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“They brought it upon themselves,” Renzo said, shrugging. “All that shit, I can overlook. But I can’t overlook your man breaking into one of my capo’s homes, severely injuring his little sister, and shooting one of my capos.”
If I wasn’t watching so closely, I might have missed the way something flashed in Dimitri’s gaze. Something that maybe suggested he hadn’t been fully in the know about whose home Elizabeth had been taking refuge in.
“Is that so?” Dimitri asked.
“There are… consequences to attempting to murder my people,” Renzo said, waving out a hand at the loss of human life.
“Of course,” Dimitri agreed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly as unfeeling as he was coming off. “One must wonder what your organization is doing harboring a… what did the news call her?” Dimitri asked, glancing toward one of the gorgeous women at his sides.
“Whistler,” she supplied.
“Blower,” another of the women corrected in an accent just as thick as Dimitri’s. “Whistleblower.”
“That whistleblower belongs to my capo here,” Renzo said, gesturing toward me.
To that, Dimitri let out a snort. “That is why my best men have not been able to shoot a single, unarmed woman.”
To his side, one of the women started to speak in rapid Russian.
“English,” Renzo snapped.
“My friend here was just saying that I should have sent her to do the job,” Dimitri said, shrugging. “Ruthless creatures, women,” he added.
“Look, what’s done is done,” Renzo said. “You’ve made attempts. We’ve… thwarted them. We’re not here about the past. We’re here to talk about the future.”
“Da,” Dimitri agreed, nodding. “What do you have in mind?”
“A truce,” Renzo said. “You don’t come for my people, their loved ones, or spouses. In turn, I won’t systematically work to dismantle your fucked up human trafficking ring.”
To that, Dimitri’s brow rose as the woman broke off in rapid Russian once again.
“English,” Renzo snapped.
“Fucking Americans,” the woman said, glaring at Renzo. “Always assuming we are the bad guys.”
“Pretty sure everyone agrees trafficking women is fucked, babe,” Renzo shot back.
“Women are moved here, yes. But not against their wills,” the woman declared as Dimitri sat back, allowing her to speak.
“You want me to believe you’ve got a massage parlor full of willing sex slaves?” Renzo asked, rolling his eyes.
“Sex slaves,” the woman snorted. “Yes, it is so hard to accept that a woman would be willing to jerk a man off for an extra fifty dollars in her pocket. All sex is transactional. We simply take the emotion out of it,” she said.
We.
It was then that I understood why she looked familiar.
Her picture had been on the massage parlor website, along with her name. Anna.
“You work there willingly?” Renzo asked. “Why?”
“Money. What other reason?” Anna asked.
“You wouldn’t need Dimitri to make money doing that,” Renzo reasoned.
“No,” Anna agreed. “But there is safety this way. And a way to get from Russia to New York.”
“So you are trafficking,” Renzo concluded. “But your… passengers are willing?”