Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“You mean trafficking,” she said, face going tight. “Of women and girls.”
“In this case, yeah, I do mean that, unfortunately.”
“He’s profiting off the exploitation and rape of innocent women.”
“Yes,” I said, understanding the horror on her face. I felt it myself each time I had to go anywhere near those massage parlors. “Does your boss know you overheard his conversation?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I was behind the door in the bathroom. I had a migraine, so I was in the dark,” she admitted. “He had no idea. And he was… his usual self today.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” I asked.
“Because who the hell would believe me?” she asked, snorting. “I, ah, I decided to try to see if he would open up to me. Because I could record it then.”
“And it would be admissible in court.”
“Yeah. Or, I figured, if I couldn’t make that work, I would just record him on the phone with them, and drop it off to a news station who wouldn’t have any qualms about sharing it.”
“Could the Bratva have learned of your plans? Did you tell friends? Family? Boyfriend?” I asked, the last word having a strange bite to it for reasons I didn’t exactly understand.
“No. I don’t have… anyone,” she admitted. “I mean, I have family. But they’re across the country. And we’re not close.”
“Friends?”
“I work too much for friends. And too much for boyfriends,” she admitted. “I didn’t even search anything online. Maybe I wasn’t the target today,” she said, sounding hopeful.
“They were aiming right at you,” I told her.
“Maybe they thought my boss would come out.”
“I don’t think so. These are professionals. They don’t fuck up a hit.”
“How do you know so much about them?” she asked, finally zeroing in on the strangeness of my presence.
“Because I’ve been watching them for a few weeks.”
“Why?”
“To figure out what they are up to.”
“Are you a private investigator?” she asked.
“No, sweetheart,” I said, shaking my head.
I watched as her gears turned, those cornflower blue eyes keen when they pinned me again.
“Who do you work for?”
“Renzo Lombardi,” I admitted.
“Why does that sound so… oh,” she said, eyes going round as her posture stiffened. “You’re… in the mafia.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Elizabeth
The man I’d invited into my living room was a member of the mafia.
Now that was a thought I’d never imagined I’d think before. Let alone a reality I’d find myself in.
I had a mafia member sitting on my couch, drinking out of one of my coffee cups, and watching me with those lovely golden eyes that were offset by enviously thick black lashes.
Maybe if I hadn’t been so zoned out for so long I would have noticed it earlier.
I mean, just remembering how nervous and fidgety the doctor had been anytime he looked at or spoke to this man.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Elian said as he watched me process this information.
“Isn’t that what everyone says? Right before they hurt you?” I asked.
“Probably,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “If it helps, logically, I have no reason to want to hurt you,” he said. “My interest is in the Russians and their business dealings. I was watching them today and saw what they were about to do. That’s why we are here. I just wanted to know why they wanted you dead.”
“Did you really think I’d be involved with the Bratva?” I asked, unable to stop my lips from curving up.
I mean, no one would ever have accused me of being something quite as exciting as involved in organized crime.
Growing up, I’d always been a glass child—invisible to my family because my older brother required so much more attention.
In school, I got the reputation of a goody-goody because I had perfect attendance, because I got good grades, because I never got in trouble. And, later, because they thought I was a complete prude since I had no interest in dating.
I’d been too busy trying to get into a good college, so I could get a good career, and get the hell away from my dysfunctional family.
In college, it had been more of the same. My roommate hated me because I didn’t want people in our room. Eventually, we ‘compromised’ with me spending pretty much all of my time in the library while she did whatever the heck she wanted in our room.
Sure, I dated here and there then. But I never took it seriously. It wasn’t in my five year plan, or even my ten year plan to get serious with anyone.
I mean, I’d never smoked weed, had a one-night stand, or even gotten stupid drunk.
So the idea of being involved with crime was both a little flattering and hilarious.
“In my defense, I had no idea who you were,” he said, giving me an odd look as I tried to flatten my smile.
“Sorry,” I said, a little laugh escaping me. “It’s just funny to think someone like me would be involved with crime.”