Crap.
Chapter Three
Dimitri
Smith’s dark eyes lift to mine when I slide into the back seat of our shared limousine. “Remove all footage from before the guard commenced undoing his belt.”
Smith is my tech guy. If I want something permanently deleted from the World Wide Web, he gets it done within minutes. I want this deleted. I don’t give a fuck someone may view the footage and think I’m a perverted bastard who gets his rocks off watching a teen get fingered in an alleyway. I’m more worried I showed weakness by gunning down a man because he liked what he saw as much as me.
The security officer wasn’t approaching the blonde to make a citizen’s arrest for performing a lewd act in a public place. He wanted in on the action, and from the way he grabbed at his belt while sprinting after her, he was going to join in even if she said no.
I hate fuckers like that.
The Petrettis have been meddling in the prostitution conglomerate for as long as I’ve been born, so you can trust me when I say not all hookers cater for high-end johns. Some are willing to break a twenty depending on what you’re seeking. You don’t need to force a girl to do a sex act on you if you’re down on your luck. Go see my father, he’ll negotiate with a homeless man if it benefits him in some way.
Smith jerks up his chin, understanding where I’m going before he pulls his laptop out of his bag. He’s never without a bunch of equipment. It’s as vital to him as the blood in his veins. “And the girl?”
I drag the towel Rocco, my number two, handed me over my wet head before replying, “Listen for chatter. If they don’t rule this as self-defense, I’ll put other measures in play.”
Rocco twists his lips, shocked. Usually, I don’t give a fuck about anyone but myself. This time around is different. Not only am I forging ahead with plans to get my daughter back sooner rather than later, but I’m also the hardest I’ve ever been. It wasn’t watching what the punk-faced weasel did to the blonde that caused my cock to press against the zipper in my trousers, it was the way she stared at me while he touched her.
It takes a lot of gall to get off when the person you’re fantasizing about isn’t touching you. Imagine how quick she’ll explode if I were to touch her? The thought should disgust me. I was only in the rain chasing the ghost of my wife, but for some reason, it doesn’t. What can I say? I was raised by a mongrel of a man. Mental stability isn’t my favorable trait, and neither is chivalry—usually.
“And you?” Smith asks, shocked I left myself out of the equation. That’s as rare as my father doing something ethical because it would do more good than harm.
“I doubt the footage of me is more than a blur of black.” I know this as I strained my eyes while striving to take in the blonde’s features. “If it’s more, let them have it. The Feds haven’t done me any favors the past nine months, so I’m not inclined to cooperate with them either.”
Against my better judgment, I sort help from a contact my family had many years ago when Audrey’s ransom note arrived at my office. Although he doesn’t follow the book to the letter of the law like his pompous counterparts, he still has too many rules and protocols for me to follow. He wants to get Fien back without bloodshed.
I’d rather endure a bloodbath than endure another long nine months pass without seeing my daughter in the flesh. Our opposing opinions don’t meld well, and they often find us placed on different teams. I guess that’s expected when one side of the duo works in law enforcement, and the other is well-known for his criminal ties.
“Call Joshua.” India hands a business card to Smith like he’s her personal assistant. “He’ll have the slug removed from the guard’s body before the coroner and will keep an eye on proceedings.” With her jaw as set as mine, she slumps low into her seat before twisting her torso to face me. “What was that about?”
I arch a brow, wordlessly suggesting she check her tone. I don’t know who the fuck she thinks she is, but she’s neither my wife nor my mother, so she has no right to badger me. If I want to watch a truckload of women being pleasured by men incapable of the task on a rainy Friday afternoon, so be it.
I can do whatever the fuck I like.
That’s the joy of being me.
Either stupid or hoping to die, India disregards my stern glare. “You can’t replace Audrey and Fien. It isn’t possible.”
“I know that.” I lean so close to her, her hot breaths take care of the droplets of rain on my face the towel missed. She isn’t worried. She’s excited she forced a response out of me. I rarely give her the time of day. This afternoon won’t be any different. “But that doesn’t mean Rimi Castro won’t believe that. Look at you, all rattled and upset thinking I’m moving on. Who’s to say he won’t reach the same conclusion?”
Because she’s fighting to keep a calm head, India’s accent comes out more pronounced than normal. I’m not exactly sure of her ancestry. I just know she’s foreign like Audrey. “I’m upset for Audrey, Dimi.” Calling me Dimi puts her in my shit book, only my friends are allowed to call me that, much less what she says next, “She doesn’t deserve to be replaced with a cheap, knock-off version of herself.”
“Shh.” I push her platinum blonde hair out of her eye before tucking it behind her ear. “No more lies. We both know you’re praying Audrey is never found.” When a flare of deceit fires through her eyes, I speak faster, “Just like you’ll forever wish we didn’t bump into her when we fumbled into your apartment after our date.” I track my thumb over her ruby-painted lips and across her jaw before stopping it at the throb in her throat. “It must have stung having her steal my attention the way she did.”
“She wasn’t supposed to be there,” India mutters before she can stop herself.
“But she was, and you were discarded…again.”
I take a second to suck in the fear slicking her skin before inching back with a smirk. India plays the role of a widower well, however her husband is only ‘presumed dead’ by her. From what Smith unearthed earlier this month, India’s husband is a foreign aristocrat with a fascination for little blonde playthings. Rumors are he tossed his wife aside with the hope his favorite whore will become the queen of his realm.
“Is that why Audrey was taken, India? Because you once again had your crown stolen?”
“Not at all,” she immediately fires back. She’s a damn good actor. Even someone trained to seek deceit would have trouble spotting hers. “I attended your wedding. I’m the one who encouraged you to get married so Audrey wouldn’t be deported—”
“And you were the last person to see her alive!” I’m back up in her face in an instant, my hand around her throat, my lips an inch from hers. “You told her to meet you at the restaurant.”
