“Useful, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer.
I know exactly how I’m going to use her.
“Tell her father I’ll take the girl for his debt,” I mutter. “He doesn’t reach out to her. He doesn’t respond to her calls or text messages. He cuts all ties, or the deal is off.”
“Done.”
I look through the rest of the folder but am impatient within seconds. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Broke up with him last year.”
“Why?”
“Gambling debt.”
I glance up at him.
“She likes to date men like her daddy.”
Disappointing.
“Kids?”
“No.”
“She doesn’t live with anyone if I remember correctly.”
“She doesn’t. I just came back from her small apartment.”
I perk a brow.
“She likes pink, and she’s neat.”
“Good for her.”
“She also has a box of pictures with said boyfriend.”
My nose wrinkles.
“She’s sentimental.”
“She’s stupid,” I grumble. “Who does that unless they’re sixteen?”
“Women like to torture themselves, Benedikt. Didn’t you know that?”
I roll my eyes. I don’t give a shit what she has in a box; I want to know what kind of ties she has to these men she’s passing messages to. “Has she had any meetings with?—”
“No. She takes the orders and happily does them. The bakery phone is tapped. Unless she’s the best actress in the world, it’s her job, her wine, and her Netflix that she worries about.”
“How do we know they haven’t met before we got involved in this?”
“We don’t,” he deadpans.
It’s not the answer I want, but it doesn’t matter. If she were in on it, she wouldn’t be grinding herself into the ground for rent money.
She’s a pawn. A useful one.
