Page 65 of Fate and Family

Dimitri pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales his frustration. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“There’s another shipment,” the voice on the phone says, and everything about my boyfriend changes.

His body stiffens and he turns his back to me. He takes a few steps away to the back door. “I can’t. Call anyone else.”

“But….” the voice starts. “Oh shit, what weekend is it?” Dimitri is silent and the voice stammers, “Sorry, I forgot you were off the schedule. I’ll fill you in on Monday.”

My boyfriend hangs up the phone and slides it into his back pocket. He returns to cooking but with his back to me.

“Who was that?”

“A friend,” he grumbles, “who can’t read a damn calendar.”

Vague answer. No eye contact. Stiff back. He’s not lying, but he’s hiding something.

“Should I be worried?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t done before, but this time, the motivation is different.” He pauses and turns to me, the lines around his eyes softening. “And the result is positive.”

My stomach sinks. “I didn’t leave you in Europe just to have you restart your empire here.”

He laughs. Not mean or condescending, but in a good-natured way. “I’m not forging an empire, just doing some odd jobs for the Four Families—people who have taken me in, helped to give me a life and future.” He cocks an eyebrow. “And from what I heard, you’ve been helping them too.”

“All I did was call Alana.”

He smiles at me. “And you saved Thiago’s life. As criminals go, they’re good people.”

The room feels colder as I rub my arms. I know in my gut he’s not wrong. “Are you being safe?”

“As safe as I can be.”

Ugh. New pet peeve unlocked when he uses my own words against me.

He leans against the counter. “No matter what’s going on, I choose you over it. Right?”

I nod and the guilt hits me. Because I can’t say the same.

Chapter

Thirty

Katya

The Deviant’s crew is growing, but it’s sloppy. Five of his sex dens were raided—plenty of tapes and physical evidence to convict—but the women went missing. It’s taken months, but I’ve tracked down a few. They appear to be under the protection of Thiago Ramos.

“Evening, Agent,” he says, leaning against the door of a house I know for a fact his wife and child do not live in.

The house is massive, with three guest houses on the property. I can’t imagine how much it cost or what he did to afford it. And I’m not sure I want to know.

“Good evening. Are you going to invite me in?”

“Depends. Do you have a warrant?”

“No warrant, just curious.”

He steps aside and bows dramatically. “Feel free to check every room, but knock first. The ladies are still getting used to their privacy.”

The interior isn’t set up like a typical house. There are three offices on the main floor, each with nameplates and signs stating whether they’re occupied.

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