Page 86 of Bratva Prisoner
Footsteps in the hallway signal Troy’s return. Without thinking, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, pouring every ounce of love and faith and promise into it. She melts against mefor just a moment, letting me feel how much she’s missed this connection.
“Two days,” I whisper against her lips.
“Two days,” she agrees.
I slip back toward the door, pausing only long enough to memorize the sight of her straightening her clothes and preparing to resume her performance. In forty-eight hours, this nightmare will be over.
And then I’m taking her home where she belongs.
Chapter 24 - Alyssa
Pretending to find Troy charming might be the most difficult acting job of my life, but somehow I manage to giggle at his stupid joke about offshore banking.
“You’re so clever,” I coo as I lean across the small table like I’m hanging on his every word. The wine glass in my hand feels heavy as lead, but I take another sip to maintain the illusion that I’m relaxed and happy to be here. “I never realized how complicated your business was.”
Troy’s chest puffs up with pride, and he reaches across the table to squeeze my fingers. His touch makes my skin crawl, but I bite my lip to avoid scowling. “Most people don’t appreciate the sophistication required for what I do. It’s not just about moving product; it’s about logistics, timing, market analysis.”
“Tell me more,” I breathe, batting my eyelashes as if I’m genuinely fascinated by his criminal empire instead of gathering evidence to destroy it.
He launches into another explanation of supply chains and distribution networks, and I nod along as I parse through the details for something useful. Names, locations, operational procedures—all of it gets filed away in my memory for later use. The bourbon he’s been drinking has loosened his tongue considerably, which works perfectly for my purposes.
“The beauty of diversification,” Troy continues, “is that when one revenue stream faces challenges, others pick up the slack. Like when the weapons market got tight last year, we pivoted to more… specialized merchandise.”
“Specialized how?” I ask, though I think I have some idea.
“High-value, low-volume goods. Clients are willing to pay premium prices for unique inventory.” He leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “Much more profitable than moving drugs or guns in bulk.”
“That sounds intriguing,” I manage, though my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. “What kind of unique inventory?”
Troy pops his lips and replies, “Young assets with long-term potential.”
The euphemistic language doesn’t hide what he’s really talking about, and bile rises in my throat. Children. He’s talking about trafficking children, and he’s describing it like a legitimate business venture.
“How young?” I whisper, praying I’ve misunderstood.
“Depends on the client’s preferences, but typically between eight and fourteen. Old enough to be useful, young enough to be… malleable.” He takes another swig of bourbon, completely oblivious to my horror. “We’ve got a dozen units in rotation right now, with more coming in next week.”
Units. He’s calling children units like they’re pieces of equipment instead of human beings. I swear, I want to vomit all over his expensive shoes.
“Where do you keep them? It must be hard to avoid suspicion.” I ask through a throat that feels like it’s closing up.
“Safe house on the east side. We converted a former manufacturing facility into specialized housing. Climate-controlled, security systems, the works. Clients appreciate knowing their investments are well-maintained.”
I memorize the description while fighting to keep my face neutral. A former manufacturing facility on the east side with climate control and security—that should be enough for Maksimand his brothers to locate it. Once we have the children safely extracted, we can focus on destroying Troy’s entire network.
“You’re amazing,” I tell him with a sigh. “I had no idea you were running such a sophisticated operation.”
“Most people underestimate what’s required to succeed at this level.” He refills his glass from the bottle on the table, and I notice his words are starting to slur. “But you understand quality when you see it. That’s why we work so well together.”
The delusion is incredible. He genuinely believes I’m impressed by his child trafficking empire, that I’m proud to be associated with his horrific crimes. The disconnect between his perception and reality would be laughable if it weren’t so sickening.
“I should probably use the restroom,” I announce, standing from my chair. “All this wine is catching up with me.”
I walk toward the indicated direction, but instead of heading to the bathroom, I slip into an empty room and pull out my phone. My fingers shake as I compose a text message with the location details, but before I can hit send, footsteps in the hallway make me freeze.
“Alyssa?” Troy’s voice carries a note of suspicion that wasn’t there before. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I call back, quickly deleting the unsent message and shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Just freshening up.”
