Russian enforcer and my best friend. It’s like reaching the destination you’ve always dreamed of only to find it barricaded behind reinforced steel, razor-wire-topped walls. But I’ll have to deal with it for now.

“Maybe I should go back to the port and retrace my steps.”

“There are two more holes to play first.” Connor stops at the next tee, eyes up the course, and chooses a club. “Unless you want to draw attention to us, I suggest you start practicing your swing, brother.”

I play diabolically as always, my ungainly swing hampered further by images of Tamara naked beneath me on my living room floor, and the permanent semi inside my pants.

By the time we get back to the golf club, my balls are throbbing, and I’ve paid zero attention to the Sicilian don walking around with the police commissioner. I seriously need to get my head back in the game if I have any hope of finding Tamara’s sister and gaining her trust.

I’m distracted by laughter and children squealing at the poolside. I’m not a golfer, but exclusive resorts like these are generally adults-only, an extension of the boardroom for many paying guests, somewhere business deals are made or broken in the peaceful luxury of a course untouched by sticky fingers.

Two little girls in neon-pink swimsuits are splashing each other at the shallow end of the pool, dark stringy-wet hair stuck to their faces, inflated arm bands keeping them afloat while a woman who must be their nanny hovers close to them. But it’s the man crouched at the poolside, watching them with a fond smile lighting up his face that catches me unawares.

Leonid Ivanov.

The two little girls must be his twin daughters, left in his care while their mom is at the women’s refuge.

In the moment, it’s hard to reconcile the doting father to the monster who imports women and children in death-trap shipping containers for profit.

I feel nauseous. Men like him don’t deserve a beautiful family when they’re destroying so many other lives, and those two little girls deserve better than a fucking demon for a father.

But then he pulls one of his daughters out of the water, wraps her in a fluffy pink towel, and kisses the tip of her nose, oblivious to the water dripping onto his shiny shoes and soaking his suit pants, and I wonder if perhaps Aiden got it wrong after all.

7

TAMARA

Leonid is in his office eating hot dogs smothered in ketchup with his two daughters when I arrive at the golf resort. Anya and Liliya have ketchup around their mouths and on their chins like they played with their momma’s lipstick without a mirror. There are greasy smears across Leonid’s desk that would’ve sent him into a tailspin once upon a time and had the housekeeper polishing the surface to within an inch of its life.

But I’ve never seen such joy in his eyes.

Gianna and his daughters are his whole world. Sure, he is still the Pakhan, the man who told me and my sister when we were younger that love was a weakness, a chink in a person’s armor that the enemy would use to its advantage. But he’s softer now, as though his edges have been buffed smooth, his aura painted pink rather than the aggressive red he used to surround himself with.

“Come in.” He gestures for me to enter when he notices me standing in the doorway.

The two girls turn around in their highchairs to look at me, and I cringe when a dollop of ketchup hits the polished hardwood floor.

“Mara!” Anya says.

“Ana,” says her twin, peering around me to look for my sister.

My stomach clenches with guilt, and I keep my gaze focused on the ketchup on the floor. My sister is missing, and I was being fucked by Irish instead of out there looking for her. I pray that these two girls never lose sight of how precious their bond is. Being a twin is a unique privilege, a love like no other because twins are together inside their mother’s womb from conception. They grow together, share the same amniotic fluid, the same oxygen, the same food.

Without Ivana, I am only one half of a soul, and I’m not even the better half.

“Do I have permission to return to the docks?”

Leonid wipes his mouth with a pristine white napkin. “What is this about, Tamara?”

My sister lied to me. I met an Irish giant, stole his gun, and today I let him fuck me. His cum is still inside me, and my sister is missing, and I can’t be who you need me to be until I find her and know that she isn’t going to leave me again.

“The Petrovs are operating out of one the landings. Just because I didn’t see them last night, doesn’t mean that they weren’t there.”