Page 78 of Hate to Love You
Pasha
11:49am: SOS-Polina. My office. Now.
“So, when did you get another dog?” Polina asks, looking at me over the rim of her glass.
“What?”
“Well, I thought you got that beast over there for protection,” she says, motioning to Caesar and pushing her lips together in a bitchy little smile. “Which is why I’m confused as to why you needed that stocky little Pitbull bitch out there too.”
I’ve never liked my sister, and even she knows that. But the moment she insults Abigail, I immediately want to grab her by the hair and smash her face into my desk so hard her nose is crammed into her skull. But I can’t.
…And at least not here, where there’s witnesses.
“I know this might seem trivial to you, little sister,” I smile at her, folding my hands across my desk. “But some of us adults have these things called jobs that we do during the week. So how about instead of wasting time on small talk that neither of us really want to have, we skip the pleasantries and go straight to you telling me what you want. That way I can get back to my job, and you can get back to popping Xanax and deepthroating your pool boy?”
Her fake smile instantly fades.
“I don’t know what you think you’ve heard,” she says, scoffing to herself as her face pales. “But you really shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“What do you want, Pol?” I snap, my own smile fading. “I really am a busy man.”
She rubs her lips together before sighing heavily.
“Well, I heard from a friend of a friend that Igor’s second autopsy was stalled. So, naturally I went straight down to the morgue this morning, and talked to some pinch-faced bitch who tells me it wasn’t stalled. No, no, it was canceled! Can you believe that shit?”
“You know for once your gossip actually has paid off,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Because it was.”
“What?!” She scoffs, her jaw dropping. “By who?”
“Me.”
The joy I get from watching the utter shock on my sister’s face is unparalleled. I’m convinced I’d happily give her my entire bottle of bourbon just to enjoy this moment once more.
“Why, Roman?!” She demands when I don’t answer.
“Polina, we aren’t the only ones who have people downtown,” I say slowly, as if I am explaining a difficult concept to a child. “And I’ve gotten wind, from my own reliable sources, that Cillian’s sources were making inquiries as to the status of your husband’s autopsy. And someone even went as far as to request a death certificate.”
“B…but…” she breathes, still clearly stunned. “I…don’t understand. If they issued the hit, then why would they need to check how he died?”
“Look at you,” I gasp condescendingly. “Way to go! Using your head for once and finally asking the right questions! You know, I bet if you think real hard about it, you’ll be able to answer that question.”
“Fuck you, Roman!” Polina snaps at me. “You know as well as I do it was a hit!”
“According to the coroner, it was a heart attack,” I shrug.
“Oh, come off it! You know it was a hit! And I want to see someone punished and I don’t think that you’re doing anything to—”
But before Polina finishes her sentence, Pasha bursts into my office.
“Roman,” he gasps, clearly winded. “I need you…it’s…it’s…an…emergency.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “What is it?”
“It’s Raquel,” he says, walking over to the other chair in my office and plopping down.
“Who?” Polina and I both say at the same time.
“Raquel?” Pasha says, looking at us both like we are the ones not making any sense. “The Miss Hawaiian Tropics Winner?”