Born To Be Bad: A Mafia Billionaire Romance by Blair Butler

Author:Blair Butler [Butler, Blair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fire Finch Press
Published: 2024-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

The Protégé

ALISTAIR

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. A huge headache swirls just behind my brows, getting ready to settle in.

FUCK.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

The protégé stutters his reply. “I have his … I have his … body.”

“How?” I demand. “What the fuck happened?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” says Brodie. “It happened so fast. It was confusing.”

“Just tell me what happened,” I growl.

Lucky narrows his eyes in suspicion of this “protégé” of six years we’ve never met. He has a point.

“But first,” I say, “I need to know we can trust you. That you are who you say you are.”

“I can do that,” he says, more confident now. Blackwood’s death has sent him reeling, but he knows he can prove his identity. “I know everything about you. About your family. Blackwood’s been feeding me your intel for years to give me the solid background knowledge I’ll need to take his place.” He pauses. “I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.”

“Go ahead, then,” I say. I’m looking for something the Russians couldn’t possibly know.

“Isobel Ravenscroft had a surgery last year that she kept secret from the family. You can phone the surgeon at Mount Assisi to confirm. She listed Blackwood as the next of kin. She told you she was in Bolzano with her book club, even paid for the hotel in case someone checked, so you can call them to confirm, too. Il Battente. April sixth to the eleventh, 2023. It was a good choice location-wise because she had been there before, in 2018, and would be able to answer questions about the place. Her favorite local dish was canederli, dumplings in a clear broth. The region is also known for its wine, particularly Lagrein and Santa Maddalena. When⁠—”

I cut him off. “That’ll do for now.” He certainly retains details, which I like.

“Right,” he says, back to being nervous.

Lucky interrupts. “The Ravens. We got them out of the house.”

I nod my acknowledgment and thanks.

Back to Max Brodie. “Tell me what happened with Blackwood.”

“I still don’t know. Vilmos was with us, on the team.”

“Who?”

“He’s an op Blackwood uses … or, used to use. Good at getting into places. He went in and never came out.”

“Went in where?”

“Serebryanaya Bereza Dvoretz. A private palace chapel that aristocrats hire for opulent weddings and baptisms.”

“And funerals,” I say.

“Yes,” Brodie replies. “Blackwood was certain something was amiss with Kuznetsov. That’s why he sent Vilmos in.”

“And Vilmos never came out.”

“So Blackwood went in. I asked him not to, but he felt responsible.”

“For Vilmos?”

“For Vilmos. For the danger he put you and your family in by missing the Ivanov baby. His intel had never compromised a mission before.”

Christ. No one’s perfect, Blackwood. You of all people should have known that. What a fucking waste of an exemplary human.

“Then he had this hunch that he just had to act on,” continues Brodie. “I think he considered it as his redemption. To set things right, he said. It wasn’t something I could talk him out of.

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