Devil's Advocate: A Dark Mafia Romance (Devil's Playground Book 1) by Vivi Paige (different ereaders .TXT) 📗

him a cold stare from my desk. I knew I made an impressive picture with the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me and the view of downtown Chicago from my tenth-floor office.

“I’m talking to you, sir,” Katie said, and this time she walked over to stand right in front of him. “I asked if you had an appointment.”

“It’s all right, Katie,” I told her, slipping my sore feet back into my heels. “Come on in, Eddie.”

Katie moved aside and Eddie stormed into my office, pacing back and forth in anger. He was older than me by a few years, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him. As young lawyers climbing the ranks in Chicago, we had seen each other in court throughout the years. And while I worked hard to cultivate a sophisticated and attractive appearance, poor Eddie couldn’t seem to lose the baby-face that made him look like he was dressing up in daddy’s suit.

“Tough one today,” I smiled at him. “Do you think the tech messed with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Vercetti, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

“I was trying to win my case. Same as you, Eddie.”

“Not like me,” he nearly yelled. “I don’t cheat the system. It’s called justice, Sophie.”

“It’s Vercetti. And if you can’t scrounge together enough evidence to convict a blabbing idiot of a murderer, then I’d say justice won out today, didn’t it?” I smiled sweetly at him.

“Karma’s a bitch, Vercetti. It’ll catch up to you.”

“Oh, really?” I asked. I was enjoying this conversation a bit too much and couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him. “Do you think it’s going to ask me out for coffee? I’d hate to hurt karma’s feelings.”

“Watch yourself,” Eddie spit out, but now he looked red from embarrassment instead of rage.

“Katie will show you out,” I said. Katie had been dutifully listening to the conversation, and she swooped in immediately, sliding her arm into Eddie’s. He looked a bit stunned as she led him out of my office and then into the hallway before closing the door behind him.

“What a nut job!” Katie said, returning to my door frame. “Eat in peace. Let’s chat schedule in fifteen.” She reached in for the door handle and closed my door, leaving me alone.

I took a deep breath and fished the keys from my purse. With the smallest key on the keychain, I opened the lower left drawer of my desk. Inside there was nothing but papers and paper clips, but if you knew where to press… with a click, the false bottom of the drawer opened to reveal a tiny compartment. I slipped my finger inside and felt the hard plastic of the SIM card. Still there. Still safe.

The buzz from my work phone startled me, and I quickly lifted the false bottom back into place and closed the drawer, locking it.

“What is it, Katie?”

“There’s someone to see you. He says he’s your future client,” Katie said through the phone.

“Tell him to make an appointment and come back tomorrow.”

“I tried that,” Katie said. I could hear uncertainty in her voice, which was odd.

“Enough of this,” I heard from the other side of the door. A man’s voice.

Just then, my office door swung open and trouble, in the shape of a handsome, 6’3” stranger, walked through it.

Chapter Five

Indro

Che cazzo. Che cosa è con i numeri cazzo. Of course this broad had to work at 111 Jackson Ave. Not a good omen. Sicilians got a thing with omens, and I got a thing with numbers. My brother Flavio says I got ‘obsessive compulsive something or other,’ but I just like even numbers, all right? They scratch an itch somewhere in my brain. I don’t play spreads or lay down on ponies if the numbers don’t end in zero, or can’t be cut cleanly in half. It’s so satisfying when something gets cut cleanly in half. I guess it’s a good thing I joined the family business.

The little dessert at the front desk—Kathy? Katie? —was cute, tryin’ to keep me from going into this Vercetti broad’s office, but I had business to attend to, and the clock was ticking. On top of that, I’m not accustomed to being told what I can’t do.

“Enough of this shit,” I said politely, and gently moved the little dessert to the side. When I opened the door to Vercetti’s office I was met with an unanticipated surprise. I was expecting a frumpy, hard-nosed lawyer type, with bad skin and a saggy rack. What I was staring at was hot enough to make the Devil ask for ice water.

Merda santa—holy shit. I helped myself to a seat across from this beautiful work of art and kicked my Bontonis up onto the desk, so she knew that I was callin’ the shots. She stared me dead in the eye for what seemed like an eternity.

“I don’t care what little old pig fucker from the Old Country hand-tooled your guido shoes, but they don’t belong on my desk. I’m the leading criminal defense attorney in this state and you’ll show me the respect I worked for,” she said curtly.

“All right. All right.” I said, offering my hands in a mea culpa, and lowered my shoes. “That’s a lotta bark for a broad what looks like she walked out of a magazine.”

“You will refer to me as Counselor, Counselor Vercetti, or Your Majesty, now what do you want? Because if it's just a chit-chat and some not-so-casual misogyny, I have cases that need my attention.”

Gesú Cristo. This one’s got balls. I like her. “My name is Indro L—“

“Indro Lastra from the Maloik family. I know who you are. I don’t represent organized crime. Too risky.”

“Crime? Who said anything about crime? We’re in the waste management business.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, returning to her lunch.

“What is that? What are you eating?”

“Biryani… Indian food.”

“It smells like it,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “C’mon. Let me take you down to Carmine’s and we can talk over