Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“There’s something not a lot of people know about,” Road said.
Brute stared at the man opposite him. “What?”
“Sergey had a daughter. He called her Angelina, and he doted on that girl. When she was younger, she had gotten sick. I can’t remember, I think it was cancer or something like that. He spent a lot of time at the hospital. Not many people know about his little girl. He kept it quiet as he didn’t want to appear weak.”
Brute was aware of Golubev’s sick daughter. He’d never seen her. Angelina had died at a drive-by shooting outside of a hospital. He knew the streets had run red for days as Sergey made all those responsible pay for what they did.
“What if Faith looked like her?” Road asked.
“I don’t believe Golubev would get sentimental about a child that looked like his daughter,” Brute said.
“Then you don’t know Golubev as well as you think you do. Trust me, from someone who was on their inner fold, he loved that daughter of his. He considered her the most precious thing in the world, and she was.”
Brute pulled out his cell phone.
Krill had sent him the file he’d compiled together regarding Faith Dawson. Once he found a picture of her as a young girl, he held his cell phone up for Road to look.
Road stepped closer, squinting, and then nodded. “She looks exactly like Angelina, and with how he’s treated her, I’d say she has a similar temperament as well.”
“What was Angelina like?” he asked.
“Sweet, charming, she didn’t carry a single evil bone in her body. Even when she was sick all the time, she always found a way to make her father smile, to make anyone smile. She was a good person. Even Sergey knew she didn’t have what it took to survive in the Bratva for long. Sergey will call and if we hurt his granddaughter, then it will be all-out war.”
“Good.” Brute put his cell phone away.
Road nodded and then left.
Brute sat back. He wanted war. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had completely removed everything that was Golubev. That evil fucker was going to pay for everything he had done.
Brute pulled out his cell phone again and brought up the pictures of Faith Dawson. There were not many. Most of them were taken at graduation when she was eighteen years old. There was one with Sergey, and one with her mother who looked bored.
Faith was a bit of a mystery.
Getting to his feet, he made his way out of the clubhouse. On his way toward the basement, several women tried to gain his attention, but he wasn’t interested. None of them could hold his interest.
He made his way slowly down the steps, keeping his movement as light as possible so as not to alert Faith that he was there.
When he looked at her through the small hole, he saw her pacing around the bed. The chain around her ankle would only extend so far, and she still wore the skirt and top she had chosen to go on a date.
He wasn’t going to lie, Faith hadn’t been what he expected. When she walked through the door, at first he thought Rat Boy Pete had fucked up. This girl was not some Bratva princess. She looked so out of place, it was almost laughable. He’d met women who were involved in the Golubev Bratva and they knew what was expected of them and how they were meant to look. The women were constantly looking for male attention. Faith didn’t.
“Have you heard from my mom yet?” Faith asked.
Brute didn’t say anything.
“Or my grandfather? Or does it matter?” Faith looked toward him. She had pulled her hair out of the pins and now it fanned around her body. There was a lot of length and curl to it.
He was tempted to just ignore her and watch, but instead, he pulled the bolt out of the door, opened it, and stepped inside.
“Rat Boy Pete is dead,” he said.
“He is? How do you know?”
“A hunch.”
“So, you don’t know for certain if he is or not.”
“Your mother hasn’t been seen,” he said.
“My mom goes missing from time to time. That’s not news.” She shrugged. “When are you going to let me go?”
“You’re not leaving.”
Her shoulders slumped. “So, can I at least have a shower? A change of clothes? Anything?”
“Do you think you’re in a position to make demands?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do.” She held her hands out. “I’ve not done anything to you. I’ve not made waves. I’ve been a perfectly reasonable prisoner. I’ve not screamed or shouted. I’ve eaten the food you’ve given me. Took toilet breaks in front of you, and trust me, I’ve never used the toilet in front of a man before. I’ve never harmed anyone before.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“You’re Bratva.”