Page 14 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

Why hasn’t this guy been caught?Then I see it. A huge amount of the information focused on something called the Omerta Files. Rifling through, I gasp at the names of officers in the department who have been called in for internal investigation and booted off the force. All of them taken down over a twenty-year span.

The Utkins.Fuck, who are these people? Dimitri Utkin. Ruslan Utkin. All of them are involved in a “Bratva” ring. I dart between the information, recalling what I know about the Russian Mafia. If you ask me, they’re a bunch of copycats, mirroring many aspects of the Italian Mafia. Either way, they’re an organized unit of thieves and murderers terrorizing the city of Chicago and they’re going down piece by piece, just like I took down the underground embezzlers.

“This file is too thick. Shit,” I say under my breath, skipping forward to Willy’s notes and the pictures of the Blindside Metro and a bunch of shady-looking men entering through the side. One of them has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a stab pierces through my stomach as I look closer at the shot.

There’s an odd sense of familiarity when I look at the shot, but I can’t place it. And what’s worse is I was partying at this club only a month ago. I hate that the otherwise fun memory is marred by that asshole who thought it was okay to leave money on the nightstand.

A big fat fuck you. Willy’s handwriting is kind of hard to read, but he’s known in the department for leaving notes that read like a diary entry. Settling in, I let his notes sink in.

27. 1. 24. This is insane. I saw their deal right in front of my face. Snorting in the bathroom, and one of the women came out of the bathroom giggling with a couple of guys high as a kite. Illegal prostitution possibly in the mix too. Unconfirmed if Ryurik has awareness or is the ringleader.

There’s so much detail and information it’s making my head swim. Overwhelmed, but not wanting anybody else to know I feel as if I’m drowning in a soup of information, I look up and around the department, hoping nobody notices how much of a fraud I am. Imposter syndrome—alert, alert.

Playing it off, I wipe the tiny beads of sweat off my upper lip flipping over the page, knowing I’ve got my work cut out for me, and I’m going to need a minute to pick up all the key components of the case.

Do what you always do. Pick out the major elements of the case. Sort through the details. What are the missing questions? The holes in the case.

But when I flip the page, all my thought processing flies out the window because the man who I slept with a little over a month ago is staring me back in the face, several glossy photographs in high resolution. The edges of the pictures blur, but there’s no denying those piercing green eyes penetrating the core of my soul. Ryurik’s eyes seem to break you down just with a single stare. He’s wearing the same jacket I saw him take off in the club.

My jaw drops, realizing I’ve been part of the world’s biggest dupe in history. No wonder he wasn’t quick to approach. My stomach spins into a tumbling dryer of emotions, my lunch threatening to project out of my mouth.

Ryurik Utkin is the prime suspect in custody, and if anybody finds out I slept with him, everything is on the line.

Chapter Eight - Ryurik

I’m itching to get out of here despite how upgraded my cell is. I’ve got a business to run, and time, shipments, and contraband are on the line. For me and with my inside connections through the wardens, I’ve been given five-star meals, and able to make important calls to the outside to keep business in order.

Of course, I need to talk in code in case the phone’s tapped, but even if it is, I can make the evidence disappear. I’ve got so many men hooked into their own thriving prison business, it’s almost as if I’m taking a little holiday. Granted the cell is smaller than I want it to be, but it’s something I can live with for a couple of days.

“Hang in here for a couple of days. Your bail’s already covered, but you’re going to pay, I gotta warn you. You’re a prime suspect as a cop killer, so that’s something you must know.” I sit across from my lawyer running through the particulars.

Sneering, I shook my head. “I have you on retainer and I trust you’re going to make these charges go away.Fast.I’ve got work to do, and this is the job I pay you for.” I lean forward, making my point clear to Mason, and he nodded.

“No need to worry. There’s no evidence, and on those grounds alone, there’s no case. Simple as that.”

“Okay, if there’s no case, then what the fuck am I still sitting in this cell for?” I snapped, but Mason shrugged.

“Protocol, and you haven’t been questioned yet. The Bureau of Detectives will bring someone in to talk to you tomorrow. They’re going to shake you hard. There’s a new deputy in charge, and he’s trying to make a good impression andclean up the department. You’re going to be a shining example. Plus, a fucking cop was killed, and someone has to pay for that. One of their own,” Mason whispered as I kept a straight face.

“It won’t be me to pay for the sins of another. I had nothing to do with his death,” I declare, a smirk dancing on my face.

“Correct. And we’re going to make sure that whoever the real killer is, that they’re brought to justice, yes, yes?” Mason smirked right back, playing the game.

“Exactly. Poor William. So much honor. Maybe he wasn’t on his game that night. Pity.”

“Just be prepared. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. Now let’s go over the details from the top.” At that point we rehearse until any possible question the detective could ask me wouldn’t be a surprise. Moreso a nuisance of formality for me.

“Ryurik,” the warden calls out, breaking into the chamber of my thoughts. Standing up, I stretch out feeling relaxed. My hands grip around the iron bars as I smile at the man who’s been the main distributor of drugs on the inside for another Bratva family.

“Ready.”

“Good.He’s out of solitary,” he whispers in a low voice, responding to the favor I asked him for on the first day of arrival. A fresh Bratva member, young and dumb, found himself in a yard brawl, and I asked for him to be given extra grace and moved to a different cell block. I remembered being him, except I never found myself in jail long enough to be in solitary.

“Perfect. Well done. Expect a little extra cushion in this month’s pay packet,” I reply through the edges of my teeth as he clamps the cuffs on my hands in front of me for show, guiding me past the neighboring cells to the interrogation room. I smilethe whole way, knowing many of these men will never see the light of day and might stay locked up for life.

Nodding as the warden drops me off, we speak in a silent language that both of us can comprehend. The door opens, and I’m met with a situation I’ve never faced. Initially her face staring back at me is a sweet gift. Emily. The woman whose curvy body I test drove like a Ferrari last month is going to be the one questioning me. Oh, what a motherfucking treat.

She’s a completely different person today, dressed in uniform, her shirt straining to contain itself against her heaving cleavage, no matter how many buttons it has. Her long brunette hair is slicked back in a neat bun, her face flushed pink, the full mouth I reluctantly kissed on display.

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