Page 54 of Stolen By The Bratva King

“I told the cunt to get out of town and stay gone. Someone probably clued him in on my identity, and he wisely got the fuck out of the city, if not the state.”

Viktor sounds distracted. “Yeah, maybe. But his name turned up on a receipt when I pulled that dossier together on all his financial dealings. The trafficker’s boat is called The Cobra, right?”

I sigh. “Yes. Fucking idiot macho name for a beat-up motor cruiser.”

“In that case, Dante may have sold it to them. I had to do a forensic analysis of the documents, but one of Firenze’s shell companies listed the boat as an asset. I’m still digging.”

Emery’s ex-fiancé fancied himself as dangerous, trying to threaten me with his so-called ‘connections.’ He understood his mistake soon enough, but could the little bastard have had his fingers in some dirty pies? It would make sense; he wasn’t familiar with New York. He didn’t know enough about the movers and shakers of the underworld to understand what a bad idea it was to set up his nasty little racket on my turf.

“Interesting,” I say. “Where’s The Cobra now? Has anyone seen it recently?”

“That’s the other thing; it’s vanished. We have watchers, but no one has seen it since the raid. That or they’re simply not telling for some reason, but I can’t see why anyone would defend some new kid in town.”

I rub my face with my palm. “Okay, look. Keep eyes on the water, and see if you can find anyone who knows those skeevy fucks Dante has on his payroll. I killed a couple of them, but you know how it is. They’re like roaches.”

“What do you wanna do if The Cobra shows up someplace?” Viktor asks.

“Let me know,” I reply. “But I wouldn’t bet on it. If Dante Firenze has any sense, he’s long gone by now.”

31

Emery

Iarrive at the hospital just as the first streaks of sunrise pierce the slab of gray cloud overhead. I’ve barely slipped into my scrubs before Jess is hammering on the changing-room door.

She sounds stressed already; it’s gonna be one of those days.

I dash out to attend to a teenager whose boyfriend brought her in, a kid who probably already has a rap sheet a mile long.

While I’m sure he has something illegal in every pocket of his filthy cargo pants, it’s not my business, unlike the split lip and swollen eye socket of the mousy girl at his side.

“What happened?” I ask her.

Her boyfriend is quick to jump in. “Her name is Pippa. She was pitching for me, and we were goofing around. I caught her with the bat. Total accident.”

I’ve seen baseball injuries before, and this is not one. The boy is practically an adult, but this girl is younger, and the fear rises from her like a stench that won’t wash off.

It’s a feeling I know all too well.

I address the boyfriend. “I didn’t ask you, Mr…”

He doesn’t take the hint to give me his name. Instead, he folds his arms, giving me a flint-like glare.

Yep.This little punk has been inside already, and his attitude gives him away just as much as the blurry amateur tattoo on his bicep.

Jess appears at my side, gesturing for Dwight to follow her.

“No,” he snaps, grabbing Pippa’s hand. Her shoulders tense, and my gut tightens. “She needs me here.”

I nod at the security guard lingering nearby, who steps forward without hesitation. Dwight releases Pippa with a scowl.

“Fine, asshole. I’ll go get some of that shitty coffee and relax, shall I?”

“Good idea,” I say.

I lead Pippa into the triage area and pull a curtain around, shielding her from the bustling ER. She sinks into a chair, her head in her hands.

“Dwight isn’t a bad person,” she says in a small voice. “He’s had a hard life too. And I can be annoying sometimes.”

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