Page 37 of The Bratva's Claim


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I nod and remove the cigar from my teeth. “Yeah, we have a lot to go over. I made a list of things we need to do to make sure that what happened two weeks ago never happens again.”

“You think we need more security?” he asks curiously. “I mean, we did just fire Dean. Even if he was a complete meathead asshole, he was one of the better guys for the job.”

I sigh. “Yeah, but the point is to keep the girls safe. Dean was a power-hungry little man with a Napoleon complex. He was dangerous to everyone, not just potential threats.”

James shrugs. “Alright, but where are we going to find people who want to work as security if this place has a reputation of getting shot up? We’re already on thin ice with the whole black-market arms dealing thing. Someone’s going to pop us for something if we keep putting ourselves out there.”

He’s not wrong, and that’s something I’ve had to think a lot about in the last couple of days. If the feds haven’t infiltrated us already, they’re bound to start sometime. We’ve been completely exposed by all of this, and if the wrong person catches us, we’re fucked for good. The results of an FBI raid would be catastrophic.

“I’m not sure of the logistics yet, but it’ll happen. I’ll even call in some of my cousins from Florida if I need to. They’d do the job just for the free housing. I’m pretty sure their rent just raised for the third time this year. Not to mention, they’re familiar with the territory. They know what to expect,” I explain, sitting back in my chair slightly.

“Alright. Do you want me to try to start looking around for more people before you hear from them?” he asks eagerly.

“Yeah, ask whoever you can. Give as few details as possible until you get them on the hook,” I reply.

He nods and starts to move out of the office. “Hey, have you heard anything about Ariella? Is she doing alright?” he asks, turning back to me before he leaves.

I feel a wave of guilt at the question. “Uh, no, I need to go see her today. Last time I saw her, she was starting to walk on her own again, so that’s good.”

He nods again, leaving the office.

I run my hands through my hair in frustration. How could nobody have noticed that the cartel’s agents were in our building?

Cambria’s face pops into my head as I close my eyes. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the accident. She’s been the only thing on my mind for weeks now, and she wasn’t even here for most of it.

What do I have to do to get her to trust me?

My involvement in organized crime must have had some kind of allure to her. Is she just here because she wants to feel dangerous? Why else would she be so cold towards me otherwise?

I think about things that could possibly give her such an aversion to me. She knew what she was getting into when she came here. There’s no way that she walked into this blind to my lifestyle after living with her brother for so long. I trusted Marcus, but he liked to talk too much sometimes.

When I think about the escort service that’s attached to the name of the club, I feel my brain make a connection.

She probably thinks I’m fucking all those girls. It’s one thing to have strippers for employees, but that’s a strictly platonic working relationship. It’s a whole other thing to have hot girls surrounding you all day, mainly when they’re actively seducing someone else. It would throw any girl into a tailspin of distrust and unhappiness.

I take my phone out of my pocket and text James. “Hey, I need you to shut down the escort service. Right now. Don’t ask questions.”

When I hit send, I feel a wave of emotions stacking on top of each other as I wait for a response. Will he argue with me? What would he do if he knew that I was doing this for a girl?

What if Josiah finds out I’m doing it for a girl?

He would freak the fuck out. He would accuse me of cheapening his legacy with nothing but low-quality strippers in place of warm bodies to fuck. And then he would probably pull a gun on me.

But I’m not going to let him scare me. He’s not the boss. I am.

I receive a text back from James, but it’s just a bunch of question marks.

“Do it, James. No questions,” I text back.

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