Chapter Six #3
“I have no idea,” Gaby said, and as evasive as that sounded, I believed her. “He never told me a name, only that I would be leaving Toronto with my new husband, possibly to live in the States, but he wasn’t even sure of that.”
Interesting. That sounded like a contract for the sole purpose of securing an alliance, but with whom and why? I stored the information for now, making a mental note to contact Simon for a proper investigation later.
“Tell me about your friend, the one that forged your papers,” I ordered.
Her guilt-laden eyes broke from me as her face colored.
“I can’t say much, only that her father is part of the Russian Bratva, so most of what I know about her is personal stuff, not family stuff.
Anyway, I met her when her family sent her to school in Canada to study.
I think they wanted her out of Russia, and out of their way somewhere relatively safe.
Knowing me probably put her in danger, but when I needed help to escape, she was there. ”
What a fortunate coincidence. Was Gaby’s father really unaware that the Russian Bratva had inserted a member into his daughter’s school, or had that been part of his plan all along?
Why else would a Don allow his eldest, most marriageable daughter to fly the coop unless he had a spy keeping watch?
I’d bet my life he planned on marrying her to the Russians in exchange for a piece of the pie.
“Did your friend ever mention the name of the Russian Bratva she is part of?”
Her brow crinkled in concentration. “She did, but it’s really long…Solntse—something. Sorry, I can’t remember the rest.”
“Is it Solntsevskaya?” I queried.
“Yes! That’s it. So, you’ve heard of them then?”
We all had heard of them, the largest, and some would say the most terrifying group of them all.
They made their own rules as they went, unlike the rest of the families who followed the Thieves’ Eighteen Codes of Conduct.
The Solntsevskaya Bratva had strong connections to Mexico and South America, as did the Siderna Group.
The SG also operated in Italy, close to the heart of our family’s origins.
“I’m not directly connected, but yes, I’ve heard of them. Now, tell me about your education. Did you finish, or did your friend change those papers too?”
She stiffened, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, she did. My practicum was cut short and so legally, I haven’t graduated. Are you mad?”
Mad? I was furious, but maintained a neutral expression. Now wasn’t the time to punish her for putting my entire hospital at risk of being shut down with hundreds of employees out of work. And besides that, my brain once again latched on to what had seemed inconsequential, but perhaps not.
Red. Quite a common nickname, if one was a redhead.
A redheaded Russian. A redheaded young woman, daughter of a high-ranking member of the Solntsevskaya, who, genetically speaking, was likely to be a redhead as well.
That in turn made him likely to have been born in the Volga Region, among the Udmurt people.
“Your friend—is her name Sonja Knyazev? Does she spell it with a j instead of a y, stands about 5'10”, and have a strawberry beauty mark here—” I tapped the high point of my cheek—“like a red tear?”
Gaby’s eyes widened and her mouth rounded into a perfect O of surprise. “How did you know?”
“I think I may know her better than you do. Get up. I need your purse. Now!”
Not waiting for the shock factor to wear off, I pushed my chair back and headed swiftly upstairs. Gaby followed me, found her purse and handed it over. I pulled her driver’s license out of her wallet and held it up to the window, and there it was, a tracker disguised as letters on the card.
“What is that?” Gaby breathed at my shoulder.
“Where is your passport?”
“Back at the apartment I share with my roommates. What’s going on?” she asked, hugging herself for comfort.
“What is going on, my na?ve little girl, is your so-called friend, Red, has put a tracker in your identification, and I have no doubt that she did it to your passport as well. Where is your phone?”
“No! She couldn’t have! Why would she?”
“Gaby,” I said sternly. “Your phone.”
“I…” She fumbled in her purse and passed it over. “But I left my old one behind in Toronto. I got this one here and I’ve never called her on it.”
“Good girl.”
Gaby was close to tears, no doubt confused and scared. I wanted to shred the cards and flush them immediately, but Romeo would want Simon to see them.
Pulling my own phone out of my pocket, I called Romeo.
“This is a surprise,” he greeted me. “Miss me, brother?”
“I do. So much so that I would like to meet you in Malvasia as soon as possible.”
“See you there,” he replied, affirming that he got my message loud and clear.
With the cards safely stored inside a lead-lined box that would block any signal, we left my house. I chose the Ferrari as it was the fastest and boasted dealer plates on the back not registered to anyone associated with the family or its organizations.
I fastened Gaby’s seat belt. Despite her obvious efforts to control herself, her pulse had quickened and breaths grew rapid and shallow, not quite hyperventilating, but right on the edge.
The tears she’d been blinking back escaped, spilling down her soft cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away.
Gripping her chin firmly in my hand, I turned her to face me, saying, “Gabriella, look at me.”
Her eyes latched onto mine, but were empty. She was in shock, but I needed to get through to her.
“Listen to me, piccola, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise we will get to the bottom of this mystery.”
She didn’t answer.
I hopped in the driver’s seat and headed out of the Hamptons.
Gaby stayed quiet, giving me plenty of time to think.
All my well-laid plans this morning had blown up and for none of the reasons I anticipated they would.
Keeping her safe had become necessary until we knew who all the players were and their intentions.
This, what was happening now, was completely out of sync with my carefully controlled life, and I didn’t like it one bit.