Page 95 of The Bratva King

I find her in the living room, sitting in the dark. Not crying. Just sitting there with a drink in her hand, staring at nothing.

“Gabby.”

She looks up. Her eyes are wide, startled, like she didn’t hear me come in.

“I heard what happened,” I say.

She nods.

I move closer, squatting in front of her so we’re eye level. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she whispers. “I’m fine.”

She’s not fine. My hand reaches out, cupping her cheek. I realize I need to touch her.

I don’t know if I’m reassuring her or me. Her head tilts, allowing me to cradle her for just a few seconds before she sits up straight.

I stand, giving her some space. “Tell me what happened.”

She takes a breath. “Someone grabbed me in the parking garage. Tried to take my purse. I fought back. Security came. He ran.”

The words are clipped.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m okay. Really. He got my purse. I don’t have an ID.”

I understand why the ID is what’s bothering her.

“We’ll get you another one,” I tell her.

She looks into my eyes. I see it. Right there. She wants to tell me. I wait.

And then it’s gone. “Of course. Such a pain in the ass. They can take the money, but why do they have to take the driver’s license? Clearly, these fuckers have never had to sit at the DMV.”

“What else?” I ask.

“What?”

“What else was in the purse?”

She shrugs. “Basic stuff. Tips. Luke’s doctor information. It’s fine.”

“Credit cards?”

“No credit cards. I already canceled my debit card. I guess I should feel lucky it hasn’t happened sooner.”

She takes a deep breath. “Can I pour you a drink?”

“I can do it.”

She gets up. I feel her nervous energy. She walks to the cart and pours me a glass of the scotch I usually have after work.

She hands it to me and sits back down. I sit in the chair across from her.

“I wanted to talk to you about the room situation,” she says.

“Luke needs his own room.”