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EIGHT
Amethyst
I madeit to work the next day five minutes late, which was something I hated.
Punctuality had been drilled into me by my father, or more accurately, the nannies—more like wardens—he had hired to raise me.
Still, I tried to cut myself some slack.
I had a good excuse for being late, after all.
I’d spent hours poring over every single thing I could find about Davit Petrosyan.
I hadn’t found much, but what I had had been more than enough.
Most of the information was innuendo and secondhand chatter with little real backup, but as best as I could tell, he was believed to be the second son of Edgar Petrosyan, who had established a crime family in his native Armenia and grown it into one of the largest syndicates in Eastern Europe.
Based on my experience yesterday, they’d branched out.
I’d searched high and low for a picture of him but hadn’t been able to find one. Still, the information I did find told me that the Petrosyans were well-known, well-respected, and very, very fucking criminal.
Which left me to wonder.
First, at how stupid I had been, poking around and pretending to be Nancy Drew.
I swore to myself I’d never do something like that again, though it was likely I wouldn’t have a chance.
I also wondered what he was doing here and why.
At least I knew for sure that I hadn’t been mistaken, and those weight discrepancies I had found meant something.
But what?
I still didn’t know.
And worse, I didn’t know that I wanted to find out.
I couldn’t undo what I had done, but did that mean I wanted to go deeper?
I wasn’t sure, and until I decided, the best thing was to keep up appearances, which meant not being late to work.
“Morning,” I said to Carol.
“What’s got you down today, Amy?”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with perkiness I didn’t feel. “Just a rough night’s sleep. Nothing a little java won’t fix.”
“Well, you might want to have two. Your father would like to see you,” she said, leveling me a look that told me she sympathized.
My stomach started to churn.
I didn’t linger on the feeling. Instead, I had my coffee and then cleaned up my already clean office so that there wasn’t a stray piece of paper to be found anywhere. I knew after yesterday I was in no shape to see my father, but I didn’t dare keep him waiting.
So, staring longingly at my second cup of coffee as I left, I made my way to his office.
“He said go on in,” Sandy, his personal assistant said as I approached.
“Thank you, Sandy. And good morning,” I responded with a smile.
