have doubled up any other man. But this was Rico, and
he didn’t even seem to notice. “It’s not like that!”
He released me. It was so sudden that my legs buckled
under me as I hit the ground and I staggered, trying to
regain my balance. I glared at him, but his anger had
gone...to be replaced by fear. He’d seen something in
my expression, something that terrified him.
“Is it a sex thing?” he asked. “Is it about fucking over
Vasiliy by fucking his niece, like revenge?”
“No! Jesus! I haven’t even slept with her yet!”
Now Rico looked really scared. He ran a hand through
his hair. “You haven’t even—Oh, shit. You like her.
You’ve fucking fallen for her.”
I opened my mouth to snap at him, to tell him not to be
so fucking stupid, but the words wouldn’t come. I
looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
“Oh, shit. Oh, Angelo, what the fuck am I going to do
with you?”
I straightened my shirt. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone? Who the fuck am I going to tell? The
Saints? They’d crucify you for this. You’d be gone. The
guys? Who’s going to listen to you, if they find out
you’re secretly banging her?” He took a deep breath and
shook his head. “No, I’m not going to tell anyone. But
you gotta end this. Now!”
I thought about lying and saying I would, but I’d already
lied to him for too long. I shook my head.
“Angelo, what’s going to happen when Vasiliy finds out
you’re banging his pride and joy? Jesus Christ, you’re
going to bring the whole Russian mob down on us!
There’ll be war!”
“We’re heading for war anyway,” I muttered.
“Oh, so you thought you’d just help things along?”
“I didn’t mean for it happen!” My voice lashed out like a
whip. I stood there for a second glaring at him, but the
anger faded when I saw the hurt and confusion in his
eyes. I sighed and tried to soften my gaze a little.
“You should have told me,” he said.
“I didn’t know. Not at first.” I took a deep breath.
“But...yeah, I should have.” And then I had to struggle
with it, a word I hardly ever used. “Sorry.”
Rico gave a long sigh and nodded.
“You still got my back, right?”
He gave me a look. “You really gotta ask that?” He took
two quick steps over to me and pulled me into a hug. It
was like being crushed by a grizzly bear, but I felt
better.
“So what did you call me about, anyway?” I asked when
we stepped back.
Rico shook his head grimly. “It’s Cinderella's,” he said.
“It’s bad.”
* * *
Cinderella’s has been around for over a decade. A big
old house out in Westchester with electric gates and
high hedgerows for privacy, a parking lot around the
back and discreet security guards. It could be a spa or
perhaps an exclusive rehab clinic.
What it actually is, is a brothel. The kind where the
women work in rooms plusher than any hotel, the
clients are screened and the cops turn a blind eye—
mostly because the Chief of Police has his own favorite
girl there. The women are happy, they make a lot of
money and there’s very, very rarely any trouble.
Until today.
Normally, Grace, the madam, would greet me with a
smile on her face and my favorite drink in her hand.
This was anything but normal. She was waiting for us
on the porch when we pulled up, her arms hugging
herself against the cold. I’d never seen her look so
shaken. “She’s upstairs,” she told us. “In my room. I
don’t want the other girls or the guests to see her.”
Icy fear sluiced through my veins. I shoved open the
door and led the way to the stairs.
Inside, Cinderella’s is done out like a turn-of-the-century
merchant’s house, with lots of dark wood paneling,
velvet drapes and chandeliers. There’s always soft music
playing and wherever you go you can hear the soft
sound of female laughter. Every woman looks stunning
and they walk around not in lingerie, but in sexy,
tasteful gowns that cost a thousand dollars apiece. It’s
just about the most relaxing place a man can be. But
today I hurried past the grinning guys in suits and the
girls smiling and flirting with them. I needed to know,
now.
I burst into Grace’s room and saw Kirsty. And tried to
control my face.
Grace and Rico trooped in behind me and closed the
door. Rico cursed under his breath.
I said nothing for several seconds. Then I knelt down
beside Kirsty’s chair and gingerly hugged her, not
wanting to cause her any more pain. After a long
moment, I looked over my shoulder at Grace, my arms
still wrapped around Kirsty. “Who did this?” I asked. My
voice was quiet but my whole body shook with anger.
“Is he still here?”
Grace shook her head.
“Why did you let him leave?!” I am going to kill him. I
am going to beat him until he’s a hair’s breadth from
dying and then I’m going to lock the fucker in the trunk
of a car and drive it into the Hudson River and drown
him.
“It didn’t happen here,” said Grace. “Kirsty was on an
outcall. A hotel.”
We don’t let the girls do outcalls for precisely this
reason.
Kirsty shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. As if
somehow, this was her fault. “I know we’re not
supposed to.” Her voice was an agonized rasp that
made my hands tighten into fists behind her back. “But
he called me and said he’d give me two thousand for a
few hours. He sounded okay….”
I gently released her and moved back a little. I had to
look at her face, now. I couldn’t avoid it any longer, not
without upsetting her.
Both her eyes were swollen shut and both cheeks were
bruised and bloody. There were sharp, square marks
that I couldn’t figure out, at first. Then my stomach
lurched—they were the indentations left by the guy’s
rings. There were red finger marks around her throat,
too—the guy must have had big hands because they
wrapped almost completely around. There was a darker
red mark there, too, a serpent, as if one of his rings had
it carved on the inside.
She swallowed with difficulty. “It’s worse lower down,”
she said, nodding to her robe. “He used his belt on me.
And before that, he...did stuff to me. Stuff I don’t do.”
She’d been under my protection and I’d failed her. I was
only barely managing to hold my anger in check. It was
boiling up inside me, filling me with the need to smash,
to punch, to kill. I glanced across at Rico and it was like
looking into a mirror. He gave me the nod, ready to do
whatever I needed him to. But this one I’d take care of
myself.
I had to take a deep breath and smooth down the lapels
of my suit—that calmed me enough to pull out my
phone and take a couple of photos of Kirsty’s face and
neck. When I found the bastard, I’d shove them in his
face just before I killed him, so that he knew why. “Who
was he?” I asked.
Kirsty tried to speak but started to cough instead. Blood
from her split lip dusted my shirt. “Big guy. Rich. Called
himself Simon but I don’t think that was real. He didn’t
say much.” Her voice quavered. “He started on me as
soon as I got in the room.”
I looked at Grace. “Get her the best,” I said. “The very
best: doctors, plastic surgeon if she needs it. I’ll pay. Be
firm with the girls—no more outcalls.”