Page 6 of The Bratva's Virgin Bride

“Good.”

I go and check in at the next post and the one after that. I stop at every post and check in with the guards, creeping around quietly to make sure none of them are slacking off, but they're all paying attention and all keeping watch. I feel better knowing no one can hit Roman's place easily. It's not to say they can't hit it at all, but it won't be easy. Riley is safe here. I am good for my word.

I go back to my car and leave the estate, driving back to my offices in the city. The traffic is okay, not backed up like usual, and it gives me time to think about Riley. Her eyes, which seem so lifeless. I wonder what's really going on in that head of hers.

I arrive at my office without incident, and the question is still plaguing me. She's a complete mystery. Shut off from me without any clue as to what's going on. I take the elevator up to my office, where I know I have meetings to attend, but first, I need to figure out how to get Riley out of my head so I can focus. I approach my office and see my own guard, Martin, standing there with his arms crossed in front of him.

“Hello, Sir,” he says in his rough, deep voice.

“Martin,” I greet him. I walk into my office, stop, and walk back out. “Do you know the guest that's staying at Roman's house? The one we rescued from the Vultures?”

Martin nods. “Yes, Sir, I know her.”

“I want you to keep tabs on her the next few days. Tell me what she gets up to, who she interacts with, and what she's like around others. I want to know everything, Martin.” I look at him seriously.

“Yes, Sir, do you know where she is right now?” he asks.

“At Roman's place. Don't let her know that you're watching her. She's kind of jumpy.” I walk back into my office and sit behind my desk. I hear his footsteps recede down the hall. I check my calendar and I see that I have to arrange supply runs with some of the Mexican drug traffickers. Of course, that's not what is written down, it's all in code. I would never be so stupid as to leave that kind of evidence lying around for the DEA to find. No, it takes one search and if they find shit like that, I'm toast. My family would be in ruin.

I wait about an hour before two men show up at my door. “Mr. Milov?”

“You must be Mr. Garcia and Mr.—” I pause, looking at the other young man.

“Mr. Lopez, my cousin,” Mr. Garcia says. “May we come in?”

“Yes, come in.” I gesture toward two chairs. “Do you want something to drink? Some scotch or whiskey?”

“Whiskey, please,” Garcia says.

I pour them each a fifth of whiskey and hand it to them before I pour my own from the same bottle, just to show them it hasn't been tampered with. I sit at my desk and look at them. “Gentlemen, I believe we can help each other. My family is looking to set up a supply run from Mexico to Las Vegas—something that won't be easily traced.”

They sip their whiskey, listening to my proposition. “We will gladly give a cut to whoever can guarantee us a good supply run that won't be ambushed by the DEA. Now, you're supposedly the best in the industry, which is why I've asked to meet you. I'm willing to give you a ten percent cut of our profits for a good supply run.”

“A good supply run is hard to come by,” Garcia says. “It takes a lot of work and monitoring, not to mention greasing of hands. Ten percent won't cover all of that.” He downs his whiskey and sets the glass on my table. “Now, twenty-five percent, we can talk.”

“Fifteen,” I say. “Which will be very generous, considering our profits.”

Garcia looks at his cousin, then shakes his head. “Twenty, and we have a deal,” he says.

I nod. “I'll have my guys draw up a contract. Twenty percent it is, but I expect there to be no hiccups.”

“There won't be any,” Lopez finally speaks before downing his whiskey.

They leave and I don't give them another thought other than to contact my cousin, a lawyer, to arrange the paperwork. It will all look legal and technical and he will get the details from Garcia about what the supply run will be 'shipping'. It could be anything from fruit to technology. I spend the next few days going over reports, but my mind is on Riley. I am tempted tomessage Martin and ask him what she's been up to, but I know he will report to me at the end of the week. Riley stays at the mansion over the weekend, so there's no point in watching her there.

Time seems to tick by so slowly. I want to see her again, and I don't know why. I can't understand this obsession I have with her. When Friday finally approaches, I wake up in an excellent mood. I know Martin will meet me after work today once Riley is home safely so that I can hear his report. That's why I'm surprised to find him standing outside my office door, waiting first thing in the morning.

“What's wrong?” I ask, walking into my office. He walks in after me and shuts the door.

“I followed the girl like you asked, but I wasn't the only one.” He takes out his phone and scrolls through it until he shows me a photo of a familiar-looking face.

“I know him. I don't know where from, but I know him. And he's been following Riley around campus this whole week?”

“Longer possibly, he seems to know her schedule well,” Martin says. “His name is James, Jimmy to his friends. The Vultures Gang is where he used to call home.”

I look up sharply. “That's when I know the little weasel from. He's one of the lackeys. What's he doing following Riley around?”

“Something nefarious, I'm sure,” Martin says, taking his phone back and scrolling to another photo. “Just swipe left to see more.”

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