Page 24 of Luca
“Don’t remember,” I said. I was no fucking snitch, but I would report the attack because it might prove useful later.
“Knock you out, did they?” his grin widened.
“Something like that,” I said, staring at him.
“You won’t have seen them then?” His smug grin made me itch to punch it off his face.
I stared hard at him, saying nothing, until he gulped and finally wiped the smirk off his face. “Nope.”
He nodded, avoiding my eyes and not looking quite as fucking smug anymore. Fucking arsehole!
“I’ll write up a report. Let’s get you to the doc,” he said before escorting me to the medical room.
A short while later, my wound was dressed, and I’d received some painkillers. Returning to my cell with an ice pack for my swollen eye, I reflected on my luck. Despite the blows I’d taken, only bruised ribs, a shallow knife wound, and a badly swollen eye remained. The question lingered—how long could that luck last without proper allies? Outside my door, the two Irish guys awaited me, along with several others scattered along the walkway.
Sean stepped forward, his gaze steady. “You ready to talk?”
I nodded, a cautious optimism flickering in my chest. Could these guys be the allies I desperately needed?
CHAPTER 15
CLAIRE
TWO DAYS LATER – WORKING WITH LUCA’S LAWYER
It had been two days since Luca was remanded, and I kept myself busy by taking some annual leave to assist Miki’s old lawyer, Bradley Kozlov, with preparing his case. Recovering from a heart attack and double bypass surgery, he looked frail, sitting in bed, forced there by his wife, who insisted that bed rest was “doctor’s orders.” His ashen complexion made him appear tired, yet his eyes sparkled with life.
Despite my reservations about working with him, he turned out to be the most charming person I’d ever met—so knowledgeable.
“You seem to remember everything,” I said in awe as he recited details from past trials and verdicts effortlessly. His sharp mind impressed me, and I could hardly keep up with the wealth of information he shared.
As we took a short break for tea, I decided it was time to learn more about the man behind the Bratva façade. I couldn’t shake the nagging curiosity about how he ended up in this position.
“Kozlov is Russian, right?” I asked.
“It is, indeed, young lady,” he smiled warmly.
“When did you come to the UK?”
“I was born here. You see, my father fled Russia during the Second World War. He had been forced to fight for a cause he didn’t agree with and hated every minute. He was part of the occupying forces in Poland, and as soon as the war ended, he came to the UK. Later, he met my mother and made a home here,” he replied.
“Is that how you became Bratva? Were you born into it like Miki and the others?”
“No, my dear,” he chuckled. “There was no Bratva when I was born—at least not in the UK. They came much later. I had already passed the bar and been a lawyer for some time before I even met Miki’s father.”
I tilted my head, curious. “How did you meet Alexi Rominov?”
“Ah, that’s a story worth telling,” Bradley said, leaning back in his chair. “We first crossed paths at a charity golf tournament, paired with mutual friends. Over the course of the day, we shared our views on the chaos in the Russian community here.”
“What kind of chaos?” I asked, sensing a deeper story.
He sighed, nodding thoughtfully. “Infighting, power struggles. It was a mess. But Alexi? He was sent here to restore order, and he succeeded, even if it took time.”
His expression turned serious as he continued, “But it wasn’t until one fateful night that our connection deepened. My son got into trouble after a night out, finding himself in a precarious situation with the local authorities.”
“Oh no,” I said, my heart racing at the thought.
“Yes. It was nothing too serious—just drunk and disorderly and vandalism. But he was studying medicine at the time, and it threatened his scholarship.”