Free You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) by Georgia le Carre Page A

you never know about it.’
    ‘Why isn’t what you already have enough, Zane? Why do you need more money?’ I ask sadly.
    He reaches out a hand and brushes a stray lock of hair away from my cheek. ‘To enter the mafia,’ he says, ‘is to become a shark. The shark must perpetually swim if it is to breathe and therefore exist. We must constantly expand. We must take more than we give, even to the extent of eating our own young.
    ‘If the mighty empire has to eat its young to expand then it’s not sustainable and must die an agonizingly long and horrible death.’
    ‘To the contrary in my profession death is usually brutal but quick.’
    ‘This life you have chosen is so dangerous. I am so afraid for you,’ I whisper, my voice full of dread.
    ‘I really meant it when I said I’d rather die a violent death as a lion then live forever as a rat in a sewer.
    ‘I know you said you didn’t have a choice to enter this brutal world, but you have a choice now. You can stop. You can walk away from this life.’
    ‘This the only life I know, rybka .’

    Last Arabian wins his race in the last few seconds. It looks so real. No one could have suspected. I look at Zane and his face is no different than any other gambler there. Shane and Snow don’t stay. Lenny keeps away from me.
    We go into the restaurant and eat a five-course delicious meal with an international twist to it. I talk and laugh and put on my happy face. Stella calls and is disappointed that I did not put any money on a horse. I will tell her later about Last Arabian. I know she will understand that I have put, but a foot in Zane’s world and only because it is the only way I know to stay in there long enough to try and pull him out of it. 

Twelve
    Dahlia Fury
    ‘Y ou know it is Aleksandr’s birthday tomorrow,’ Olga says when I go downstairs for breakfast.
    I look at her in amazement. ‘Oh? He never said anything.’
    ‘He never does. That is why I am telling you. In case you wanted to celebrate it in some way …’ She lets her voice trail off as she packs the cavity of a duck with herbs and sausage meat and orange slices.
    I frown. ‘What usually happens on his birthday?’
    She glances at me. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
    ‘What? Not even a cake with some candles on it?’
    ‘I’ve been working for Aleksandr for nearly ten years and not once has he celebrated his birthday. I’ve never so much as seen a birthday card arrive.’
    I look at her curiously. ‘Why will nobody even send a card?’
    She shrugs. ‘Probably because he doesn’t tell anyone it’s his birthday so no one knows to do anything.’
    ‘How do you know it’s his birthday then?’
    ‘Well, I saw his passport sitting on his desk one day and peeked into it,’ she confesses.
    ‘Olga,’ I shout and burst into laughter. Honestly, she is so cute.
    She makes a face. ‘It’s not like I harmed anyone. I just wanted to know how old he was.’
    ‘So how old is he?’
    ‘He is thirty-four tomorrow.’
    I think for a moment. ‘Should I plan something for him, Olga, or is that just going to make him angry that I have been putting my nose where he obviously doesn’t want anybody’s?’
    ‘It’s up to you, but I could bake a cake if you asked me to,’ she says, looking at me hopefully, willing me to pick up the gauntlet and run with it.
    For a few seconds I hesitate. What if he is one of those sour people who don’t like anyone to make a fuss over their birthdays? Stella’s grandfather is like that. He goes mad if anybody even wishes him happy birthday, let alone buys him a present. He grumbles that presents are a total waste of money. Then I think: what the heck? I should throw a little surprise party. It’ll be fun. This house is way too dead.
    ‘Yes, bake a cake, Olga. We’ll surprise him with a party. Nothing grand or too intrusive, just the staff.’
    Olga smiles and nods with approval.
    ‘I think we’re going out for dinner, and when we get back I’ll bring him into