Taking the Thief

“Navarro.”

“Why do you say it like that? It’s my name, too,” Marisol chides Dobrev.

“Sorry, my sweet, but he has his hands on my sister.”

She rolls her eyes, and Natasha lets out a laugh. “Marisol, do you want to go get something to drink while these two have a talk?”

“No, we all need to talk together.” I narrow my eyes at Dobrev. Something is going on. “Actually, brother, my room is still available, right?”

“Por supuesto,” I tell her. Of course, the room is hers. I wouldn’t let anyone share her room even though this is her first time here in years.

“Bueno, tengo cambiar. We can talk there.” She leads the way to the bank of elevators. Her suite is directly across from mine. We have the only rooms on the floor.

I take out my special key card and unlock the door. “I have your key in my suite.” Dobrev walks in ahead of her, scanning the room looking for a threat.

“Wow, Julian, it’s awesome,” my sister squeals, giving me a big hug.

“What’s with the goon?” I muttered, earning a smack on the arm from Marisol and a glare from both women.

“It’s clear,” he states. He’s serious.

“Dobrev, what the fuck is going on? Of course, I wouldn’t do anything to harm my sister.” He pulls her back to his side.

“Nat, please sit,” he tells her, taking his sister’s hand and leading her to the sofa.

“Mikhail, what is going on? Where’s Ivan?”

“Ivan is fine; he’s back on the island. This is about how you got here and who is involved.”

“I don’t know if any of your staff was involved, but it was for sure Viktor.”

“Viktor? Why?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but he’s a part of the Bratva, and his entrance I’ve learned has to do with our parents’ death and my injuries. He led them to us and gave them a way in.” She curls up in her brother’s arms and cries. I want to be the one to comfort her, but I understand this is hard for them, a terrible memory shared.

“Where is he?” she asks through sobs.

“He’s in the hospital. Last night he tried to take Marisol.”

“What the fuck? The bastard is going to pay.”

Marisol wraps her arms around me. “I’m fine, Julian. Mikhail and his staff made sure he couldn’t get out of the estate with me.” I hold her close, and as much as I dislike him, I know that he’s in love with my sister.

“He will pay, painfully. His failure has led to revelations about the Bratva. They are awaiting his extradition to Russia. He has come for my family for the last time.”

“Will they be coming for Natasha?” I ask. I have to know who will be ready to meet their maker if they try.

“No, the taste for my family’s death was solely Viktor wishes.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, mi amor,” I say, pulling her off the sofa and into my arms. “Eres mi vida. You are my life, Natasha.”

“I love you, Julian.”

“Te amo, mi Corazon.”

“What the fuck? I thought you were trying to get back at me.”

“Dobrev, your sister is special to me. She makes me want to be a better man, and even though I don’t like you if my sister is happy, then I cannot say anything against this.” I wave my hand between them. “Are you happy, Marisol?”

“I am, Julian. Very happy.” She squeezes Dobrev, and I can see that he himself feels relief at her exclamation.

“Bueno, please stay and visit. Would you like to join us for dinner?” I ask them.

“Yes, that would be wonderful. What time?” Marisol asks, standing up and walking over to the kitchen area and into the fridge. “I’m starving.”

“I told you to eat, Lyubov moya,” Mikhail scolds Marisol. I laugh because she’s stubborn.

“I know, but I was nervous about coming here.”

“Porque?” I blurt out.

“I knew you two wouldn’t get along,” she admits, putting down the drink she grabbed from the fridge.

Damn it, did these women think alike. “I already promised Natasha that I would be on my best behavior.”

“Gracias,” Marisol says, throwing her arms around me for a quick hug before grabbing her drink and sitting back down with Dobrev. I just have to get through the next day or two with this fuck, and then I can breathe again.

“Natasha, do you still want to shower off the sand?”

“Were you playing with your sand designs again?” Mikhail says good-humoredly.

“Only a castle,” she admits, walking to the door.

“That’s because she was busy playing with the children that wandered over to us,” I add as she steps outside and I have the door handle.

“Oh, I love babies,” Marisol blurts out, clapping her hand to her mouth. Then the fuck whispers in her ear. From the blush on her face, I know that it’s not something I want to hear.