The Bratva's Heir (Underworld Kings)

Touching my cheek with surprising gentleness, he says, “Tonight, we rest.”

I nod. The thought of escaping or getting to my family has become distant and muted. I feel it in my heart that he was framed. That he didn’t kill Roxy. There was an authenticity to the way he questioned the man in the basement earlier that can’t be denied. But there’s more to it. The way he’s conducted himself, the questions he’s asked.

If he were guilty of her murder, why would he spend his time so close to the place of his escape? If he were guilty of her murder, he’d be so far from here by now they’d never find him. He has the money, the connections, and the resources. But here he is, scouring the underbelly of Desolation for the person responsible for Roxy’s death, because he knows he’s an innocent man.

I believe Constantine. In fact, I even believe that I’m special to him. And yet…

“What?” he says, instantly spotting the turmoil I’m trying to conceal. “Speak, Clare. Tell me what troubles you.”

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I know it was an arranged marriage you would have had with Roxy. But you seem… very intent on avenging her.”

Constantine sighs. For the first time I see more than weariness etched on his face; I see deep sorrow. It cuts me to the core.

“I am not avenging Roxy,” he admits. “I’m avenging our child.”

My heart sinks like a rock.

“She was pregnant,” I whisper.

“Yes. She was only two months along, but she carried my son and heir.”

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t in the report…”

He laughs bitterly. “I wasn’t charged with that murder. And no one will pay for it—unless I make them pay.”

My sympathy is like a whirlpool in my guts, collapsing me from the inside. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say to comfort him.

Instead, I simply slip my hand into his and hold on tight.

Constantine squeezes back, hard enough to crush my fingers.

“Don’t let this trouble you, little bird,” he says. “This is my burden to bear.”

Large, open windows give us a view out of the parking garage to the buildings around us. We’ve arrived at a building of such size and grandeur that I look up, startled.

“Where are we?” I ask, climbing slowly out of the vehicle. My voice hushes in awe as I look about the most decadent entryway I’ve ever seen. I’ve traveled at length with my family and have never seen opulence like this. The floors are inlaid with sparkling marble accented in gold, strings of soft music play from overhead speakers, and the elevator doors gleam. Large vases of fragrant, fresh pink and white flowers sit on the tables, and uniformed guards bow when we enter.

“This way, sir,” one of the guards says to Constantine.

With a sweep of his hand, the elevator glides noiselessly open, revealing plush burgundy carpet and recessed lighting, again lined with mirrors. The picture of luxury.

“Would you like an escort or a private ride, sir?” The man’s drawn face shows no emotion. He’s either ignorant of who Constantine is and what he does, or he’s got an excellent way of hiding it.

“Private, thank you.” I notice him slip the guard folded bills before he leads me onto the elevator. The door glides to a close in front of us. I blink, staring at a brilliant reflection of myself. My cheeks are pink, my eyes bright. At the memory of what made me flush, my blush deepens.

“This is a private elevator in a hotel,” Constantine says in my ear. Ah, a privacy entrance that politicians or famous musicians might use. He anchors his hands on my waist, drawing me close to him. I feel the length of him pressed against my butt.

“Did spanking me turn you on?” I ask, in a husky voice I don’t recognize as my own.

“You have no fucking idea, little bird. Overpowering you, punishing you, the way you fought and squirmed, made me hard. But watching your mouth open when you came finished me off… I’ve been painfully hard ever since.”

I flush. “That doesn’t seem quite fair.”

“Never said it was.”

The elevator door slides open, revealing a luxurious hallway similar to the one downstairs, outfitted in opulence with gold finishes. Gleaming marble, thick, plush carpet, flowers in large, generous vases, their fragrance enchanting.

He wants a night off.

A night off from fighting people and hiding from the chase and finding who’s responsible for Roxy’s death—and the awful loss of his son. A night off from carrying the weight of everything.

His large, rough hand finds mine as we walk down the hall. Every step makes my striped ass ache. I still can’t believe he had the audacity to whip me like that. I still can’t believe I… liked it? Did I? Well, no. It was too painful to really like, yet… the way I climaxed afterward is another story.