Page 11 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

“Hmm, and how many keys would you want to move for the month?”

The answer doesn’t come as a pounding resounds on the office door sending me into fight mode. Drawing my gun without flinching, Jarvis’s mouth flies open.

“Holy shit! What the fuck is going on? Are you being raided?” he squeaks, horrified with the loud thumping on the front door.

“Stay here, and don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” A flash of anger surges through my system as the perpetrators make themselves known.

“Chicago Police Department, open up!” a voice booms on the other side of the door.

Oh. This must be about Willy. Rising from my chair stoically, I gesture with my hand for Jarvis to stay put in the boardroom.

“This has nothing to do with you. Sit tight.” My associate knocks on my office door just as I exit it.

“The police are here,” he advises.

“No shit. They can come in. I’ve got nothing to hide.” My associate walks ahead of me, answering the door, a full team of Chicago officers all sardined in at the entrance of my office door.

Who the fuck tipped them off? I clamp down on my jaw, irritated that they’ve fucked up my morning meeting, but play it off with an inviting smile, gesturing sweetly for them to enter.

“Come on in, Officers. Have a seat in my waiting area. It’s nice to see you on this crispy Chicago morning,” I say to them sarcastically, the head of this stupid operation far from impressed.

“Cut the bullshit. You know why we’re here,” the man in charge booms, throwing his weight around and flashing his badge quickly. The pipsqueak is no match for me, and if he wasn’t a cop and didn’t have his little crew members, I’d be inclined to snap him in half.

“Do I?”

“Yes. I’m Officer McGloughlin, and I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

“That’s more like it. Questions. I like questions because I can answer them,” I fly back at him, now turning the ordeal into a game.

“Maybe you won’t like the questions because right after you answer them, we’re taking you down to the station.” The officer asserts himself by stepping forward, his eyes charged with hatred and his hand itching on his gun.

“And why would you want to take me down to the station?” I say to him, playing dumb.

“Because you’re under arrest,” Officer McGloughlin states with a slight Irish accent, I suspect. His hair is short and cropped, a salt and pepper mix, and it looks like he’s on the road to retirement. I keep this nugget of information stored in my memory for ammunition down the line.

“How about we start with the questions first. Seems to be more cooperative to me, don’t you think?” I throw out to my colleague whose face is unflappable and deadpan.

“Sounds reasonable,” he replies in a rumble with his hands clasped in front of him.

“See that’s what I’m thinking—”

“What do you know about William Frances Dee’s death?”

“Who’s that?” Frowning, I add on the mask of concern, deeply excited by the officer’s disgust as the others flank him, their eyes firmly locked on me. Standing loosely, I ease my stance, sitting down at the reception desk. This makes them nervous as one of them pulls their gun.

My eyebrow arches with interest. Fear does something to a man, and this officer looks wet behind the ears and unsteady. Easy target, if you ask me. Ignoring him, I concentrate on the senior officer. “No need to raise your gun; I’m not a criminal,” Itell him innocently. “So, ask me some questions so we can both get on with our days.”

This turns the officer’s face red. “You’ve already lied. We’ve got you on tape with William Frances Dee. It’s obvious you offed him,” the officer states confidently.

“Is it?” I quip. “Let’s hear this tape you have.” I don’t give a fuck if they have a pile of evidence stacked against me. I’m getting away with it. I have the lawyers and deeper networks in the department than they realize. Besides, Willy-fucking Dee was a piece of shit double agent. It was fine for him to accept my money when it suited him, but when he wanted to play hero-good cop, I called him on his bluff.

The officer smugly whips out the tape, playing a voice message.“Ah, this is William Frances Dee, badge number 505, and I want to report I have evidence on Ryurik Utkin and his club operations at Blindside Metro. I’ve identified five keys of coke being distributed in the VIP section of the club.”

I make a noise with my mouth, laughing at the officer. He holds his ground, but I can tell I’ve got him shaken up. “What’s that? You call that evidence? You can’t take me down to the station for that!”

“Oh yes we can,” the officer states firmly, and I’m inclined to go with him because in the long term it’s going to work better for the Bratva. Play his little cooperation games, but not before I toy with the little prick some more.

“How. Explain it?” I gesture, the officers getting fidgety around him as I think about the fact I’ve got Jarvis locked in my office to discuss New York distribution channels right now.

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