Page 70 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

Work stops. The men in hi-vis turn to stare at me like I just landed from outer space and declared war. A guy in a security jacket walks towards me.

“Ivana? Let me help!”

I march straight up to the security guy, staring straight at him, waiting for him to look away first. He does before I’m even within touching distance.

“I’m leaving,” I say without breaking my stride. “My sister is being held captive here somewhere, and if you’d done your fucking job, you’d have stopped the bastards from taking her.”

I don’t wait around. A taxi is waiting to take me to the next dock.

The same thing happens. The men stare at me like I’ve grown a second head, the security guys gape like I just escaped from a lunatic asylum, and the Petrovs are nowhere to be seen.

But everything feels different when I reach the Iroquois Landing, and my pulse races. It would be fitting to find Ivana here, at the place where I met Finn because she’d served me a red herring to get me out of the way.

The dock is busy, but the workers’ movements feel orchestrated, unnatural, like they know they’re being watched and are following the rules to not get caught out.

I spot a couple of security guards at one end of the harbor closest to the office building. I check out the ships moored up in a line, the men loading and unloading cargo, the trucks with their ramps down and the drivers overseeing the load. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s different here when everything looks the same as before, but then, at the far end of the dock I spot the men I’ve been looking for.

The men who trapped me inside a shipping container when I got too close to them before. The same men Ivana has been watching.

Which means that she’s either here right now or they’ve already gotten to her.

Time for me to save my sister and get us both the fuck away from Chicago.

I don’t even recall making that decision, but once it’s out there, I realize that it’s the only thing to do. Leonid tried to stop me from finding my sister. Finn would try to stop me too if he knew that I was pregnant with his child, and all that bullshit about letting me fly would turn to ash. Instead, he would try to control me the way Leonid has done, and dress it up as protecting me and the baby so that he’s still the good guy.

Well, I already told him I don’t need protection.

And I sure as fuck am not letting anyone control my child’s life.

This child is going to know what freedom tastes like, and the only monsters they’ll believe in will be the kind with blue fur, purple spots, and a voice that sounds suspiciously like John Goodman.

The security guys have their heads together, conveniently facing in the opposite direction to the Russians. Suits me.

I grab a hi-vis vest from the back of an open truck. I can’t find a spare hard hat, so I proceed without one. As I approach the Russian workers, I call out, “Hey, who gave you permission to unload that container?”

The men standing on the dock raise a hand to the guys on deck, warning them to hold fire while they sort out the paperwork.

I stare at the container like I know exactly what’s inside it and have no intention of approving it for offloading in the Port of Chicago. “Who did you speak to in the office?”

One of the men who attacked me is lurking close to the ship’s ramp. He must not have recognized me yet, or if he has, he can’t believe that I would have the balls to show my face a second time. It works in my favor because the guy closest to me plants his feet squarely and blocks my view of what’s going on behind him.

“Ya ne govoryu po-angliyski,” he says in Russian. I don’t speak English.

I repeat the question in Russian and watch his eyes narrow as he looks me up and down and balls his hands into fists.

“We have written approval from the port authorities.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate me with his size.

“I need to check it.” I maintain eye contact. “Your men must stop work until further notice.”

“Where is your ID?” He stands his ground, and I get the first icy trickle of fear down my spine that he knows who I am, and he knows who I’m looking for.

“Perhaps you’d like to accompany me to the office and speak to my manager.” I half-turn and gesture to the building at the opposite end of the dock.

Coming with me will waste time. It will also draw attention to the men standing around while the truck driver’s clock ticks, and the cargo goes nowhere.

I watch indecision play out behind his dark eyes before he says, “That won’t be necessary. Come with me. The paperwork is below deck.”

I follow him towards the ramp, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his back, and his men in my peripheral vision. Maybe it’s my lucky day, because the guy who locked me inside the shipping container has either left the dock while we were talking or has boarded the ship. Either way, I don’t have to worry about him recognizing me and raising the alert.