The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

More tears spring to my eyes. Every thought I have just makes me cry. I can’t seem to shut off the waterworks to save my life.

“What did you do?” I finally manage to ask. “How did you find me?”

“I called your mom to ask about the bed rest thing. Just to make sure you’re really all right and didn’t need anything. And she told me you weren’t on bedrest that she knew of because you’d shown up to your dad’s rehab with a Russian. And I put it together. I flew out here and checked your apartment and, of course, you weren’t there on bedrest.

“That’s when I called the cops. Your mom told me the Russian was a client, so they got his name and address from the file and, guess what? He’s on the FBI’s watch list for smuggling.”

I bury my head in my hands. Smuggling. Yes, I’d guessed that match.

“Smuggling what?” I mumble to the table.

“Russian antiquities. It’s illegal to take them out of Russia, but he’s got some kind of direct line for them. Probably going through that diplomat he came to Black Light with.”

“Gretchen. You have to get me out of here.”

“They really want a statement from you, Luce. They’ve been looking to get something on these guys for a long time. You could be their ticket.”

Up until now, I’d been lost. Like I got thrown off the boat and was flailing around, trying to find a buoy to hang onto. I didn’t know which shore to swim to.

But the moment Gretchen tells me that, I pick my side.

I crumple the empty Oreo wrapper and throw it at the observation window. “Not going to happen,” I say, glaring at the one-way glass. “I’ve been on bed rest, and I moved in with the father of my child, so he could take care of me. End of story.”

Gretchen’s eyes narrow. She knows it’s not true.

“Now get me out of here.”

She covers my hand. “You’re sure? That’s your statement?”

“Get me out of here.”

Gretchen gets up. “Yep. I will get you out of here right away.” She strides out of the room, every inch the barracuda lawyer, herself, when she wants to be.

It takes twenty minutes. I give the statement I gave Gretchen, and then she hustles me out by the elbow to a cab outside.

Chapter 18

Lucy

It’s not until after I’ve eaten a meal and cried my last tears that I can even function. Gretchen hangs around my apartment making tea, sitting quietly near me, waiting for me to talk.

Finally, she says, “So talk to me, please. I had it right, didn’t I? Were you in trouble?”

I nod, mutely. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I couldn’t stand the thought of the feds going after Ravil, and I don’t like the idea of Gretchen hating him, either.

It’s strange that I would feel protective of him, but I do.

“I know you don't want to, but I think you need to.”

“You need to get them out of custody. The feds have nothing on them, unless they found something when they searched the penthouse.”

God, I hope they didn’t find anything.

Gretchen blinks at me. “You want me to act as their attorney? After I blew the whistle?”

“I think Conflict of Interest might come into play if I do.”

“Seriously? That man kidnapped you, right? Tell me what happened.”

“His name is Ravil. Ravil Baranov. I’ll tell you what happened if you get them out of there.”

“I’ll get them out of there when you tell me what happened,” she counters.

We stare at each other at an impasse.

“I don’t know if you’re in the proper state of mind to make this decision,” she explains.

“You see!” I point a finger at her. “That’s why I won’t tell you until it’s done.”

She raises her brows. “Because I won’t want to after you do?”

I purse my lips. “I need this from you, Gretchen. That’s the father of my child.”

“Let me ask you this: do you want me to get them out of there because you’re scared of him? Or because you’re in love?”

I shake my head. “I’m not scared,” I say. And it’s true. Yes, it’s possible Ravil will go through with his threat to carry me off to Russia because he believes I triggered the arrest, but I can’t bring myself to believe it. And honestly? As long as he was there with me, I’m not sure I would mind it so much.

“So you’re in love.”

My hand trembles as I lift the cup of tea to my lips. “I guess I am.” I’m in love with Ravil Baranov, head of the Chicago Bratva, known smuggler, murderer and criminal.

Father of my child.

It’s a terrible match, and yet I can’t imagine any other man in my life. He’s the one.

The man who understands me. Protects my pride, takes care of my needs, cherishes me. I love him.