DECEPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

My stomach churned.

"Let me get back to you." Brad squeezed the bridge between his eyes. "I will make the call. Stay near the phone." In no time, he called upon another contact and demanded answers. "I got your email. What happened?"

I should not be listening, but it's hard not to. I sat next to him, catching the one-sided conversation with inexplainable dread.

"This is bullshit." Brad wiped a light layer of sweat on his forehead. "Then, how did the car get into the water?" Another suspenseful pause. "No, I do not buy it. He was living his best life, that's why." His tense shoulders were hunched forward. "That man did not release the handbrake, shoot himself and roll into a lake."

There is never a dull moment when he is around. I overhear all sorts of gruesome stories.

"Wrong. Suicide is not preceded by warning—because suicidal people do not premeditate the disposal of their own goddamn bodies," he whisper-shouted to get the message across. "If he wanted a way out, he'd have topped himself on the side of the road. Who, in the wrong frame of mind, worries about exposure or witnesses?"

I mean, I don't know the whole story, but his argument made sense.

"He is no hero." Brad breathed out a quiet laugh. "He got whacked." His face was a portrait of incredulous disbelief. "How do I know? Because I am very good at my job."

Again, I sipped water to quench my thirst and unpreventable inquisitiveness.

"I want a file in my hand by tomorrow morning." Rudely, he hung up on the person and buzzed another friend. "Where have you been? I haven't heard from you in weeks. It is not good enough."

Unlocking my phone, I downloaded two games from the App Store to keep myself busy.

"I received an email." Brad, riddled with nerves, is on the edge of his seat. "Dane Russell was found dead in a suspected suicide." The man on the other end of the phone is much louder than the previous callers. He hit the roof, screaming blasphemous thoughts into Brad's ear. "Exactly! You took the words right out of my mouth." He beamed with a big smile as if to say, hallelujah, someone is listening to me. "A spring clean."

A spring, what? I wish I understood criminal jargon.

"What does this mean for Warren?" Our eyes find each other for a brief second. "Russell was assigned to protect him."

I felt the stress coming off him in waves.

"This has Italian blood all over it." Brad's face fell. "Warren is backed into a corner. Isolation." A toothpick appeared, and he unconsciously stabbed the sharpest point into the tip of his thumb until spots of blood specked across his skin. "To put a hit on him."

Removing the toothpick from his hand, earning myself a look of disapproval, I rolled down the window and chucked it on the floor.

"You need to visit Belmarsh. No, fuck that. Warren does not have a say in the matter. You are the law. Just wave an identity card and get in a room with him. Bishop," he warned, and goosebumps raked all over my body. "I will wring your fucking neck. I want an update by tomorrow night, or I am coming for you."

A sudden chill danced down my spine. I should have stepped out of the car and pretended to be interested in the brick wall. I am not cut out for death threats and potential homicides.

"Find out how long Russell's been out of the office and if the prison hired a new governor recently." He mused how to convey a message without the awareness of the red-faced passenger. "If so, I need an address...to swing by for a cup of tea."

A cup of tea? That is code for being under investigation, isn't it? Or worse. He will send someone to an early grave because, in his world, killing someone was expected, a typical day in the office.