Page 17 of Stolen By the Don

Neither makes any difference to me. If he’s here to ask for mercy, he’ll find out that his fate would’ve been better as a fugitive.

I would’ve found him, but that’s beside the point.“Go ahead, Bille.”

“Okay.” His hands fall on his thighs, and he rubs them together. “So, you know I worked for your father. Spent twenty years working alongside him, so I know a lot about this company. I was thinking we could establish trade relations with a wider international market.”

He clears his throat and loosens his tie. “I could go,” he says with a sudden upbeat attitude. “I don’t mind breaking the ground, putting the work in. You don’t have to pay me as much as I earn here. I’ll do anything for this company.”

A low, humorless laugh rumbles from my chest. It startles him—just enough to make him shift in his seat.

“You should’ve run, Billie.”

His eyes widen. The room stretches into a thick silence, broken only by the subtle tick of the clock on the wall.

“You had your chance. You could’ve disappeared, and changed your name. Started over somewhere far from here.” I lean forward slowly, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “But instead, you walked right into the lion’s den, thinking you’d walk out with a promotion? I mean…” I scoff. “I would’ve found you, but you’d have bought yourself some time.”

He swallows hard, his smile twitching at the edges, trying to hold.

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?” I shake my head. “Stealing from my father was the last mistake you’ll ever make.”

“Steal? Me?” he repeats, feigning shock as he presses a hand to his chest like I’ve just accused him of murder. “Why would I do that?”

I stare at him flatly. “You tell me.”

He lets out a shaky chuckle as if the idea is so absurd it’s laughable. “Your father was good to me,” he says, dragging out every word with exaggerated sincerity. “I owe him everything, Mr. Volkov. To think that I’d steal from him? Impossible.”

His eyes widen for effect, but I see right through the act.

“Then I suppose the money you embezzled for Marco Ricci happened on its own?” I say coolly, watching the twitch in his jaw.

The silence that follows is louder than anything else he’s said. “Alex gave up your name.”

His chair scrapes back, and I see his feet point toward the door. He’s getting ready to run.

Too late.

“Alex Hart is the last person you should trust, Roman,” he says, using my name as a desperate last resort. “Your father never did. I knew he was stealing, and I told him to come clean. I never thought he’d turn on me.”

I say nothing.

He’s already dug a hole. I should bury him in it, but I don’t intend on getting rid of him just yet. I look away for a second, and he bolts out of the chair.

The sound of my gun cocking stops him in his tracks. “You might want to reconsider taking another step.”

“Wh—” I smell the same fear Alex showed as he swallows thickly. “What are you doing?”

I point to his chair. “Sit.”

He’s quick to comply, and I place the gun on the table, watching him unfold in terror. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where Marco Ricci is. And before you deny it, know that I don’t have any problem putting the bullet between your eyes. In fact, it’ll bring me much pleasure to do so.”

“I don’t know,” he says, his hands visibly shaking on the table. “The last time I saw him was a week ago. He said he needed some money. A big amount. I told him it would raise flags, but he said he would hurt my kids.”

I shrug, my hand sitting lightly on the gun. “Save your sob story for someone who cares. Tell me where he is, or you mightreallystart worrying about the safety of your children.”

As he fidgets, I reach for my phone and send a message to Leo. A minute later, a video pops up. I press play and slide my phone across to him.

His hand flies to his mouth in a horrified gasp. “My—” He looks at me, eyes wide. “Where did you—where?—”

“I’ll ask one more time. Where is Ricci?”

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