You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my surprise that Isabelle’s assumption about Isaac and CJ fighting was correct on the down-low.
“They fought. CJ lost, and Ophelia went into a blackened rage.” He snatches up my barely touched meal and throws it into the sink, chipping the dishware. “That was the night of their accident.”
“Ophelia and CJ’s?”
Dimitri lifts his chin. “CJ spent weeks in the hospital before he vanished, Ophelia was buried with only one member of her family in attendance…” his eyes reveal it was him, “… and I never told a soul about the ruse we attempted to pull. I’ll take it to the grave.” The sneer on his face reveals I will be taken to my grave if I share his secret.
He has no reason to fret. I’m sure he’s already being bombarded with guilt over CJ being beaten so badly, not to mention his sister dying in a twisted wreck only hours later. I don’t need to add to his grief. A shudder rolls down my spine just thinking about what CJ experienced that night. Liam and Wren’s bodies had been removed from the wreckage before I arrived, and the scene still haunts me, so I can only imagine how much it still affects Melody to this day.
The letter I wrote last week but never sent feels less heavy in my pocket when Dimitri says, “What does this have to do with anything? I get your after Isaac, but the fight circuit you’re talking about has been running for decades. The feds are well aware of its existence. They’re not disbanding it for a reason.”
“For intel,” we say at the same time.
Dimitri nods. “So why are you bringing up old ghosts?”
It could be stupid of me to do, but his honesty today deserves some kind of acknowledgment, doesn’t it?
“I’m seeking connections between Col, Isaac, Henry, and Kirill Bobrov.”
He’s quick to hide it, but I spotted the quickest flare of recognition dawn through his eyes when I said my last name. “Vladimir will be disappointed he didn’t make the cut.”
“He’s still there,” I reply, just not in a manner I wish to share. Keeping Isabelle’s heritage hidden is as much on my shoulders as it is hers. “Have you heard of Kirill before?”
Dimitri hesitates for as long as I did when contemplating whether I should tell him the truth or not before saying, “It’s been a while, but his name rings a bell. What’s his kink?”
He classes underworld trades as kinks.
My shoulder touches my ear when I shrug. “Your guess would be as good as mine. We have an inkling perhaps he’s in the sex trafficking trade, but we’re only sitting on that theory because of one reason.”
I stare at him like he’s a mind reader when he says, “Katie Bryne?” When I lift my chin, stunned into silence, he curses under his breath. “I knew I had heard the name before.”
When he gestures for me to join him in an office at the back of the kitchen, I pretend my tummy isn’t grumbling. Excluding the two forkfuls I shoved in before Dimitri removed my meal, the only meal I have had the past two days was the pizza Isabelle and I shared last night.
Just before I enter the room, Dimitri fans his hand across my chest before arching his brow. Air whizzes out of my nose when I see the mistrust in his eyes. He reminds me so much of Grayson when he wolf-whistles about me raising my shirt in the air and spinning around to show him I’m not wired, then he completely fucks my outfit by removing every button from my shirt and coat with the quickest slice of a knife.
“Learned my lesson the hard way,” he grumbles under his breath while dumping the buttons into a half-empty glass of whiskey on his desk. Once he takes a seat behind his big desk, he gestures for me to sit. “If word of this gets out to anyone outside of these walls, my guests will dine on freshly minced veal this evening.” Veal is his way of calling me a contemptible bastard.
When I seal our agreement with a head bob, he pulls out a leather-bound document from a safe bolted to the floor under his desk. The beeps of the safe’s electronic lock reveal his code is an eight-digit sequence, but Grayson and I have tried numerous times to unlock it remotely. We’ve yet to be successful.
Considering the thickness of the document, it should take Dimitri longer to find the page he’s seeking. Since it happens remarkably quick, I’m confident in saying he has perused this page many times the past few years.
After pushing across a handful of legitimate business documents, he places the handwritten ledger down in front of me. “Katie Bryne…” he murmurs, dragging his index finger across her name in the ledger, “… was sold to K Bobrov for three hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars.”
The evidence he’s handing me is invaluable, but I’m a little lost. “The date shows her sale was a little under five years ago. Katie was abducted nine years ago.”
Dimitri slaps the ledger shut before placing it back into the safe. Once it’s safely locked away, he slouches low in his chair before making a tee-pee with his fingers. He’s willing to give me anything if it will help take down his father, but he doesn’t want to get snared by the same lure.
“Tobias’s arrangement is still in effect, Dimitri. You’re immune from prosecution. Within reason, of course.”
Leaning forward, he balances his elbows on his desk. “It’s the men picking the reason that I’m wary of.” He deliberates for a few more seconds before saying, “Hypothetically speaking, each sanction runs their operations differently. Some prefer underage girls, others prefer more mature ones. Then there are ones who aren’t specifically looking for a whore. They want a wife, someone to raise children with, but they don’t have the time to seek her in a crowd of millions, so they look to someone who can give them what they’re seeking without additional training.”
“Training?”
Dimitri licks his dry lips. “On being the ideal wife. They’re taught how to cook, clean, raise children, and anything else their procurer wants of them. Some take months to learn their role. Others take years.” His eyes drop to his safe. “Others never learn.”
I don’t know why, but I have a feeling his last comment wasn’t referring to Katie. If I trusted my gut like I once did, I’d ask him about it, but since I don’t, I thank him for his information by standing from my chair and giving him a tidbit of advice to even our exchange. “IRS is planning to raid this restaurant on the eighteenth. I suggest you do some in-house cleaning before then.”
Not speaking another word, I exit Dimitri’s office aware I broke a code but desperate enough for the truth not to care.
