Page 17 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy

The Unholy Trinity had found some interesting details about him, and nothing was lining up like it should. Cohen was apparently a partner at the firm. But his promotion was suspiciously sudden—his older co-partner dropped off the map a bit once it was done.

Vlad’s gear had been handy enough when I was keeping eyes on Billie, but the details they’d found about Cohen’s apparent rise to power really got the cogs in my brain turning.

A pissant, shit lawyer at some crappy firm until he’s suddenly backed by a former client, one Mr. Labriola. His clout put Cohen in the firm’s good graces, and after several more cases, seemingly unrelated, the guy was made partner. I’d bet my left nut that it was Labriola’s men ensuring he won at court.

I just couldn’t prove it.

If I had someone on the inside of the firm, near both Cohen and Labriola, I might be able to, though.

Looking back at the phone, I nodded once to myself before typing my email to Billie. It’s good business. It’s…it’s the only fucking way now.

The phone buzzed lightly under my thumbs as I wrote the email.

Ms. Pearce,

You’ve got my attention. I can’t make it to you by noon, however. Would you give me until tomorrow morning to meet both you and Emiliano at the office? I assure you after my business tonight, I’ll be there with you first thing in the morning.

Pietor Vadim

I hit send, slipping the cell in my pocket. Grabbing my leather jacket off the chair near the door, I pulled it on and headed downstairs to the supply room. I needed to be sure I had everything required for this evening’s little errand. I spun the ring on my middle finger as I jogged down the stairs and B-lined it for the basement.

“Where you going in such a hurry, pincushion.” One of the guy’s voices cut through my concentration, and I rolled my eyes at Igor.

“Fuck off. Go entertain your left for a change.”

He just laughed, but he also knew damn well I hated when he called me that. Sure, it was just a jab, and I didn’t care enough to do anything about it. Still, it was my fucking face—and body—so people could get fucked if they didn’t like the piercings.

I didn’t slow my stride as I headed for the supply room. The light automatically came on as I entered, and I grabbed a large black duffle off the rack and walked past. Tossing it down on the large metal table in the center of the room, I released a long exhale as I cocked my head as my phone chimed in my pocket.

I checked the message, and it was an email response from Billie.

Mr. Vadim,

Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with Mr. Labriola. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow morning. Would 8 a.m. be suitable for you? Please just reply to this message with your confirmation.

Thanks again,

Billie Pearce

I shot off a quick reply, saying eight was fine. It wasn’t going to matter anyway. I scanned the loaded shelves around me, unzipping the duffle.

“Time to load up.”

***

Night blanketed the back alley next to Billie’s apartment building in shadow. The silent black SUV was parked behind the spot she used, blocking her car in. I had thick black tacticles on. I wasn’t about to be seen here, and as much as I knew Billie was unlikely to be concealing a gun in there, I knew you could never be too safe.

I waited until I saw the light in her bedroom turn off and then gave it another fifteen minutes to be sure she was asleep. Get in. Get out. Smooth as silk, Pietor. Don’t fuck this up.

Getting my supplies ready, I exited the car, the door slipping into place smoothly with barely a sound. I checked the front stoop of her walk-up. Clear. I’d only be in view of it for a moment, but again, safety first. I circled around the side of the building to the fire escape on the east wall. Using it meant jumping up to pull the first rung of stairs down, and I leaped up, the duffle secured to my back, only jostling slightly.

It came down, and I kept it from slamming loudly by gripping the metal, glad for my gloves. It would’ve torn the skin on my hands to pieces without them. I started my steady climb up to the second-floor hallway, where it met the escape ladder at a grimy window. The latch on the window was rusted but just a simple latch, so I jammed my thin knife through the opening and used it to push the thing over.

With that, I was in.

The window slid open, creaking, and I paused. I ensured the sound hadn’t attracted attention and then slipped inside, carefully leaving the window cracked in case I needed to exit out this way and not through the front as planned. Shimmying through, I landed softly on the matted carpet. Billie’s door was right here, next to the stairwell, which provided easy access.

How very convenient of her.

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