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I take a good look at Sasha; the new purple shiner he's got beneath his eye and scrunch my face. “The fuck happened to you?”
He shakes his head and takes a swig of the vodka, placing the tumbler on the small end table between the two chairs in front of my desk. “Did a little street recon for that Harley girl. You know how some of the pimps out there get a little brave when you go asking questions. Don't worry. He looks worse.”
I lift a brow. “What happened to Dana?”
Niko sighs. “Nobody’s seen her since the fight. Hasn't shown up to her dancing shifts.”
“What did you find?”
“Donahue ain't been home, either.”
Shit.
I lean back in my chair, letting the pen I had in my hand drop on the spreadsheets in front of me and pinch the bridge of my nose for a second. “She's eighteen. Did our guy get any Intel from his phone or computer?”
They shake their heads.
There's a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
At the sight of my wife and Parker, my wife holding a to-go bag, I stand, and so do my men. Her eyes widen. “Oh, I'm sorry. Niko, Sasha, hello again. I don't mean to interrupt,” she says with a small smile. Both my men shake their heads, telling her she wasn't. “Court finished early, and we were on our way back, and I thought you might be hungry. Oh my god, is that a signed picture of Dahlia Collins and your grandfather? My grandmother played her albums non-stop growing up. God, she was gorgeous.” She says in awe of the woman in the frame.
Looking her up and down, saliva pools into my mouth, eager to taste her. Magenta stilettos, tight black pencil skirt, shirt and blazer all cling to her delicious frame. I watched her get dressed this morning, wanting to take it all off immediately. Simply knowing she has that virginal white lace underneath all of that black and pink makes methrob. Dahlia Collins has nothing on my wife.
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it true she was involved in that heist?” She asks, getting a little closer to the black and white photograph hanging on the wall, inspecting it.
“It was never proven,” I blink, but yeah, she was. “And you can always interrupt me, wife. Come in. Have a seat. We’re just talking about one of the dancers that's gone missing, and so has a shady cop.”
She turns to face me, the genuine smile on her face slowly falling. A sharp, blonde brow comes up in an arch. Niko and Sasha look at me as if to ask if I trust her.
I don't know.
But this is the first way to see how she handles the way I run my club. To see if these kinds of matters are too delicate for her senses.So naturally, I tell my wife everything that’s happening with Dana.
She hands me the bag of food from her favorite bistro, the one where we first met all those months ago. Looking at it now, I should have proposed there, instead. Ruin it for her if she ever decides to leave me.
“And nobody has heard from the dancer? Not friends or coworkers?” She asks, brows furrowed slightly.
I shake my head.
“Do the dancers leave the same way they come in?”
“No, they leave through a back entrance, so their identities remain secret, and they don't get creeps following them home.” Niko replies, staring right at her.
She looks at my consigliere and enforcer. “And you've checked the entry for a sign of struggle? The cameras?”
“We have.” Sasha answers.
She shakes her head then pops my way. “This cop that's gone missing, you have a feeling maybe he took her?”
“She hides from him. She's always weary, and last time he tried to raid, she tried to climb into the ceiling to get away.” Niko chimes.
“That's… concerning.” She says toward Sasha, who nods in agreement. “Is this the same cop from our honeymoon? Donahue?”
I'm amazed she's remembered, but then again, I feel I underestimate my wife a little. I need to stop doing that. So, I answer Sabrina with a dip of my chin.