Chapter Three
Ada
I’m staring at myself in my visor mirror, contemplating going back to that bridge and driving off. I’ve never been suicidal, but I’ve never lost the last piece of my parents before. I was able to manage because at least I had that. I had their rings—something to symbolize their love.
Now…
Now I just hurt. Everything—my body included—hurts.
I stayed in the office to sleep last night, and now I hurt.
I know better than that. My back pain can get debilitating at times, so sleeping on a couch is a horrific idea.
It was the soundest sleep I have gotten in a long time, though, because I was locked in there.
I didn’t have anyone trying to fuck me in my sleep.
No one to wake me up for no goddamn reason. I was able to just… sleep.
I am about to be late for this man’s first appointment.
I can see Andre and Viktor at the door waiting for me.
Andre is like a goddamn bloodhound for when someone is hurt, and boy, am I hurting.
It feels like I’ve been kicked in the pussy by a donkey.
Well, it was a jackass. My back is hurting.
I have a stress headache and fucking whiplash from Chris acting all sweet and shit this morning.
Like he didn’t hit me, rape me, and put a gun to my head.
I have the gun, though. He saw me pick it up from where he left it on the coffee table and put it in my bag.
I’m going to give it to Andre to hold onto, but I know he will have questions.
I slowly get out of my car before walking around to grab my bag. I just have this one appointment, but I’m going to get some work done after. I made sure to tell Chris so he’d stay off my ass for being supposedly late.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile as I walk up.
Viktor turns to look at me, and goddamn, if he isn’t fine as fuck.
Sweet mother of God, I’d climb his tall ass like a tree.
Viktor has short, almost buzz-cut, brown hair and a close-shaven beard.
His muscles are massive—I’m talking bodybuilder, snap-your-ass-in-half type of guy.
I trust Andre, so I am not worried. Although I’m surprised the charge was attempted murder and not actual murder.
“You are late,” Andre says.
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to break curfew,” I say sweetly as I unlock the door. “Good morning, Viktor.”
“Good morning,” he says with a surprisingly smooth tone. I thought he’d be very reserved, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be forthcoming.
“Andre, can you come in with us for just a moment?” I ask as I pull the door open.
“Damn. First, you want me to show up, and now I have to be his therapist too?” Andre teases.
“I’m going to call Chrissy and tell her you are being a pain in my ass,” I say, and he laughs. “You aren’t allowed to go digging into this.”
“Oh, I like the sound of this,” Andre says. I hold the door open and motion them in as I shake my head at Andre.
“You look like shit, Ada,” Andre says.
“Thanks, dickhead,” I laugh as we walk through the reception door.
“I mean, you look tired and in pain,” he clarifies. “Is this related?”
“I fell asleep on the couch in my office last night, and my back didn’t entirely agree with my decision,” I say, ignoring his question. “I apologize for being late, Viktor. I don’t usually work Saturdays unless I am on a crisis call.”
“It’s alright. Thank you for making time for me,” Viktor says. I narrow my eyes at him for a moment as I stop and unlock my office door.
“Careful, she is analyzing you,” Andre says.
“What is this room used for?” Viktor asks, glancing around the room.
“I do group therapy for sexual assault survivors and anger management,” I say, walking into my office. “Take a seat wherever, Viktor.”
I walk around my desk and set my bag down. I start by taking my tablet out before I stop and look up at Andre. Viktor is sitting in the armchair, but that doesn’t surprise me. He is watching me closely, like he is studying me.
“What’s up, Ada?” Andre asks.
“I am going to preface this with I am only doing this because I know I can trust you,” I say carefully. “You are not allowed to ask questions.”
“Can I ask why you are okay with saying this in front of Viktor?” Andre asks.
“Well, I know what he does. I know what you do. I can also tell when you aren’t being truthful.
That leads me to believe that you two are close friends and he already knew that I asked you to be here and why,” I say.
I pull the pistol out and pull the slide back to lock it.
I press the button to release the magazine, and it clatters to my desk.
It is so quiet in here, you could hear a mouse fart.
“Ada,” Andre says. He is both in shock and worried about me. I pick up the magazine and hold both out for him.
“Get rid of it, please,” I say simply. “Hold onto it, sell it, throw it in a lake—I don’t care—but I need it gone.”
“I need way more than that, Ada,” Andre says, not taking the gun from me. “No one knows anything about your personal life, and now you are handing a gun to me to dispose of. Is it connected to anything?”
“No,” I say simply. “It is my gun. It’s only been shot when I go to the range. I haven’t murdered anyone. I’m not into anything sketchy, I just want it out of my home.”
“Ada,” Andre says again, but softer. He is worried about me.
“Fine…” I say slowly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “My boyfriend of two years stole forty thousand dollars out of my safe yesterday. I am worried that he is on drugs again, and I don’t want him to blow his brains out with my gun, so I want it gone.”
“What’s his name?” Andre asks, taking the gun from me.
“Chris, and no, I am not telling you his last name,” I say. “Lock the front door on your way out, please.”
“Alright,” he says simply. “Chrissy, Kendra, and Maisy are going to try to make you come to a cookout at Kendra’s place tomorrow.”
“I’ll try,” I say. “Goodbye, Andre.”
I sigh when he walks around my desk and hugs me. “We don’t hide from people we love,” Andre says quietly in my ear before pulling away. “See you tomorrow.”
“Mhmm,” I say, waving him out of the door. When he shuts the door as he walks out, I grab my tablet and pen before going around to sit on the loveseat across from Viktor.
“You are free to continue being late, if you want,” Viktor says with a smirk.
“Eh, I think it looks better for me if I am on time,” I laugh.
I slip my flats off before sitting on the couch cross-legged.
I don’t have to put so much pressure on my ass this way, making the stabbing feeling in my cervix not hurt so badly.
“Tell me a bit about yourself, Viktor,” I say as I navigate to my notepad to scribble out some notes.
“Why don’t you tell me what you know?” he asks.
I sit back to look at him, and he looks calm. Reserved, but calm. “I know you were charged with attempted murder, but it was reduced to assault,” I say.
“I meant with you saying you know what I do,” he replies.
“What you do outside of here is only important to me if it affects your progress with me,” I say.
“That’s not true, or you wouldn’t have asked for Andre to be here,” he quips, but he’s right. “If I am to be expected to open up, I have to know I can trust you, right?”
“Right,” I say, carefully watching my words.
I can’t tell if this is a test or if he actually wants to know if he can trust me.
“I know you are an arms dealer. You own a handful of clubs. Andre tells me that you are safe for me to be around because you don’t hurt women.
You chose that chair because you are trying to keep control of the situation.
You are afraid to slip up and look human.
You have a tough exterior, but underneath the mafia boss armor, there is a man who is lacking something, and he fills that void by hurting others. ”
“You are defensive,” he says with a smirk.
Fuck. He is far too observant.
“I think cornering me into giving you the answers to things you should be telling me is a rightful reason to be on guard,” I say, but I definitely shouldn’t have said it that way.
“You are afraid of me,” he says with a smile.
“I am not afraid of you, Mr. Holt,” I chuckle.
“Vik or Viktor,” he corrects.
“Tell me about the incident that got you here,” I say. His eyes travel down my body, greedily looking at me. “Looking at my tits isn’t going to get you out of the question, Vik,” I say. His eyes meet mine, and he smirks.
“Well,” he says. “I took his head and smashed it against a brick wall until he went limp. I assumed he was dead, but cockroaches are hard to kill.”
“So you were intending to kill him?” I ask as I scribble myself a note on the pad.
“What was that? What did you write down?” he asks.
“That the incident was thought out,” I say.
“Which means?”
“If you thought it through, that it wasn’t you losing your temper; you are just that violent,” I say honestly. “Did he deserve it?”
“I think he did.”
“But some might not think he did?” I ask.
“Obviously, considering I was charged.”
“What did he do?” I ask.
“He beat his wife so badly that she is in a coma, and she may never wake up, with their six-year-old son sitting beside her,” he says. “He came into my club bragging about how he was going to get her life insurance money when she died, so I beat his face in just like he did to his wife.”
Why is this red flag so fucking hot?
“Why not go to the cops and get her justice that way?” I ask.
“Why not sell the gun instead of handing it off to the mafia?” he quips. “Because handling it myself means he got what he deserved, and her soul could rest easier knowing he got what he deserved.”
“Who was she to you?” I ask.
“No one,” he says. It’s brief, but he drops his eyes for just long enough that I can tell she is the reason he did it. She meant something to him.
“No one… but you were willing to risk your empire for her?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Who do you think she was to me?”
“I think that is something you should answer, not me,” I say.