The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

I’m filled by him. Branded by him. I didn’t know how badly I needed his hard, firm body against me, his raw and honest passion, him inside me until we were together again. It should come as no surprise to me that he couldn’t stand to see another guy’s hands on me. Furthermore, it should come as no surprise that he had to make it super abundantly clear to anyone and everyone that I belonged to him. He’s left me panting and branded, sated and… alive. So goddamn alive.

Too soon, I pull away.

“My hair must be a wreck,” I say in a whisper. The upturned corner of his mouth makes me smile. “Oh, you’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Proud?” he says in that thick accent of his that makes my heart unfurl. “The only one I’m proud of is you.” He draws me to his chest in a fierce embrace and plants a heated kiss on my forehead. “You found what we needed. You waded into a den of vipers and came out unscathed.” His voice cracks on the last word, and he kisses me again. “Tell me everything.”

So I do. My back to the others, in a rapid whisper I tell him about the emails, the correspondence with the police. I tell him about the locked drawer, the encrypted files, the evidence I found poorly hidden on my father’s laptop.

“An alliance between my family and the Irish would’ve been an unbreakable fortress,” Constantine says, almost sadly, as if he still mourns the loss of what should have been. “Your father knew that. He couldn’t have been successful with his plans if he’d had to defeat the power of two families joined together.”

Constantine explains what he found in the warehouse—the pallets of cocaine smuggled in by the cops, now being distributed all across Desolation.

“Your father gets to look like a hero, taking down the Bratva, and Parsons gets to put the Irish out of business by becoming the fucking drug kingpin himself,” he scoffs.

I nod. He’s right. I know this now. I easily fill in the blanks.

“The easiest way for him to break that alliance was to paint you as Roxy’s murderer. He knew if he could get the Irish to believe that story, and get you in jail…”

Constantine nods. “He could do what he needed to. The only question is…” Constantine’s voice tapers off, as if he’s thinking over a conundrum.

“What?” I whisper. My heart slams in my chest. The only question is… how to deal with my father? How to bring the truth to light?

Or how to end my father’s life.

Constantine gives a hard shake of his head. “Clare, I don’t want you to get hurt. What happens next will not be easy. It will be bloody, and violent.”

I lift my chest and square my shoulders. “I know.”

I can’t see his full face because of the half-mask he wears over his nose and eyes, but I can see the battle that rages in his eyes. “I want to protect you from this,” he says in a fierce whisper. “You weren’t supposed to know any of this.”

I shake my head. “And I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.”

My heart staggers in my chest. I’m a bundle of nerves after my declaration, more than I was even when I was looking through my father’s laptop.

I’ve just confessed my love to the most dangerous person I know.

I don’t quite know how to feel about that.

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say. He needs to respond.

Doesn’t he?

I hear voices over my shoulder and realize with a sudden stab of fear that it’s my father, with none other than the chief of police himself.

“You must go,” Constantine whispers in my ear. Exactly what every girl wants to hear when she’s just declared her love to a man.

I nod, my throat tight and my nose tingling.

“Let me eavesdrop,” I whisper. “If I’m caught, the consequences for me are far less dangerous.”

“No,” he hisses in a vehement whisper. “You’ve done enough. This is my battle now, Clare.” He pulls me to him, his mouth to my ear. “And before you get another thought in your head, know this. I love you, too. You are my light, shining like a beacon. You led me out of darkness.” His arms around me tighten like a belt pulled taut while I try to compose myself. “Now go, little bird. Fly.”

I won’t. I won’t.

I shake my head vehemently from side to side.

“Clare,” he says warningly. I know that look in his eyes all too well, but I stand my ground.

“No,” I repeat. “It’s inevitable. I’m as much a part of all of this as you are, now.”

His jaw tightens, as his eyes watch my father and the chief share a drink.

Behind my father, I see a uniformed waiter with sandy blond hair pass between the gardens and the back access to the kitchens.