The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

Why?

“You’ve lived a sheltered life, little bird.”

I look out the window and nod. “I have.”

We drive in silence for long moments. The differences between us seem cavernous.

I twist a lock of my hair, still looking out the window, when he finally speaks again.

“Tonight, you’ll see a fight unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

I turn to him and blink. “Are you attacking someone?”

A sad smile flits across his features before he schools them again. “No, Clare. If I were planning an attack, you wouldn’t be coming with me.”

Why?

The question pops into my mind again, but I can’t speak it aloud. I’m in a place with him where I need to watch and listen, to observe. Something tells me I’ll have more than my fill of answers, and soon.

“Tonight, you’ll come with me to Yama. In English, it means ‘the pit’,” he continues, taking a turn down a narrow, dimly-lit street lined with cars.

“Okay, so that doesn’t sound like a nice, bougie place we might pick up a few cocktails,” I mutter, to cover up the hammering of my heart. The pit? “The pit makes me think of Edgar Allen Poe.”

“The Pit and the Pendulum,” he says quietly. “My favorite.”

He continues to surprise me. First, his surprisingly gentle edge. His appreciation for good food. Now, he’s an Edgar Allen Poe buff?

“You like Poe?”

“Of course. What’s there not to like?” He turns down another road, and the parked cars whiz past us so quickly, my stomach clenches and churns. We’re driving deep into the heart of the inner city, and I’ve never been anywhere near this place before. I surprise even myself when I realize that I’m actually relieved he’s with me. This isn’t a place a girl like me should ever walk alone. But next to him, no one will touch me.

I shrug. “They say not to judge a book by its cover, but I’ve misjudged you.”

“Shame, shame, doctor. You ought to know better than to jump to conclusions.” For some reason I can’t quite decipher, his scolding tone makes me feel a little shy. I squirm.

“Ah, the blush of a true submissive,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“I’m not blushing,” I protest, turning fully away so he doesn’t see the way my cheeks flame. I don’t know if I like being called a submissive. I’m not entirely sure I know what that even means, but it doesn’t sound like something I relate to.

“You are, little bird. I love the way your cheeks color like that. I look forward to knowing I’m the reason why you blush.”

My body ignites, consumed by the thought of him doing… whatever it is he’ll do to make me blush. God.

“You speak freely, Constantine.”

“I speak truth, Clare.”

I have to change the subject. “What have you read by Poe?”

“Everything, and repeatedly.”

“Oh, wow.”

He slows down, coming to a stop at a stoplight. “I had a nanny who gave me the collected works in a hard-bound version when I was ten. I was too young then to appreciate how brilliant they were.”

“Same.”

“In DesMax, I discovered them in English, and it was almost like reading them all for the first time.”

“Oh, wow. Are the translations that different?”

“There are many translations, but most lack… nuances, I believe you’d say.”

I look out the window and mutter softly to myself, “‘Words have no power to impress the mind…’”

“‘…without the exquisite horror of their reality’,” he finishes. A Poe quote.

I’m in a car with an escaped convict, as his prisoner, having a more entertaining conversation than I’ve had on any date. The irony is striking.

We drive in silence for long minutes. When he speaks, I almost jump. I catch myself just in time. He already calls me his little bird. I won’t scare like one.

“Yama is the underground fighting ring run by Petrov. It probably goes without saying that underground fights are held without legal approval. People have them on private property illegally.”

“Who makes the rules?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Usually, there are no rules. The fighters arrive and don’t know which opponent they’ll face.”

“So without the legality of it, there are no taxes… no one to regulate the flow of money.”

“Precisely. Large sums of money change hands.”

“Do people die?”

He pauses before he answers. Frowning, I watch as he easily navigates the narrow rows of cars and takes a sharp left before he parks the car. “Yes.”

“Wow. And we’re here because…”

“Lots of reasons. You’re a smart girl. Doctorate, isn’t it? Let’s hear your theories.”

I don’t know if I’m flattered or insulted. I draw in a breath, then let it out again. “Fair enough. You were told that Petrov kept the Irish away from here. They were the only ones who believed you guilty of Roxy’s murder.”

“Yes.”

“So here, you’re safe from blowback from the Irish. It’s likely the place you’re safest, because the only people who could do you real harm would be… well, legal authorities. Yes?”