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She relents and takes my outstretched hand.
“You’ll see,” I promise her.
I hold on to her hand as we walk to one of the machines. As I teach her how to play, I move in behind her and can’t help but press close and feel her warm, curvy body against mine. Of course, my woman’s a fast learner and soon she’s squealing when she beats me at a game.
Before we know it, hours have passed and its last call. I pay our tab and I wrap my arm around her shoulder as we cross over the threshold into the street. A little tipsy, Star leans into me.
I revel the feel of her snuggling into my side when a man passing by bumps my shoulder.
WTF?
I glare at him, and he and his friend both turn around at the same time.Fuck.Bratva motherfuckers. I even recognize the two idiots. It’s Vadim and Dimitri, two simple Bratva foot soldiers. They aren’t related but look nearly identical in their Adidas tracksuits, cheap leather shoes, and fringe haircuts combed down the forehead over a shaved head.
Instinctually shielding Star from their intense scrutiny, I glare at them. “What the fuck, assholes? What the fuck are you doing here?”
No way is this a coincidence. Even if I’m in Brooklyn, this is nowhere near their territory. I don’t know if they’re following me or her, but if Star wasn’t on their radar before, she sure as hell is now. I have my arms wrapped around her. There’s no way they could construe this as anything but what it is. And right this moment, she’s not my wife, she doesn’t live under my roof, and she sure as fuck isn’t in my bed every morning.
This is not good, not good at all.
I’ve been attempting to take my relationship with Star one day at a time, but that’s not gonna last for much longer.
Dimitri, or Vadim, hell I can’t tell, pats me patronizingly on my back.
A low growl emanates from deep in my chest.
“This is our fucking borough, yo.”
“Like hell it is.” Pointing down the street, I state, “Little Odessa is that way, motherfucker. You don’t own the whole borough and you sure as hell would never be caught dead in this neighborhood.”
Prospect Heights was technically Brooklyn, sure, but it was the definition of gentrification. No way would a Russian gangster randomly show up here. And D. or V. shows his hand again when his gaze returns to Star.
Feeling his gaze on her, she shrinks into me, clutching onto my shirt. I love that she instinctually seeks my protection, but I hate that she feels the need to. These bastards shouldn’t know she exists.
The other gangster spits a sunflower shell from his mouth onto the concrete sidewalk, missing my shoe by an inch. That’s a fucking provocation. If they’re consuming sunflower seeds, it means they’ve been here a while, either staking us out while squatting against a wall or purposely pacing up and down the street to bump into us.
“We’re in Brooklyn,” he says doggedly. “You’re in our borough.”
I step up to him, yank the bag from his hand and toss it the ground. Seeds scatter everywhere. His gaze drops to the sidewalk. “My fucking sunflower seeds,” he grumbles.
“Fuck your seeds, asshole, and fuck you,” I spit out as I shove him in the chest.
He stumbles back a couple steps. Star whimpers behind me and it’s her sound of panic that stops me from beating the hell out of them. They’re bulky, but no match for me, and there’s no way they would dare pull out their guns in the middle of this civilian neighborhood.
This isn’t the kind of ’hood where people know to look the other way. As if to prove my point, a couple of bros stagger out of the bar, arms wrapped around each other. They weave and bob as they stumble past us, singing at the top of their lungs.
“Crawl back into the hole you came from,” I warn them as I grab hold of Star, corral her into my chest, and turn my back on the soldiers. If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it already. This little encounter is nothing more than a message and a threat.
For once, Star doesn’t fight me. She hugs my middle and allows me to lead her back to my parked car. She doesn’t have a snarky comment for me when I open the door. I place her inside and firmly shut the door, sealing her off from their gazes.
Glaring down the twins, I round the car and settle into the driver’s seat.
I drive down the street, leaving them in my rearview mirror.
I need to fast track the timeframe for getting Star attached to me. Not only do I need to formulate a new plan, but it’s gotta be foolproof.
Failure isn’t an option.
CHAPTER20
