Page 4 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy
“All right, so show me what’s going on.” I propped my leg up on my knee and leaned back in the chair, which creaked in protest.
Reuben snapped to attention as I pulled his focus away from his computer, and he slid over a stack of documents paperclipped together.
Picking it up, I listened to him explain a few details about the suit as I read.
“The club is facing charges of liquor license mismanagement, poor working conditions, employer discrimination, the list goes on. It’s like whoever is doing this is coming up with the most heinous offenses a business can make. I can prove we’re not guilty of most of it, but this is going to take time and resources..”
Tension boiled in my blood, coursing through my muscles like a poison, and I clenched my jaw. The charges, or allegations rather, were laid out in black and white in the documents. It wasn’t good.
That’s when I saw the plaintiff’s name.
“Emiliano Labriola. You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Groaning, I let my head fall back in the chair, instinctively going for my spinner ring as a way to relieve the pent-up energy. This mother fucker. He can’t leave shit alone for two fucking seconds.
“Sir?” Reuben raised his brows, and I scowled as I looked back at him.
He didn’t know all the details of the family’s business. We kept it that way on purpose, but now, well, it looked like I was going to have to clue him into some of it.
“Labriola is a rival Italian family. He’s one of the major players, a Don from their side in town. He’s dirty, involved in all the same shit we are. If he’s suing us, it’s because he has ulterior motives.”
“What…” Reuben looked down at the messy desk piled high with Styrofoam cups and other stacks of reports and then back up, a pained expression on his face. “What do you want me to do?”
“Get those documents. Everything that can support us in one place. Send…damn it. Send the staff home, but they still get paid. I don’t want them around while Emiliano is fishing. They…he’s notorious for taking out civilians, and this ain’t their fault. Tell them there are extensive repairs and refiling that need to be done, but their positions are secure.”
He nodded, putting his hand on the mouse like he was just waiting for me to leave to get started combing the computer for receipts. Good.
“Any news, you call me. I’m reporting this to the family.”
“Understood, sir.”
With that, I got up, taking the papers with me. I was not looking forward to delivering the news to Lev and company, but it had to be done. They all needed to know about this. And I wasn’t about to make a call on how to handle Labriola without talking to them.
***
“Holy fuck, that could’ve gone better.”
I kicked the door to my bedroom shut behind me and shuffled over to my bed. Falling face-first into the silky covers, I just laid there for a moment, trying to level out after having to listen to Lev scream for thirty minutes.
Flipping onto my back, I gazed up at the ceiling. The ornate gold light fixture in here was not my taste, and I rolled my eyes. Neither were the intricately carved ceiling decorations. I mean fuck, were they living in some fluffy French dude’s mansion?
There was a massive rug beneath the bed, too—the thing all swirly patterns in muted shades of taupe and red and blue.
I had some control over my shit back in New York, but moving to Chicago with Lev changed more than just the scenery. And the scenery had changed a lot. Absently, I eyed the cream walls surrounding me, the trim and molding just as elaborate as the ceiling. There were massive floor-to-ceiling drapes in a soft gray color, which were always drawn, and a small selection of furniture tucked in by the windows.
Two chairs, a low coffee table with a marble top, and a tiny ass loveseat that dipped low in the middle to almost look like two separate chairs.
Many people would have said I upgraded, but this shit was frilly at best and not really built for someone six foot four and just over two hundred pounds of muscle. At least the bathroom was massive. Sure, I never used the enormous tub, but the shower could have been a room to itself, and there were two sinks to choose between.
Plus, the place had great WiFi, and I could watch whatever I wanted on the large screen across the room from me. That’s all that really mattered, anyway.
It wasn’t like I was entertaining guests. Ha! No chance.
I needed a shower before passing out, but the thought of getting back up again made a grumble escape me. This was all just getting so damned tedious. It was rote by now, unchanging even as the details switched up. Each day was still just tracking threats, reporting them, sleep.
Every day is the same.
Humming the song by Nine Inch Nails in my head, I dragged myself up and hit my bathroom for a reluctant shower. Once it was running, I undressed and stepped under the spray, scrubbing myself down with some soap. I paid careful attention to my piercings, not looking to snag my fingers on my eyebrow or nose.