Page 14 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy

The humor in Ivan’s voice made me roll my eyes. “Yeah, you know what I mean, asshole. Just get the fucking guy to bring an interpreter or something.”

Another laugh, and I was so ready to be done with this conversation. “Eh, he just uses his phone. Can’t have people knowing our business, after all. I’ll dig in and have him reach out. Check by morning, please.”

With that, Ivan hung up, and I rolled my eyes. All right, maybe not friends. We’re too fucking similar.

I had a few hours to kill before Ivan got back to me with any results. So, I grabbed breakfast and coffee from the kitchen before deciding a workout was in order. Vanity muscles were not a thing here. I needed to be sharp, ready to take down threats that might come for the house, and having a private gym and shooting range in the basement was really fucking helpful for that.

After pulling on some basketball shorts and a pair of sneakers, I jogged down to the gym, heading for the treadmill to warm up. The soft whirring of the machine was a steady rhythm punctuated by my steps. It gave my mind a place to drift off, and I let the “zen” of doing something that didn’t really require my brain take over.

By the time I’d hit up every piece of equipment in the basement and fired off a perfect score on the targets in the shooting range, Ivan had sent me the files he’d found on Billie.

Not bothering to go upstairs, I sat down on the small gym bench and reviewed the documents on my phone.

Billie Pearce is a lawyer at Cohen & Marks Private Law; the bosses are Nicholas Cohen and Bridger Marks.

Marks had started the firm in 2004. He was about to turn 65, and Cohen was acting as the primary partner. He’d taken several cases with recognizable names, and I had a feeling he was likely in with the Italians.

I scanned down the documents to credentials, past, and schooling.

Pearce was adopted into a middle-class family in Chicago as an infant; her parents gave her up with no existing relationship. Attended law school in the city; graduated magna cum laude in university; top marks in law school. Attended via scholarships and grants; poor income family credits and excellent grades.

“Interesting.” I read over the other random bits about her that Ivan had been able to dig up. “No living family and no real friends. Spends most of her time at work with limited posting on social accounts and a low balance in her checking. Shitty apartment downtown, and her biggest purchases over the past three years have been a computer, a car, and a few trips to the tattoo parlor, apparently. Huh. What’s your deal, sweetheart?”

Curiosity built in my chest, too intense to ignore. I stood up, tucking my phone in my pocket, and hurried up to my room to shower and change. I wanted to see more about this, and Vlad didn’t have time to meet about gear until tomorrow.

Some good old-fashioned spying was going to have to do.

***

Vlad had given me the login for Billie’s remote desktop, which she’d installed for work. Sneaking in through that back door, I used the information to pin down her agenda for the day. Billie had a meeting with Emiliano, and that was one conversation that I was not going to miss.

They were apparently going to a restaurant near the art museum. The tourist district was a pain in the fucking ass, but I knew that’s why Emiliano had done it. He’d be too hard to pin down with her in all that commotion. It was also a pretty nice day considering it was just beginning to hit spring, and that meant all the damn people were out, trying to soak up the sunshine.

The reservation they’d set at Renaldo’s was for 1 p.m., so I was sure to arrive there by at least noon. I wanted to scope out the location and find a suitable table to overhear some of their conversation. It only took a little sweet talking to the hostess to find out what table they’d be at and get one nearby.

Billie arrived first, waiting at the table for Emiliano. Her latest attempt to hide her curves was extremely distracting, and I was actually quite delighted to see that she’d chosen to wear her long curls down.

Her thin sweater was a delicate cream, the wide collar exposing a bit of her collarbones. She’d paired it with a loose, plaid skirt that draped effortlessly around her. Simple flats and a thin jacket paired with it, and I had to fight against the desire to slip my hand beneath the layers of fabric.

Just as Emiliano arrived, I refocused, listening to them greet each other at the table for even the slightest hint of foul play.

“Hello, Mr. Labriola. Good to finally meet you in person. I appreciate that you’ve been able to spare this time.”

Billie’s voice was buttermilk smooth.

“Why? My boy, Anthony, not showing you a good time?” Emiliano’s dripped with euphemisms, and I was ready to charge over there and end him on the spot. Mine, fucker.

“No, of course, he’s been polite. I just prefer to work with you directly. It’s difficult to understand your stake in the case through a third party.”

I wanted to distrust her, to not believe a word out of her mouth about just meeting him. But Billie wasn’t lying. She had no idea who Emiliano was and, by extension, no fucking clue what she’d gotten herself into.

Chapter 7 - Billie

When you meet a new client, you’re supposed to reserve judgment. You can’t be biased about their situation. You don’t know everything and must assume they’re telling you the truth.

Not for one fucking second did I believe what my client was spewing.

Emiliano Labriola wasn’t suing Delerium out of the goodness of his heart, and I knew he was keeping something from me. Still, I had a job and promotion on the line, so I tried to endure the lunch as best I could. Which would have been a lot fucking easier if the guy didn’t keep looking at my goddamn tits.

---