King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

“You know it’s the only way,” Larissa says. “None of our sources are on the inside of the trade. But if she could get in… and with her profile and coloring, she easily could… she could get us information no one else could.”

Stefan steps to the door, not one to eavesdrop. He clears his throat.

Demyan looks up and nods to him. “Hey. You two hungry?”

“Very,” I say, grateful for something to say, because I’m shaking with the knowledge of what she wants me to do, but more importantly, I’m shaking with the knowledge of what I must do. And I further know that I’ll have to fight Stefan tooth and nail.

We walk in silence to the dining room, and when we arrive, Stefan pulls out a chair for me. I sit and gratefully take a cup of coffee. After a simple breakfast of eggs and toast are served, Stefan clears his throat.

“We overheard part of your conversation,” he says. Demyan sighs, and Larissa nods.

“Did you?” she asks. “Which part?”

“You suggested ‘she’ go on the inside. I’m assuming you mean Taara?”

Larissa nods and Demyan growls low and angrily, but she ignores him. “As I was saying to Demyan, there are no other options here. We have men on the inside, but they’re not privy to the type of information she would be.” She shrugs.

“Yes, but the only problem is, no way will I allow that.”

“And what if I want to?” I interject. Stefan shoots me a murderous look, but I look away from him and speak to Demyan and Larissa.

“You have men on the inside, yes?” I ask. “Well, why couldn’t you have them prepared to defend me if anything went wrong?”

“Because it’s too dangerous,” Stefan says, but Larissa interrupts him.

“Not necessarily. You told us yourself last night that you were in danger of losing the entire American Bratva. And you have Taara here to prove that she’s loyal to you, no?”

“Yes, but—”

“And do you not trust that our men would protect her?”

“Larissa, enough.”

“Please,” I say. “I’m the one who’s safety is on the line. Don’t I have a say in this?”

None of them know that it isn’t just important to me that I find the information Stefan needs. I want to prove to Larissa, and, if I’m honest, to Caroline as well, that I am made of Bratva girl mettle.

Demyan and Stefan meet each other’s eyes, and Stefan finally nods.

“Go on.”

“I can defend myself if need be,” I tell him. “But I also want this chance to prove myself innocent once and for all. You might know that I am,” I tell Stefan. “But does your brotherhood?”

“No,” Stefan says staunchly. “I won’t allow it.” He squeezes my leg in warning, but I push his hand away. It doesn’t work, though, because he’s right back at my leg again and squeezing me even tighter and higher, and this time it works, because I know he means what he says.

“If you let me in on this, a few things can happen,” I explain. “I can get insider information no one else will know. I can prove that I’m not a threat to anyone. We can find who’s responsible for taking over America and end this.”

“Taara,” he growls.

“She has a point,” Demyan says, stroking his chin.

“The fuck she does,” Stefan growls. “You’d let Larissa go?”

Demyan grits his teeth and meets Larissa’s eyes. “Against my better judgment, but yes. I have let her work with us.”

“A true king’s ransom,” I say to Stefan on impulse, but it was maybe not the smartest thing to say because his eyes narrow dangerously.

“You are not my ransom,” he says. “Not at all.”

I place my hand on his leg. “But am I the king’s ransom?” My voice wavers as I hold his gaze. I need him to know he can trust me. I want to do this.

“Ty moye sokrovishche,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You are my treasure.”

I forget that we’re right there with Demyan and Larissa and that his men could likely see us. I forget everything, as I lean over and place my hand on his chest.

“Then let me help you. You will protect me.” I lift his hand off my leg and kiss his fingers to my mouth. “I trust you. Please.”

He curses under his breath, but finally, shaking his head, concedes. “We’re meeting with the rest of the brotherhood, no?” he asks Demyan.

“We are.”

“Let’s see what we can find out.”

But he’s already made the decision. He’s already decided.

We meet with the men, and it’s much like the meeting with Stefan’s own brotherhood, only this is a much smaller group. The inner circle, I surmise. They sit and stand, arms crossed, with grim expressions, as Demyan and Stefan relay the purpose of their meeting.

“Fucking Thieves,” one man growls. “Who was this woman in America who ordered you killed?”