Page 20 of The Bratva King

My gaze drops to the folder before lifting back to him.

“I had a feeling,” he says. “When you get obsessed, you don’t stop.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“You’re… interested. Curious. When you get curious, you want all the information you can get. I thought I’d save you some time.”

He knows me too well. It’s useful and occasionally irritating.

I pick up the folder and open it. Standard employee file on top. I flip past it to what Pasha added underneath. His notes. He’s gone deeper than HR, because he knew I would if he didn’t.

“Talk me through it,” I say.

“Gabriella Collins. Twenty-four. Social security number checks out. Nevada driver’s license issued six months ago, which was her first Nevada license. Before that, a New Mexico license. Before that, nothing. No digital footprint before about two years ago. No credit history before that. No utility accounts, no lease agreements, no traffic violations. Nothing.”

I turn a page. There’s a printout of her employment application. Atlantic City. Reno. The casinos she listed.

“Did you verify the previous employment?”

“Atlantic City casino she listed closed eighteen months ago. Same with the Reno property.”

I almost smile. I’ve been around long enough to recognize a manufactured background. Whoever constructed hers did solid work. Solid enough to pass a standard casino background check, which isn’t nothing. But not solid enough to hold when someone pulls the thread.

The question is who built it and why.

“What set it off for you?” Pasha asks. “Specifically. You are suspicious of everyone. And I say that with love.”

“I was right.”

“You were,” he says with a small laugh. “How do you always know?”

“I just do.”

“Are you worried?”

“No. Not yet. Watch her.”

Pasha studies the monitor. “I don’t see anything.”

“The way she scans the room.”

He considers that. “A lot of people are paranoid.”

“Not like hers. That’s trained paranoia.” I close the folder. “And the hair.”

“The hair.”

“It’s dyed. Her brows are dark. Her skin is olive. The blonde is fake.”

“Nik, women dye their hair all the time. I’d guess half the women who work here have dyed hair. You don’t think blue or pink is natural.”

“This is different. It’s cheap.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“I think she’s hiding in plain sight.”

“That’s not necessarily our problem. Are we really the people to call out someone for hiding from something that might land them in a cell?”