Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Bastian clicks through the images of the couple undressing, then in bed.
“Wait. Go back.”
He does, and I peer closer to see the purplish bruises around Leah Russo’s neck and arms. Bastian sees it at the same time I do.
“You think he was beating her? Russo?”
Bastian zooms in as he shakes his head. “Don’t know.”
We get to another image taken in the lobby. Her cheeks are flushed with color, and her eyes contain a sheen that wasn’t there in the previous shots. Leah Russo is clearly on her way out after a long afternoon spent in her lover’s bed. But as the shadows fall over the city, so do they darken her eyes as she leaves the hotel and reenters her world, her life.
“She looks scared,” I say.
“Probably afraid of getting caught.”
I see the timestamp in the corner of this image.
“Look at that,” I say, pointing at the bottom corner of the image.
“Not quite six years ago.”
“Are you doing the math?”
“Already have.”
“I want to see the man’s face.” But in all the photos, he’s obscured in some way almost as if it were done on purpose. Did her lover set her up?
Bastian shakes his head as we click through more and more images. “Those tattoos, though, I’ll send the file to Bruno. See what he can find.”
“Good idea. So Lucien was having his stepmother followed. Do you think he shared those with Dad?”
Bastian shrugs a shoulder. “Why else take the photos? Unless he wanted to blackmail her, but what would he have to gain?”
“I wonder if he even needed to share them once Emma was born. He’d suspect even if he wouldn’t know for certain after taking one look at Emma, I’m sure. He could have run DNA tests.”
“Let’s get those to Bruno and make sure Vittoria never sees them.”
“Agreed.” He removes the drive and drops it into his pocket.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Neither of us is looking forward to the next part of our day.
We ride down on the elevator and climb into our SUV. Bastian settles himself behind the steering wheel as my phone dings with a message. It’s Bruno.
“Bruno’s got something.”
Bastian glances at me but focuses on traffic.
“According to the financial reports Brady sent, there’s one name that stands out, Anders Construction. It’s apparently a shell company Bruno recognized. It’s owned by Dmitri Anders, a businessman with known ties to the Russian mafia who recently found himself in some trouble with the American authorities. The payments were made out of Russo Properties & Holdings and came at irregular intervals, but that made little sense. He’s following up with Brady and gathering more information on Anders.”
“Russian mob? No shit.”
“It would explain the soldiers who grabbed you. Based on what I heard, at least some were Russian.”
“I’d like to know where he is, fucking spineless bastard.”
“He’ll turn up.” I enter the directions to the first empty Russo property within a twenty-mile radius of the penthouse. There are three.
We sit in silence for a while. I know what’s coming. What’s on my brother’s mind.
“You shouldn’t have told her you’d let her go,” Bastian finally says as we merge into traffic.
“Moot point. We’re not.”
“We decide these things together, brother.”
I nod because he’s right. I study his profile as he drives, remembering how she was with him. How he held her hand, traced the empty ring finger of her right hand.
“The reasons we’re keeping her, Bastian,” I start. Bastian glances my way, then focuses on the road. “They’ve changed for me.”
“I’m not blind.”
“I think they’ve changed for you, too.”
His jaw tenses, but he nods once.
“Are we on the same page, then?” I ask.
“You mean are we keeping her because we want her for ourselves?”
I nod. It’s confronting when it’s so blatantly spelled out.
“Yeah, brother, same page, same sentence, same word.”
“Not sure where Dandelion’s head is but, well, one step at a time.”
Silence again fills the space and for the next ten minutes we are each lost in our own thoughts.
“First property is coming up here on the right.” The energy in the SUV shifts as we near the fenced off property with the big Russo Properties & Holdings sign in front.
Bastian pulls up in front. “This isn’t the one,” he says as he kills the engine, and we climb out.
“Too busy. Too public.” The neighborhood is bustling. I use the key Brady gave me to unlock the gate. We need to be sure. We walk through the fencing, then onto the site, which consists of a trailer containing a desk, a drip coffee machine with a burnt pot on it, and an ashtray with cigarette butts still inside. And dust about an inch thick. What was here has been torn down, so if there was a basement, it’s gone now.
“Let’s go,” Bastian says. “We’re wasting our time here.”
The second property is similar to the first although a little farther out of town. It has more privacy, and the structure hasn’t been demolished yet, but the basement is more of a crawl space, so we head to the third. This one is the farthest way but still not too far. It’s also the most private with a large, fenced-off lot. Just behind the fence is a run-down row of houses that reminds me of old horror movies.