Page 7 of Deadly Devotion

“Was there anything about this girl that would make you think she killed my brother?”

“No,” they reply in unison.

“Hmm.” My eyebrows pinch together as I think over their quick responses. “You can leave,” I tell Tony. “Phil, bring me the men one at a time.” Phil rushes out of the office, eager to get this over with.

Closing my eyes, I think about the last time I spoke to Mikhail. Three days ago, he stopped by my estate to see his children. Sasha and Maxim were excited to see him, and I could tell he did his best to hide the fact that he was drunk. After Anya died, Mikhail couldn’t take care of them. He spent his nightsdrinking to numb the pain. No matter how strong his love was for his children, the pain of losing Anya was stronger. They’ve been with me for two years, and I love them like my own.How am I going to tell them Mikhail is gone?

Phil clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts. Opening my eyes, I see he brought the silver-haired man with him. “Take a seat,” I instruct.

He sits in the chair across from me while Phil sits nervously on the sofa. “Mr. Avilov,” he begins in his raspy voice, heavy with a Greek accent. “My name is Georgio Bouras. I’m associated with the Velentas family. I told you earlier everything I know.”

The Velentas family is also known as the Greek American mafia in New York City. I’ve had dealings with them through my art gallery. That doesn’t mean I like them or thismudak.Crossing my arms over my chest, I study him before asking, “Was my brother winning or losing money before he got up from the poker table?”

Georgio admires the gold ring on his pinky finger before answering. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but your brother is known for losing.”

My temper is beginning to flare again. Not because he’s lying, but because my brother is dead, and I need to hit something. Or better yet, maybe I should just shoot him between the eyes. That might take the edge off. “I appreciate your honesty,” I say dryly. “Did he owe you money?”

“No…no, he always paid up at the end of the night. He might have been known for losing, but he was also known for having plenty of cash on him for gambling and booze.”

He leans back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankle. My gut tells me he didn’t have anything to do with Mikhail’s death. I nod toward the door without saying a word, indicating he may go.

I speak with the other men and come to the same conclusion. They had nothing to do with Mikhail’s death. Dimitri closes the door and sits on the sofa.

“What do you think?” I ask, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“I don’t know what the hell to think,” he says, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

“It wasn’t anyone here so that leaves two options. It was the waitress that disappeared, or someone snuck into the VIP area and killed him.” I stand behind the desk to stretch out my legs. “We need to find out more about this mysterious waitress.”

“Let’s go ask around the club. Someone must know something about her,” Dimitri suggests.

Chapter 5

Talia

I’m pacing the aisles of the 24-hour grocery store, trying to think of my next move. I can’t go back to the club to retrieve my belongings, so I have to make my way back to the apartment. Behind the counter is a young guy with a nose piercing and a neck tattoo. Taking a deep breath, I steady my nerves.

“Excuse me,” I say politely. “My purse was stolen when I left work. My cell phone and money were in it. May I use your phone to call my sister?” I give my best damsel in distress look, and it seems to work.

Ring, ring, ring, ring.Chewing on my lower lip, I silently beg the universe to help me.Come on, Sandy, answer your phone.She never picks up calls from unknown numbers; as myluck would have it, she doesn’t pick up this time either. I make a flash decision not to leave a message since the clerk is staring at me…well, at my boobs…and I don’t want him to hear what I have to tell her.

I know I must leave the store to return to the apartment, but my paranoia seems to get the best of me. It’s trying to convince me that the minute I step out of the store, that killer is going to put a bullet in my head. Circling my tattoo with my thumb, I think back to when I got it. Sandy planned to move to New York and wanted me to go with her. I had just started my job at the Rum Room in San Francisco. I wasn’t ready to leave the city, so after a night of lousy tequila and tacos, she dragged me to a crappy little tattoo shop to get matching tattoos. I got this tiny black bird sitting on a wire, and she got a small black bird with wings spread wide soaring across the sky. She said she’d always be with me, looking out for me, no matter where her wings took her. And she has kept that promise. Now, I need her more than ever, and I don’t know how to reach her.

You can do this.Pumping myself up with confidence, I exit the store, looking up and down the street for signs of the killer. The only people I see at this late hour are a young couple holding hands heading into a bar across the street and a group of girls giggling in front of a coffee shop.

Walking briskly, I stick close to the buildings, my instincts telling me it’s safer than being out in the open. I rub my arms to warm up, then wrap them around my body. I made it down the street safely, but now I must cross the open intersection.The crosswalk signal blinks, letting me know it’s safe to cross. Halfway across, my feet freeze in place. There’s a man half a block away walking toward me. It’s him, I know it is. It looks just like him.

Oh my god, he’s going to kill me.My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest that I don’t hear the car horn beeping at me to get out of the way. I can’t move or scream; I’m just frozen in the middle of the intersection. The car swerves around me, an older man cursing at me as he whizzes by. The man across the street is running toward me now. I can’t breathe as he gets closer and closer. Running into the street, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me onto the sidewalk.

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking me to see if I’m hurt.

Blinking rapidly, I regain focus. Realizing it’s not the killer and just a man that saved me from getting run over, I suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay. I couldn’t breathe for a minute, but I’m okay now. Thank you for helping me.” Turning away from him, I hastily walk down the street, leaving him there shaking his head in dismay.

I travel ten more streets before ducking into a laundromat. Two college kids are making out while their clothes spin around and around in the washing machine. Sitting in the corner, I pull off my high heels and rub my sore feet. I just need a minute to rest, warm up, and collect myself. My anxiety is off the charts, and if I don’t calm down, I won’t make it to the apartment.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I sit huddled in the corner. Being surrounded by the steady hum of washing machines and occasionally clinking coins in dryers gives me temporary sanctuary. Clutching my belly protectively, I attempt to steady my pounding heart that continues to race with fear and adrenaline. Witnessing a murder, a cold-blooded act of violence, shattered my sense of safety.

The streets outside are dark and deserted, and my tiny apartment seems impossibly far away. A shadow falls across thelaundromat’s glass door as I collect my thoughts. My breath catches in my throat. Peering cautiously over the top of a folding table piled high with clothes, I see a man silhouetted against the dimly lit street.

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