Page 67 of Devious Corruption
“So a different gang?”
“He’s high up in the Italian mob.”
Right. So now we have the Russian Bratva, Armenian gangs, and our newest addition, the Italian mafia, involved.
“You know, I’m just a clerk at a bookstore.” I push off the couch. “I sell books. I clean up the store, and I order supplies and stock. I’m not mafia material. My brothers aren’t mafia material. They’re pettythieves.”
“Maxine.” He says my name like he’s throwing me a life raft, but I ignore it and begin pacing.
“And now there are three…THREE…mafia families, gangs, or whatever somehow involved in my life!”
“It’s a lot.” He agrees. A little too easily.
I stop and twist toward him. “A lot? My brothers are missing. I’m getting shot at. Some pervert was watching me in my window—wait, was that one of them?”
He hesitates but then shakes his head. “It wasn’t him, but one of his friends.”
“Ah. Good. That’s great.” I pick my pacing up again.
“They’ve been taken care of the ones who were watching your window.”
I don’t want to know what that even means. I mean, I know what it means, but I don’t want to know. I desperately want to go back to not knowing any of these things.
“Right.” I nod. “This guy, this shooter guy. I want to talk to him.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not? It’s safe enough if you’re there, right?”
His eyebrows raise. “He’s dead.”
“Because you killed him.” I deadpan. I mean, of course, he killed the guy; he’d been shooting at us.
“I did.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Do you want to know how?”
“No!” I sink both hands into my hair, dragging them through before dropping onto the couch. “Thank you, though, for your honesty.”
“I’ll always be honest,” he answers without pause.
“So. What now? Does Vee know about this?”
“I’m sure Ivan’s telling her. He’s taking her out of town in the morning.”
I blow out a long breath and lean my head back against the couch cushions. “He’s taking her into hiding?”
“He’s taking her somewhere safe, where he knows they can’t get to her.”
“They’re going after her because they’re trying to hurt him.”
“The DeMarco’s and the Volkovs are at war. Them going after Ivan’s woman escalates things. Them shooting at you— that gets me involved.”
“Why?” I lean forward. “No. You’re not involved. I mean, not over me. You don’t even like me.”
I shove off the couch.
“Obviously, I need to find somewhere else to crash. I’m causing you all sorts of trouble with being around you.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Max.”
