Page 69 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

“It’s okay to be scared, Finn.” Gianna’s tone is gentle. “But you’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not scared.” Finally, something sparks inside, and I catch a hold of what it is I was searching for. “For me, anyway. I’m scared for Tamara. Whatever I’m feeling right now, pales into oblivion compared to how she must feel.”

I push my chair backwards, scraping the legs across the rustic terracotta tiles.

“I need to find her.”

Gianna stands too. Circling the table, she hugs me briefly and peers up into my eyes. “I know you’ll look after her, Finn. She knows it too, but it’s alien to her, unconditional love. Be patient.”

“I will.”

I navigate the traffic back to my apartment like I’m on a racing track. My heart is beating a strange tune that I can’t focus on right now. All I can think about is what must be going through Tamara’s head. Agreeing to get a doctor’s appointment tomorrow was an excuse to shut me up and get me out of the apartment, which means that she either wanted space to think or she’s planning on running away.

If she leaves, she’ll make sure that I never find her, and I have no doubts that she’ll outsmart me all the way, because we haven’t even come close to finding Ivana. But I can’t let her do that without at least speaking to her first.

I’m responsible for getting her pregnant. I should’ve used protection, but instead I made the ages-old mistake of thinking with my fucking dick instead of my head.

This is down to me. I fucked up her life, and I’m going to put it right even if it means watching her walk away.

“Tamara?” I call out when I let myself into my apartment.

The silence is heavy. I know she isn’t here, even before I barge into the bedroom and find the comforter spread neatly across the bed. The weapons are gone, but the burner phone is on the nightstand where I left it this morning, and fear crawls into my chest and makes itself comfortable.

She doesn’t want to speak to me, and she isn’t coming back.

The new clothes I bought for her are still in the closet; all that’s missing is the skirt and T-shirt she was wearing when she arrived, her leather jacket, and her boots.

“Fuck!”

I leave the room and spot the door to the guest bathroom ajar.

My heart tries to escape my chest as I push the door open, praying that I’ll find Tamara in here. I can handle tears. I can handle her taking her anger out on me; I’m the one to blame, and it’s the least I deserve. But a cold empty bathroom puts the fear of God into me like striking me down with a deadly sword.

I squeeze my eyes shut when she isn’t here and try to think about where she might’ve gone. Back to Leonid? She’s too proud to admit she was wrong and go crawling back, and I still don’t know if she is close enough to Gianna or Cartier to go to them for advice.

No. There’s only one person Tamara needs right now.

Her sister.

I turn around to walk back out of the bathroom when I spot a tiny scrap of clear packaging on the floor by the trashcan.

Instinct makes me pick it up and press the pedal with my foot to open the lid, and that’s when I spot the neatly folded tissue in the bottom of the can. I take it out, unwrap it carefully with trembling fingers, and stare at the word in the middle of the plastic stick.

PREGNANT.

19

TAMARA

I don’t even bother stealing PPE when I arrive at the dock where I first spotted the men with the serpent tattoos. Hiding has gotten me nowhere. On the previous occasions when Ivana came to my rescue, it was because she saw me, she knew I was there, and she recognized that I was most likely going to get myself killed.

So, if I need to be bait, then that’s what I’ll do.

I ignore the dock workers who call out to me as I stride along the quayside, scanning necks and faces for a glimpse of inked serpent tattoos. They’re not here. I don’t recognize any of the ships moored up along the dock, or the men on board, unloading their cargo.

I walk back to the middle of the busy landing and yell, “Ivana! Where are you?”

Nothing.