Page 3 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
Unless she wasn’t in any danger at all, and already knew Riku. But if that was the case, why hadn’t the guard already whisked her inside? I didn’t have much time to think about what to do, and the moment I focused my binoculars on Tati again, my mind went into overdrive.
Rage was canceled out by a need to protect her so strong it felt like a kick to the gut from a giant boot. It actually rocked me backward in the seat. My heart hammered in my chest as the guard finally had enough of her and sent her on her way. She teetered on her high heels back the way she came, and my relief was cut into pieces when I saw that Riku had already turned off the highway and was going to pass her in another minute or two.
She might have been my enemy’s daughter. She might have actually been my enemy, but as I watched her, my chest constricted. No one was going to lay a hand on her, least of all Riku Yoshida. That boot in my gut wasn’t going to let that happen, no matter what her reason for being there was.
Nobody was going to touch her.
“Damn it.” I hissed, putting the car into gear. My brain was trying to get past the fog of protectiveness that wouldn’t fade, but only grew to envelop me as I slid away from my hiding spot.
Did Riku know who she was? If so, what was her involvement with the Yakuza, and possibly her father’s betrayal?
I should have waited to find out, see how Tati and Riku interacted, if at all, but that wasn’t going to happen. It was already set in stone in my mind that no one was getting near her. I was already in motion, well past ignoring my daughter’s plea not to do anything crazy.
Chapter 2 - Tatiana
The sky-high heels pinched my feet. The pushup bra dug into my ribcage. Trepidation had my heart skipping erratically in my chest, like a stone poorly thrown across the water. I looked down and tugged on my skirt, much shorter and tighter than anything I normally wore.
I parked my rental car around the corner and got out, my ankles threatening to revolt when forced to help me balance on the uncomfortable shoes. The air was hot and dry, with a faint odor of something burning somewhere. I took a step forward, dodging a crumpled soda can someone tossed as they hurried past me in the opposite direction. Behind me, there were people, but I wouldn’t dare count on them if things went sideways.
And how could they not go sideways? I was in over my head just by being in LA.
Was I really going to do this?
It was hard to believe a week ago, a mere seven days, I was safely nestled in my fortress in Moscow, blithely learning the dying arts of fine textile manufacturing from my mentor, without a care in the world. Sheltered and pampered and breezing through life.
Oh, I knew what was out there, but it would never touch me. Not anymore.
Then everything went dark from Papa, the man who made that secure life possible for me. Two days without hearing from him were odd. We spoke or texted every day unless things were hectic with his current business deals or he was off fighting dragons, but then he always let me know he’d be out of pocket. An entire week without a word was bizarre. Unheard of. Especially after his last message.
Don’t talk to anyone. Stay put. Don’t worry.
Impossible. Especially after not another peep, and when he’d clearly been stressed out the last time I spoke with him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from me. That was Papa, always keeping me out of everything, and usually, I was fine with that, content with pretending he was a normal businessman. He never wanted me to have anything to do with the Bratva, and after my mother was killed when I was little, I was happy to go along with that.
However, I knew what went on. I knew what it meant when someone disappeared. And it was never good.
So how could I stay put? How could I keep from worrying? And as for not talking to anyone? Well, no one would talk to me, especially not the powerful Fokins, the family he’d been working alongside since well before I was born.
I always thought I could count on the Fokins, and in the past, that was true, but regarding finding Papa, they left me high and dry. The last cryptic message I received before they completely cut me off told me that Papa had made his bed and now he had to lie in it.
What the hell did that mean? His assistant in Tokyo only told me to do what my father said, leaving me with an equally cryptic message before telling me she was going into hiding until everything was settled. But what needed settling?
No answers, and the longer I waited around, the more fearful I became that the worst might have happened. I was freaking out and had to leave my bubble. No one in Moscow knew anything, and I didn’t know anyone in Tokyo besides my father’s business partner, and Papa’s assistant had been adamant about not going to Konstantin Fokin for anything. Notthat I would have, anyway, since I was furious with him even more than the rest of the Fokins.
Konstantin should have had Papa’s back. If I were truly all alone in the world now, it was at least partly because of him and his reckless business deals. It didn’t sit well with me at all that shortly after my father disappeared, Kon was racing to Los Angeles, where his American cousins ruled over the city with an iron fist. Just leaving him high and dry. But he had to have a reason to end up there. Following Kon might give me some clues to where Papa was.
In LA, I learned what I already feared. The Yakuza had something to do with all of it. The organization that probably rightfully wanted Konstantin dead might have taken my father. I had no idea why. Traversing mazes of intrigue wasn’t my strong suit. I liked untangling long skeins of actual thread, not threads of dangerous plots.
But I refused to believe my father was already dead, and I wouldn’t give up trying to find him. That was why I was in a strange city, in a bad part of town, dressed in a scandalous outfit, about to try to fake my way into what I’d determined was the Yakuza headquarters. I knew who I had to find, but not the least little clue how to go about it.
All I knew was that my pinched and painful feet were getting me closer and closer to the building. My knees were practically knocking together when a stern guard came out before I got within five feet of the door.
What did I do now?
Whatever it took.
Smiling widely, I hurried forward as if I weren’t scared of him and the gun strapped to his side. Thrusting out my hand,I breathily introduced myself by the fake name I painstakingly made up that morning as I picked at my room service toast.
“Raina Forest,” I said, batting my heavily mascara’d lashes at him. Oh God, the name sounded so stupid as I said it out loud, but thankfully, the tight red top had him distracted.
