Broken (The Umarova Crime Family Series Prequel)

Chapter 3

The cage I’ve been dancing in for the last three hours gets slowly lowered to the ground.

I glance at the other cages and notice none of them are being lowered. I draw my mouth into a straight line and bite my lip. For fuck’s sake, I had my interview earlier today. I never, ever thought that I’d be asked to come in on the day of my interview to work, but I’m not complaining one bit. I need the money more than anyone understands.

Carter has a bad spending habit, so I help him out from time to time. I don’t know why I do, though. He treats me like shit, but we’ve been together for three years. Maybe it’s because I feel like I owe him something… then again, he’s really the only person in my life that gives a damn about me—if he even does in the first place.

I know our relationship hasn’t been good for a while, but I hoped things would get better. All they seem to be getting is a bit more toxic, and that’s infuriating to me. Sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in the toxicity because I have no family that’s around me, and I don’t really have friends anymore. I haven’t had them in a while since Carter and I started going steady. Sure, there were people I worked with that were always friendly to me, but I wouldn’t go around calling them friends.

My cage is almost lowered to the ground, so I suck in a deep breath and pray to whoever’s listening that I’m not getting fired. I’m probably not, but with what happened yesterday at Lou’s restaurant, I can’t be too sure. I’m just feeling so off.

Maybe it isn’t even that bad. I was hired as a bottle girl, so my job was to tend to the VIP clientele, but one of the dancers called out this evening, and my new boss asked me if I could dance. I said not well, and he laughed, so he had one of my coworkers show me a few moves.

All I’ve been doing is repeating the same moves over and over again. Maybe I’m just not dancing that well, and they’re bringing me down before I totally embarrass myself. There are plenty of reasons why they could be wanting to bring me down. All I need to do is just not think of the worst ones.

Who am I kidding, though? My entire life has been completely turned upside down since my identity was stolen. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been on edge since that started happening. I wonder if any other twenty-two-year-old women have to worry about the same type of shit that I do. Since this whole thing started, I do have to say I’ve grown up quite a bit.

My boss, Gregor, walks up to the cage and opens it, lending me a hand until I step outside. Then, one of my male coworkers who works in the VIP section comes over to me.

“Follow me,” he says.

“Where are we going?” I question him, hoping for some sort of answer. I turn back for a second to see if Gregor’s still there, but he’s no longer within my sight.

“You’ll see. Christian asked me to take you,” my coworker tells me.

Christian owns the company, so now I’m really worried. Could he be friends with Lou? I mean, I know a lot of business owners down here know each other. All I’m hoping for is that Lou isn’t somehow screwing up the new job I have here. I doubt he’d waste his time doing something like that… but I’m so paranoid with everything else going on in my life.

We walk up to the VIP section and head down the long path that overlooks the dance floor. I’m led all the way to the back, and my eyes land on the darkest man I’ve ever met. My coworker leaves me, and I’m left completely bewildered.

The man before me oozes money and blood. I’ve never met a criminal in real life, but I’ve seen what they look like in the movies, and this is exactly what they look like.

He has a fitted suit on with a white dress shirt that’s on his body like a second skin. He has a gold chain hanging from his neck, and underneath the chain, a few chest hairs are poking out. Meanwhile, his watch probably costs more than most people’s mortgages.

Even though he immediately makes a shiver go down my spine, I wonder why I’m here.

“Please, sit.” A thick Russian sort of accent comes out of him.

I do as the man asks and sit down beside him. He has two shot glasses in front of him and pours us both a drink. He hands me one and then takes the other.

“To finding the answers we seek,” he says, and we both clash our drinks together.

He downs his first while I pause. Am I going to get in trouble for drinking on the job?

“Drink, malen’kiy krolik.”

I take the shot back, and it burns my throat, but I know it’ll calm my nerves.

“Another,” he says, and he pours us both more. He takes his drink back first, and just as I’m taking mine, he says, “I take it that you like a good vodka, Amelia?”

I practically choke on my drink because I know I haven’t told him my name yet.

“How do you know my name?” I ask as I finish swallowing.

“It doesn’t matter how I know your name. You and I both know that. All that matters is that you answer my questions honestly.”