Page 29 of Secret Mafia Daddy

Don’t ask me why a Russian mob has a base as an Italian restaurant.

When I arrive there, I smile at the hostess, who’s a cute little redhead with blue eyes. She doesn’t have a Russian accent, so I’m sure she’s just a local.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I croon. “I’m looking for Alexei.”

She blinks. “I don’t think he’s working today.”

“It’s important,” I insist, leaning across the podium to look into her bright eyes. “I have something for him.”

I hold up the empty briefcase, which I’d dumped out back at my apartment before leaving.

Her blue eyes widen and then she smiles.

“Right this way, sir,” she says, taking the bait.

When I head into the door, the man in question is looking down at his desk, frowning at some numbers.

I shut the door behind me and he looks up, his eyes widening before they throw daggers at me.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, his voice low and with a thick Russian accent.

I grin at him as I step casually around his desk. When he tries to get up and face me head-on, I punch him in the bridge of his nose. Blood bursts out of it and he yelps but I quickly pull him to his feet, turn his back and press it against my chest as I clamp my hand over his mouth.

“I need everything you’ve got on that strip club outside of town,” I say. “We’ve tried to do this the easy way.”

I know that because Dante never sends me unless he’s already tried everything else. He doesn’t much like my tactics, but they get shit done.

“It’s just a strip club!” he insists, his words muffled under my hand.

I slowly remove it. “Bullshit,” I answer. “It’s a front, and we need to know who’s running drugs into this city.”

We run all the drugs in and out of this city, thank you very much.

“How should I know?” Alexei insists, and I tighten my arm around his neck, closing off his airway for a few seconds. with my other hand I press on his nose and I guess it hurts a bit because he tries to scream, but the air is not there.

We play this game for a bit until he almost passes out from lack of oxygen a few times, and I have to slap him or press down on his broken nose with the heel of my hand to force him to answer my questions. After about thirty minutes, he finally relents and groggily says, “It isn’t me.”

“What do you mean, it isn’t you?” I ask.“It’s the Russians running drugs through there, and maybe some girls, too.”

I take in a breath. Sex trafficking is a big no-no for Dante. For me, too.

Women aren’t possessions. They aren’t things to be used and abused at will. They are to be loved, cherished, pleasured.

Having a little girl, the thought of trafficking women makes me doubly sick to my stomach.

I exit the restaurant covered in Alexei’s blood, knuckles busted, and adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream. I don’t love it, but someone has to do this job and I need the money. I nod at the hostess as I leave. Her face goes sheet white.

I guess she’ll probably be in trouble after this, and though the thought of her coming to harm because of this is troublesome, she made her own choice when she took that job. Those are the breaks for working for the mob, Italian or Russian.

The Bratva have been brave the last few months, and Dante has been having a hard time with them, so I’m not surprised he sent me, the last resort.

Nico’s the one who does most of Dante’s dirty work, but of course, he’s been busy with the new wife and baby.

I have my own wife and baby now, so maybe I should take a break.

Nah. The money is welcome, even more now that my life has changed so much unexpectantly.

Back at the penthouse, I pray that Chelsea’s still asleep, and she is. It’s only taken me a couple hours there and back, so it isn’t so bad.

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