He turns, his eyes taking in my rumpled appearance, the fact that I'm not wearing a tie. A knowing smile spreads across his thick features. "Ah. The Quinn girl. It took me a second to place the face. The woman from the street.”
“Yeah. Collateral."
"Collateral you're fucking." He laughs and takes another drink. "Well, I suppose there are worse ways to pass the time while we wait for her father to pay up."
I pour myself a drink, using the time to control my temper. Bogdan has always been crude, but something about the way he talks about Hannah makes me want to put my fist through his face.
"You said you had more information about the Quinn situation," I say instead.
"I do." He pulls out another folder, thicker than the first. "Our friend Richard has been even busier than we thought. The five million was just the beginning. There are at least three other accounts he's been skimming from."
He spreads documents across my desk—bank statements, wire transfers, transaction logs that paint a picture of systematic theft spanning years. The evidence is overwhelming, damning, exactly what I'd expect from someone who's been stealing from us.
And yet something about it feels wrong.
"This is extensive," I say, studying the papers.
"Richard Quinn is a smart man. Unfortunately for him, not quite smart enough." Bogdan drains his scotch and sets the glass down. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
It's a test. I can hear it in his tone, see it in the way he watches me. He's waiting to see if I'll be strong enough to do what needs to be done.
"I've already done something," I say. "I have his daughter."
Bogdan's laugh is harsh, approving. "Clever. Let him know we can reach his family anytime we want. Nothing motivates a thief like the safety of his precious child."
I keep my expression neutral. "She stays here until the situation is resolved."
"And if daddy can't come up with the money?"
I meet his gaze steadily. "Then we'll discuss other forms of payment."
The implication hangs between us, ugly and necessary. In our world, debts are always paid, one way or another. If Richard Quinn can't return the money he stole, his daughter becomes a permanent asset of the organization.
The thought should satisfy me. Instead, it makes me feel sick.
"Excellent," Bogdan says, apparently pleased with my response. "I knew you would handle this properly. Your father would be proud."
I don’t say anything.
"Enjoy your collateral, cousin. But don't get too attached. Business is business, after all."
Hannah Quinn is mine. I’m not sure I can give her back even if Richard does pay.
7
DANTE
The accounting firm of Quinn & Associates sits in a modest building on the outskirts of Chicago's financial district. As far as I know, there are no associates. I've been here before, years ago with my father, but never with murder on my mind.
Today is different.
I push through the door with enough force to rattle the frame. I prefer to face my problems. Richard is my problem.
The receptionist—a nervous woman in her fifties—looks up from her computer with a practiced smile that dies the moment she sees my face.
"Mr. Sokolov," she stammers. "I—we weren't expecting you."
"Where's Richard?"
