Page 101 of The Boss
“Um, no one named Vix works here…sir?” she adds the word with caution. I get it. I saw myself in the hand mirror in the woods.
“Trust me, go to your boss and tell them to tell their boss to telltheirboss that I am here to see Vix. Now.”
She leaves behind a security door. Minutes tick by like decades. She said Vix’s name loud and clear. No one’s come out. There are probably three cameras in here. I’m dead.
I’m fucking dead!
“Right this way,” I hear finally. I force myself not to sprint up to follow her behind the front door. There’s a lock and a security guard. So I was probably right. This is a Russian front.
“You can wait in here,” the receptionist says awkwardly as she opens the door to a small office.
“Thanks,” I say.
When she closes the door I hear it. The door doesn’t snick closed, it sucks.
This is not an office. It’s a safe room. Or a holding cell.
Either way, I’m locked in Russian territory with no way out.
Damn it!
CHAPTER 45
Luna
Marlon squeaks when the door pressurizes thirty-two minutes later. I school my features but if I wasn’t so dehydrated I probably would’ve peed my pants at the sound.
Could be Quinn to collect me. Could be his mysterious boss to kill me. Could be a Russian to torture me. Could be my best friend’s fucking senator spy husband sent to abduct me and blame it on someone else!
But it’s…a teenage girl? Or maybe she’s twenty? Hard to say. White blonde hair, bleached, straight and sleek. She has huge eyes and a unique way about her. Totally stunning.
“That is not a very good disguise,” she says, her voice matter of fact, when she walks in. She just stands at the door looking at me, then Marlon, then me again.
“Not much I could do with almost-black hair. A shaggy, blonde, man’s wig had to work.”
“Yes and you’re built to pull off men’s clothing, too, but the nose is falling off a bit.”
I huff what might be a laugh if I wasn’t dead inside and completely broken from the last twenty-four hours. “Got me here, didn’t it,Vix?”
“True,” she admits. So this is Vix. Huh. She asks, voice still almost monotone, “Why are you here?”
“I have information.”
“In exchange for?”
I roll my eyes, “Power, obviously.”
She narrows her young eyes at me, “Be more specific.” She’s an odd one. Not a big fan of eye contact. Expressionless.
“I’ve been spying on Quinn for months. I want to be the Italian Don. Yes, instead of my own father and definitely instead of his moron Bosco. I can’t overthrow him on my own because I’m a woman.”
“Okay, what’s the information?” She tries.
I glare at her, “I’m happy to tell you that,” her brow quirks, “as soon as we’re in a room with your dad.”
“He’ll never agree to a meeting with you.”
“Your brother then.”
