I balk like the bruises on his knuckles are from punching me in the gut when he replies, “That’s the point. She wants her sale to remain open.”
“That’s what I was referencing earlier.” Smith scoots closer to the table before balancing his elbows on a stack of paperwork he brings to every meeting. “Roxanne is willing to take our ruse one step further—”
“No.”
“At least hear the man out, D.”
“No!” I repeat more forcefully this time. “Bates didn’t bid three times that of his competitors for no reason. He wants Roxanne for more than her virginity.” Before Rocco can interject again, I continue talking, foiling his endeavors. “Furthermore, the ruse will no longer be effective.”
I’m not peacocking that I pinched Roxanne’s virginity, I am being straight-up honest. Roxanne said it herself. No one would believe our connection is fake because it’s never been made up. She fooled them last week because she was innocent. It won’t work this time around.
I stop considering a workaround when Smith says, “That’s why she wants to go in as a patient instead of a purchase. If the farmers are picking up clients from Dr. Bates’s office, we have another way of infiltrating their operation. Faking a pregnancy will delay things by a couple of weeks considering Roxanne was just auctioned as a virgin, but the hold-up will give me plenty of time to make sure we won’t face any hiccups.”
I want to immediately say no again, but for the life of me, I can’t. Although her plan is dangerous, it’s also smart. I’ve been chasing Rimi for over twenty months. The closest I’ve come to catching him was the night I stopped to help Roxanne. This type of ruse could increase the odds of finding him, but something isn’t sitting right with my stomach.
This kills me to admit, but I’m not sure I can guarantee Roxanne’s safety. If she had suggested this before she proved she’s on my side by offering to switch places with Fien, I wouldn’t have cared she was at risk. Now… now I don’t know which way is up.
A collective sigh bounces around my downstairs office when I mutter, “Let me think about it.” To the men who know me, that’s a straight-up no. To those still out of the loop, it’s a possibility. “But for now, I want eyes on Dr. Bates at all hours of the day and night. His name wasn’t mentioned during interrogations…” —by interrogations, I mean torture— “… but that doesn’t mean anything. People only keep quiet when they have something to hide.” When another joint hum trickles into my ears, I stand to my feet, eager to get our meeting over. I loathe the political side of my job as much as I hate my father. “Is there anything else?”
I’m halfway out the door when Rocco’s deep timbre stops me. “One last thing.”
I work my jaw through a tight grind when he requests for everyone but Smith to leave. I understand his distrust. The longer Fien’s captivity continues, the more certain I become that I have a rat in my crew. Furthermore, the tension on Rocco’s face tells me I won’t like what he has to say next.
Once only three bodies remain in my office, Rocco joins me partway to the door. “Theresa Veneto has made numerous requests to meet with you the past week. I assured her as derogatively as I could that you’re not interested in anything she’s selling, then she gave me this.” He digs out a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. Although the image is dated, I’m relatively sure it’s the brunette who was on Isaac’s arm last week.
My eyes lift from the college snapshot when Smith says, “Roxie was right. She did see Isabelle in a documentary. Well, kind of.” He swivels his laptop around to face me. It has a poorly made video playing on the screen. It’s amateur at best, even with Smith cleaning it up. “She thought this lady was Isabelle.” He points to a brunette at the side of the footage that has an uncanny resemblance to the photograph of the woman I’m clutching. “Where in reality, this is Isabelle.” He highlights a toddler just left of the woman he pointed out. “The documentary was filmed years ago, but the doco remembered the female. Her name was Felicia. She was Vladimir Popov’s favorite whore.”
I don’t know which fact to work first, so I go for the easiest. “Was?”
Smith jerks up his chin. “Coroner said she overdosed. The head doco had a different recollection of events. He swears she was murdered.”
“By Vladimir?”
Smith shrugs. “Rumors circulated that he choked her in a jealous rage, but that never held much credit. Felicia was never seen with anyone, and strangulation isn’t Vladimir’s kink. He prefers—”
“Long, painful deaths,” I fill in. “Unlike my father. He loves nothing more than to see the light fade from a woman’s eyes.”
Could that be the cause of the rift between the Petrettis and the Popovs? There’s never comradery between opposing cartel groups, but things have been strained between the above-mentioned families for decades. Vladimir has the power my father wants but will never have. Like a spoiled child, instead of striving to outdo Vladimir, he set out to destroy him. His tactics the past few years have barely created a ripple in Vladimir’s armor, although the same can’t be said for his offspring.
Rico, Vladimir’s eldest son, is a hothead, but he’s got nothing on his younger brother, Nikolai. Nikolai has a massive chip on his shoulder and a beef with everyone. I’ll be shocked if he makes it to his thirties. I’ve been tempted to order his hit numerous times, and I’ve never met the guy. He rubs me the wrong way. I have no clue why. It could be jealousy, but it feels more than that. His family’s name might be more powerful than mine and his pockets lined with more money, but I'd rather suffer the injustice of being born into my family than have my fire-breathing father breathing down my neck for every hour of every day like Vladimir does to Nikolai.
Perhaps that’s it? Maybe I feel sorry for the guy? I’m also the youngest of my family, but I don’t have to knock down my siblings to reach the top rung. Their knighthood fell long before I picked up my sword.
I freeze when snippets of the clues Smith handed me slowly slot into place. “If Felicia was Vladimir’s favorite whore, who’s Isabelle’s father?” Smith doesn’t need to answer me. The truth is all over his face. “Isabelle is Vladimir’s daughter, and now she’s working for the Feds. How the fuck did that happen?”
Naysayers say I’m working for the Feds as well, but only you and I know that isn’t true. Those fuckers work for me more than I work for them.
“Felicia died when Isabelle was a child. She was sold a couple of months later.”
I shouldn’t smile at Rocco’s admission, but I can’t help it. I often forget I’m not the only mafia kid with an asshole for a father. In a way, depending on who purchased her, Isabelle could have gotten lucky.
Seeing an array of questions in my eyes, Rocco says, “She was bought by none other than Mr. Fed himself.”
“Tobias?” I query, certain Rocco is mixing up his nicknames. Most of my exchanges with Tobias occurred while Rocco was in jail, so a slip-up is understandable.
When Rocco lifts his chin, air whizzes out of my mouth. Tobias was a little shady, but he usually still followed protocol by the book. This isn’t close to any legislations I’ve seen in the Feds’ handbook for agents.
Although I’m somewhat shocked, and a smidge proud of Tobias’s bend of the rules, I don’t understand what any of this has to do with Theresa’s request to meet with me.
