Ava is right. She doesn't murder breakfast; her omelet is edible even if the eggs were a bit on the crunchy side. "So, what's the plan for today?" she asks. "Do you have more bratva-style things you have to do?"
I think of the man strung up on a hook under the butcher shop we use for interrogations and I feel a yearning to hurt him that is almost spiritual. "Mostly boring real estate contracts," I lie. "A meeting with the zoning board, which is every bit as exciting as it sounds."
She leans back, ruffling her hair. The silver-blonde strands cascade over her shoulders, catching the light. "I somehow thought being a crime lord would be more exciting."
"Really?" I ask, finishing my coffee. "Last night wasn't exciting enough for you?" She blushes for a minute and I know she's thinking about our couch tryst, rather than being abducted and that pleases me.
"Oh, you mean thewedding," she says, flustered. "I never did ask you how you found me so fast."
"Mother's security kicked the bathroom door open about three minutes after you were taken," I say, anger stirring in my gut again. "I jumped out the window and ran in one direction. Alexsey and Roman took the other."
She cracks up a little. "Remember that poor valet? The expression on his face when you brought me back… he looked like he just could not understand what was happening."
"He might've seen my gun," I admit.
"Poor kid," she says.
I don't mention that I sent out Kir with a $10,000 tip for the valet.
"The only thing I regret," she muses, "is that you couldn't sit with us and point out all the other crime families. Were there a lot there?"
"Mostly allies," I say. "One of our Scottish partners came up from Boston. A couple of smaller bratvas that we work with along the East Coast."
"I see," she says thoughtfully. "So, is there like, a general truce between all the families here or do you all just sort of carve out your own little sections?" When I hesitate, she puts up her hands. "I'm sorry, that was intrusive. I apologize."
"You're deep in the thick of it now, baby," I smile mischievously. "Too late to back out." Her smile drops instantly, and she sways slightly in her chair. I'm around the table in seconds, kneeling to hold her hands.
"I should be doing better than this." Her face turns away. "I can't let this shit… it's derailing me."
"What?" I say, squeezing her hands, "Tell me."
"I don't know if you saw the collar, the one you took off me…" She does something between a swallow and a gag. "It said Baby. That's what he was going to call me. My new name, he said. Baby."
"Ava, love…" I kiss one hand and then the other. "I will never call you that again."
"It's not your fault." She pulls her hands away, wiping her wet cheeks. "It's nobody's fault but those fuckers. I hate themsomuch."
"This may not be any comfort," I say, drawing up a chair and sitting next to her. "But you've scared them. Those miserable fucks probably felt fear for the first time, because they were desperate enough to try to kidnap you. They're afraid of you and what you could do to them." I angle my head, forcing her to look at me. "I want you to remember that next time this hits, and it will. There's no escaping it, not for a while, but each time, you need to repeat this. You scared the shit out of these bastards. Say it." I urge, squeezing her hands.
Ava stares down at our linked hands. "I've scared the shit out of these bastards," she whispers.
"Say it again." I'm relentless.
"I scared the shit out of these bastards," she says a little louder, my beautiful little magpie."God,I want to help you get them. I want to do more, something that will really end them. I wish I could remember…" Her fingers tighten on mine; she's got an impressive grip.
"I suspect you know these statistics as well as my mother," I say gently. "She gave me some information. Short-term memory loss is common with electrical shocks, but that doesn't mean they won't return. It will help if you can write down anything that comes to you, sensations or thoughts, even fragments of a memory can help."
Ava's looking at me with an almost painful kind of hope.
"For instance…" I pull her up from her chair, spinning her like I did last night when we were dancing. "Where did you say you first saw Cynthia Watkins? In a sandwich shop? Close to thehospital?" I sway her back and forth to a silent tune, watching the dullness leave her midnight eyes. "What's the name of the shop? I'd like to see if we can pull some footage."
"Gordi's Sandwich Paradise." Ava leans into the next spin, her tight body loosening a bit.
I can feel my grin stretch across my mouth to feral proportions. "Gordi's place?"
"Yeah, do you know him?"
"Oh, yes," I say, thinking about the man currently in his basement, no doubt screaming his lungs out in the soundproofed room. I twirl her again, sweeping her into a deep dip, my lips hovering over hers.
