"Dante," Radimir says without looking up from the papers spread across the table. "Sit."
I take my place at the head of the table, the chair my father used to occupy. Five years since his heart attack. I still expect to see him there sometimes, cigarette between his fingers, weighing decisions that could mean life or death for entire families.
A server comes in, delivering food that I assume my uncle ordered. Another server, a young, busty blonde that should make my dick jump, but all I can see is Red. She delivers a round of drinks. They both leave, closing the door behind them and giving us total privacy.
"We have a situation,” Radimir says.
"I'm listening."
He slides a stack of papers across the table. "Someone's been skimming from the construction accounts. Small amounts at first, but it's been going on for months. Adds up to about five million."
Five million. Not a fortune by our standards, but enough to matter. Enough to require a response.
It’s the principle. No one steals from the Bratva. No one that keeps breathing.
"How long has this been going on?" I ask, flipping through the pages. The numbers are there, discrepancies that would be invisible to anyone not looking for them.
"Best guess? About eight months.”
"Inside job, then." It's not a question. External theft of this magnitude would require access we don't give to outsiders.
"Has to be." Radimir's fingers drum against the table. "Someone with access to the accounts, someone who understands how we move money."
I push the paperwork away, my mind already working through the possibilities. There are maybe a dozen people with this level of access, all of them trusted, all of them supposedly loyal. Finding the traitor won't be easy.
"I want you to look into it," I tell Bogdan. "Quietly. No one else needs to know we're investigating until we have answers."
"Already started," he says, producing a manila folder from beside his chair. "And I found our thief."
The certainty in his voice surprises me. I was a little pissed that they had already talked about this before it was brought to me. "That was fast."
"When you know what to look for, the trail becomes obvious." Bogdan slides the folder across the table. "Richard Quinn. Been with us for twenty years, worked for your father before he worked for you. Perfect position to know our systems inside and out."
Richard Quinn. The name is familiar, though I can't immediately place the face. One of the accountants, I think. Quiet, competent,the kind of man who fades into the background until you need him.
"You're certain?" I ask, though I'm already reaching for the folder.
"Certain enough," Radimir says. "Which means we have a problem that needs solving."
I open the folder and freeze.
Staring back at me from the top photograph is Hannah—my Red—laughing at what looks like a family barbecue. The picture is probably a couple of years old. Her hair is longer and her face softer, but there's no mistaking those storm-green eyes. I’m pretty sure I would recognize her in a crowd of a thousand women all wearing the exact same dress. There was something about her that I knew. Ifelt.
Below her photo are others: an older man with graying hair and kind eyes, clearly her father. Surveillance shots and what looks like a complete dossier on the Quinn family.
"This is his family," I say, my voice carefully neutral even as my world tilts off its axis.
"Wife, daughter," Bogdan confirms. "The daughter works in real estate. The wife died twenty years ago—cancer."
I look at Bogdan. Does he recognize Hannah from the woman on the street? He doesn’t act like he does. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
"The accountant has been stealing from us," Radimir continues, oblivious to my internal crisis. "Five million dollars. You know what that means."
I do know. In the Bratva, stealing from family is a death sentence. No exceptions, no second chances. It doesn't matter that Richard Quinn worked for my father for fifteen years before working for me. It doesn't matter that he's been reliable, trustworthy, almost invisible in his competence.
It definitely doesn't matter that his daughter is the woman I've been thinking about for a month.
"The evidence is solid?" I ask, though I'm not sure what answer I'm hoping for.
