“Evangeline?” Mitya nearly barked the question, still coming at her.
Sevastyan reached her first and stepped aside so Mitya could take her arm firmly and put her behind him so his body blocked hers from the two cops should they pull weapons. Sevastyan stepped in front of them both.
Ania had no idea who the question was meant for, but before she could find her voice, one of Evangeline’s bodyguards answered. “In there. She’s sick. Ashe called for Fyodor.”
Ania tried to loosen Mitya’s grip on her arm by subtly pulling back, but that only tightened his fingers so they felt like a shackle on her. She refused to be undignified, especially in front of the cops.
“I was just leaving.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to be part of the drama that appeared to be unfolding there in the bakery.
“Now you’re staying.” Mitya’s voice was equally as low but carried the kind of command she recognized as having had complete authority for years.
She’d read Mitya was suspected of taking over the territory of a deceased criminal boss, Patrizio Amodeo, but even if that were true, he’d been in charge years prior to that. No one would dare disobey that voice, least of all her. She never drew attention to herself. It wasn’t done. That had been drilled into her at a very early age as well.
“Gentlemen, do I need to call our attorney?” Mitya asked.
“Just came in for the baked goods,” one of the cops answered.
“Find another bakery,” Mitya suggested. “Evangeline will file a restraining order if it becomes necessary. She doesn’t want to have to do that, but she will also bring harassment charges against you. Please leave, gentlemen.”
One looked as though he might protest, but the other nudged him, and they both made a move toward the door. Mitya’s bodyguards parted to allow them through. “Check on Evangeline,” Mitya ordered Sevastyan the moment they were gone.
For a moment she almost wished she was Evangeline. It was made very clear to everyone that she was important and very loved. Mitya had nearly died for her. The others were all concerned for her. Anxious, even.
Ania had always been loved. Always. But she was expected to be strong. To be more like her grandfather and father than her grandmother and mother. They had the protection of the men in her family. She was brought up to be protective and responsible all rolled into one. She didn’t mind. But this felt . . . beautiful. And Mitya gave that to Evangeline.
Sevastyan didn’t hesitate the way the other bodyguards had. He walked right into the women’s room. The moment the door opened, they all could hear Evangeline getting sick.
Mitya kept his fingers wrapped around Ania’s arm as he escorted her to a table. This one was at the very back of the room, and he seated her to the right side while he took the chair with his back to the wall, facing the door and plated windows.
“At last. I have found you. You’re not getting away this time without giving me your last name and a phone number. I’ve had my friends looking to see if you came here, and it was reported several times, but I was too far away to get here in time before you left.”
That felt better, that he would at least have tried to find her. At the same time, she knew there was a lie or two mixed in with the truth. She’d always been good at hearing lies. Her father and grandfather had insisted that when she thought she heard them, she pay attention, and that had always stood her in good stead.
She smiled at him, giving him her meaningless smile, the one she used on customers. “While I’d like to believe that, I know it isn’t true. You don’t have to worry. I did come here hoping to see you again.” She wasn’t going to lie about it. She wasn’t ashamed that she’d been attracted to him. “But the baked goods are amazing, and I’m lucky enough that Evangeline and Ashe both extended friendship to me, and that is worth everything. So, I have you to thank once again.”
He regarded her in silence for so long her stomach did a slow roll. His gaze didn’t leave her face, and those eyes of his were incredible. The color alone was mesmerizing. The lines in his face were cut deep with pure sensuality. That direct stare spoke volumes of knowledge about secrets she suddenly needed to know. He hadn’t said a word, but all she could do was think sex. Sin. Her tongue tracing each of those scars. Seeing if there were more. Finding all of them.
“I am not a good man, Ania, and you’re a good woman. A man like me has to think long and hard before he decides to bring a woman like you into his world.”