Chapter 13

When I woke, Petter was sitting up cross-legged, drinking a cup of coffee. I lay still, trying to keep my breathing even. I had never been very concerned about the consequences of anything before, but I was worried I would lose him over this. I wanted to pretend to be asleep for as long as possible so I didn't have to talk to him and find out which way it would go, but I wasn't convincing enough.

"I know you're awake." He finished his coffee and put the cup on the cabinet beside the bed.

"Only just." I faked a yawn. He didn't respond, but he looked down at me and met my eyes. I was unsure of myself but I had to do something. I put my hand on his thigh under the sheet and stroked along the inside of it, then back down to his knee.

His lips twitched a little. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"When I've got an incredibly fucking hot naked Mobster sitting next to me? You expect me to be thinking about something else? Mm?" I ran my hand back up his thigh and found his erection.

He didn't laugh. He pulled my hand off him and held it instead. "Did you mean what you said last night?"

"Which part?"

"About me being—" He cleared his throat and looked away. "Important."

"Yes, I meant it." I extricated my hand from his grip and slid my arm around him. "Come here. Lie down with me."

He stretched out under the sheet and I rolled over onto him, pushing my knees between his thighs. Then I covered his mouth with mine. He closed his eyes and groaned as he kissed me back. There was no urgency in it—I kissed him with everything I had in me, and it occurred to me I'd never even kissed Markus like that after three months. When I broke the kiss to breathe and rested my forehead against his, I reached down and guided myself into him. He was still wet and stretched enough from before we went to sleep.

Just like the kiss, there wasn't the usual desperation in it. We moved slowly together, savouring every thrust and slide, holding onto each other and kissing every few moments. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me, and I kept my eyes closed most of the time, suddenly scared to let him see my feelings. Not so long ago, I'd thought I would fall for him and I hadn't made any effort to stop that happening. Now it was too late.

When it was over, we lay together, still in each other's arms, until I glanced at my watch and realised that if we didn't get up we'd miss breakfast, and then we'd have to check out. I moved reluctantly, gave Petter one last kiss, and sat up. "We should have a quick shower and get something to eat."

"All right."

We shared the shower, then got dressed. We left most of the bike gear in the room and went down to the hotel restaurant. There was plenty of food available, and we stuffed ourselves with bacon, eggs, potatoes and toast, and had better coffee than that which was available in the room. Then we grabbed the rest of our gear and checked out.

The ride back to Stockholm was cold, but not too bad. Petter dropped me off at my apartment, then headed home. I went in to change out of the bike gear, and put it in my wardrobe for future outings. An hour later, I reluctantly returned to the restaurant. I had work to do.

The Family were setting up another deal, this time with some Russians. It was nothing to do with the Mobsters and I didn't plan on telling Petter about it—there was no need. He had what he wanted. We were sharing the Stockholm market with the Turkish gear. But the Family planned to take over the entire coastal region with a much larger heroin shipment than we could get from Turkey. For the first time, I had my doubts about doing it. I was distracted, and I kept thinking about a future I'd talked about with Petter—another place, another life. A restaurant, all above board where I could relax and be myself.

Then Zvonomir came to me to tell me what I already knew—we had an infiltrator passing information to the police, and if we wanted to pull off this deal, we needed to get rid of him. Sven had already been despatched, and his place had quickly been filled. Zvonomir didn't have any idea who, only that the cops were getting too close and were obviously getting their information from someone. Then Stefan came to me and told me he thought Christian was the rat. The little weasel was going to blow everything, but he wouldn't keep his mouth shut.

The situation took my mind off Petter. I had to focus and figure out a way to shut Stefan up, but the stupid little bastard did that himself by fixing a basketball game, bribing one team, and placing huge bets on the way things would go. I didn't go to the game, but Pawel and Zvonomir did, and reported back that Stefan had been seen talking to a cop and accepting money. I suspected it was a set up by the police, to provide cover for the real infiltrator, but I went along with it. I wanted rid of Stefan.

The guy irritated me and always had done. Our family had adopted him before we left Croatia, when all of his family were killed and he was left with no one. He grew up with us and was besotted with Blanka from puberty. She liked him at first, but as he got older, and nastier, I could see she wasn't into it any longer, but she was scared to do anything about it. I'd been thinking about stepping in to help her and now I could kill two birds with one stone. I talked to Pawel and Majmun, and arranged a meeting in the woods with Stefan, Christian, Jovan, and Zvonomir. Since Stefan had literally just bought Blanka a ring, he was convinced we had arranged a little stag party for him, and was delighted.

I wanted Christian to do the deed. Then I'd have something on him, but telling him to do it wouldn't work. So, we blindfolded Stefan and I put the gun in Jovan's hand. The kid was terrified and in tears, shaking all over, begging us not to make him do it. And Christian took over. I was kind of proud of him when he pulled the trigger, all the while looking into Stefan's face while he sobbed and pleaded and pissed his pants.

I gave Majmun a look and he nodded. The rest of us got in the car and left him there in the woods to deal with the body and the gun. It was done, and all that was left for me to do was tell Blanka. Our mother had already instructed me not to tell her the truth. Although Stefan had been unkind to her, presumably she cared for him a little. We decided to explain he'd got himself into hot water and put our security at risk, so we sent him back to Croatia.

Blanka looked sceptical when Dubravka and I talked to her, but she didn't question it. If anything, she seemed relieved that she wouldn't have to go through with a wedding to him, and be stuck with him her whole life.

Two days later, I called Petter. I had some time before anything more happened on the Russian deal, and I badly wanted to see him. But his phone went straight to voicemail. I tried three times that day and two the next, but got the same result—voicemail. I didn't leave a message, but I began to worry about it. Perhaps he was still angry about what I'd told him; about what we could potentially have done to him. Even though things had ended well when we parted, if he'd spent time thinking about how we'd set him up to take the rap for three murders he had nothing to do with, maybe he just didn't want to see me anymore. I didn't want to admit it, but it killed me. I longed for him—even just to hear his voice.

After a week, I left a message—I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't even careful about it. I was at the restaurant bar, but it was closed, and no one was around. Christian and Pawel were in the kitchen, Zvonomir was in the office, Blanka was at college, and my mother was singing to herself as she gathered up glasses from tables down the far end of the room.

"Petter, it's me. Your phone's been off for a while. Just call me. Talk to me." I paused. "I miss you." I ended the call and put the phone in my pocket. "Please call me," I whispered to myself.