The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

“Fine,” Gretchen says. “I’ll go back down there and stomp my feet until they release them. But if anything happens to you… Nevermind. I’ll save that threat for Baranov.” She slings her purse over her shoulder and walks out.

I slump back against the couch and close my eyes. Gretchen will take care of it.

After that? I don’t know what will happen.

Ravil wronged me. He doesn’t get to come collect me again. Not if he wants to stay in this country.

I guess now we sit down and have that negotiation for shared custody I was buttering him up for.

Something painful twists in my heart. Is that really all I want? An amicable shared parenting agreement?

Or is there a way for the two of us to come together for more?

Ravil

It’s late evening. I’ve been sitting in this interrogation room for hours.

I haven’t said a word to them. Not Russian. Not English. They asked if I wanted a lawyer present, and my heart bailed out of my chest, flopping on the floor like a wounded eel.

Yeah, I want my attorney.

Oh, right. My attorney’s the one who put me in here.

It was her friend Gretchen, of course. I knew they’d had a conversation. I’d listened to it. I didn’t hear any kind of hints or veiled secrets passed, but the two are good friends. Maybe there was something I missed.

I can’t even bring myself to be angry that I was bested by Lucy.

I hardly care what they do to me. Whether I find out what it’s like to serve time in an American prison, or whether they send me back to Russia to serve time there. None of it matters compared to the pain in my chest.

The utter destruction of my being when I realized she was faking it all. That she doesn’t care. She was just biding her time until she could get free of me.

I was a fool to think I could make her fall in love. That I could keep her. I was a fool to put the entire operation at risk for something that isn’t even allowed in the bratva.

And this is why, of course.

I just fucked everyone over this woman and my unborn child.

I’ve sat for hours while they tried to interrogate me with threats and intimidation techniques. They are fools if they think their methods will work. I’ve served time in Russian prisons.

I’m not afraid of them.

Two new agents are in here now. They started about an hour ago.

The door opens and one of the guards says, “His attorney,” and hands a card to one of the agents.

Stupid me. For one split second, hope reared its head. But no, it’s not my Lucy. It’s her friend, Gretchen.

If I were smart, I would say she’s not my attorney because I don’t know what game she’s up to, but I’m not smart. I haven’t been smart from the beginning when it comes to Lucy, and right now I need to know if she’s all right. Where she stands.

“I demand you release my client at once,” Gretchen says.

The agent narrows his eyes at her. “Excuse me? Aren’t you the one who notified the police about your friend’s suspected abduction?”

She lifts her chin. “I did, but I was mistaken. As you know from Ms. Lawrence’s statement, there was no abduction. She moved in with her boyfriend and the father of her child. Willingly. There is no reasonable suspicion of a crime. Unless you have something on Mr. Baranov or any of his four associates, I demand their release immediately.”

“Ms. Proxa. From the Attorney General’s office in DC,” one of the agents drawls, looking at her card. “You’re not a defense attorney. Are you even licensed to practice law in this state?”

“I can practice Federal law anywhere, Agent Rossi. As you should know.”

He snorts and folds his arms across his chest, showing how unimpressed he is.

“We’re not finished questioning the suspects.”

Gretchen walks over in her tight brown pencil skirt and stilettos, perches her ass on the table and folds one leg over the other. I seem to recall she is a switch. She does the domme thing very well. “I will advise my client not to answer any further questions.”

Agent Rossi tips his head to the side, taking in the length of Gretchen’s legs. The way she uses her sexuality as a weapon. “I do know I can keep them for twenty-four hours without charge.”

“There’s no reason to do that, Agent Rossi. No crimes were committed. My clients won’t speak to you any more. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you want to get home, too. I apologize for my role in this wild goose chase. To both of you,” she says, nodding my way but not meeting my gaze. It’s an apology she doesn’t mean.

I don’t give a shit, though, because my mind keeps tripping back to what she said about Lucy—the statement she’d given. She moved in with her boyfriend and the father of her child. Willingly.