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

you could move through a building without drawing attention. I had to handle this carefully. The law was really hot for me right now. A murder rap is no joke, even in this blood-soaked town, so it was possible the cops were keeping a tail on me.

I absolutely could not violate my probation, so I took some extra precautions to lose a tail, just in case there was one. I wove my way through a rec center basement, then in through the front of Luciano’s Italian Restaurant and right out the back and finally up over a fenced-in daycare playground. I emerged right into the last rushing commuters on Jackson.

I decided to bypass the doorman all together and swung around the back of 111. Better not to even look at that ugly number. The building crew had left the back door propped with a brick. Thank you, Saint Nicholas, for these negligent slobs. I could hear them shit-talking each other in the office. I slipped past and jumped into the maintenance lift. So far so good. Her floor was quiet and the lights in the office were off. It really was my lucky day.

The shitty Yale lock on her door took me all of nine seconds to jimmy and I was in. I strode right past the receptionist desk. If the SIM card was anywhere, it would be locked in her personal office. It was tidy in there, mostly law books and binders, and a movie poster from The Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman.

Vercetti barely came up to my chin. Did this stone-cold hottie have a sense of humor? I couldn’t waste time on her personality right now. I needed to get out of there before the cleaning crew showed up.

If I was a hard-headed fox who thought she was smarter than everyone else, where would I keep illegal shit? I gave the walls a quick once-over. The office didn’t have a safe, so my only hope was the desk. Bottom drawers revealed a stash of white cheddar popcorn and a gym bag. Upper drawers held an insane number of pens, but a quick once-over didn’t reveal a SIM card.

Maybe she wasn’t as dumb as I thought. I squatted down and carefully removed the middle drawer. I swept my hand back and forth across the inside of a drawer and bingo-bango! There it was: a little plastic bag, tucked in a hidden compartment. I pulled it out and kissed my tiny, powerful prize. Damn, I loved being good at my job!

I popped a handful of her popcorn into my mouth and surveyed the room, making sure everything was as I had found it. With the SIM card tucked into my breast pocket, I strolled to the elevator and exited the building, like I was any other happy worker heading home to my wife and kids.

With this ace in my hand, I was one step back from the edge of doom. Now she would have to take my case. More important, she would have to win my case. Even the Don respected Vercetti. I was getting out of this ragnatela.

Chapter Seven

Sophie

I love this town, but there are some mornings I wish Chicago was a person, so I could punch it in the face. This had been one of those mornings. Or maybe I just wanted to punch the dimwit who designed the Kennedy. Traffic was ridiculous and I was already 30 minutes behind. I sprinted out of the elevator, racing for a noon filing deadline I could not miss and a Big Shoulders coffee that I really needed to drink.

Katie shot out of her seat as soon as the elevator dinged. That should have tipped me off.

“I’m so sorry, Soph…” she said, closing in on me.

“It’ll have to wait until after three,” I said, waving her off and beelining for my desk. “I have a serious deadline and I haven’t had any coffee.” Weirdly, she followed me to the door.

“Soph, seriously….”

“After three,” I said, starting to get pissed. Why was she being such a freak? I slammed the door and threw my coat on the client chair. That’s when I saw them. Propped up on my desk, getting scuff marks on my urgent filings, was a pair of expensive Italian shoes. I seriously hate shoes on the desk. These shoes were attached to the same Indro Lastra I had kicked to the curb last night. This little Soldati could not take a hint!

“I’m pretty sure I used English yesterday, Mr. Lastra,” I said, cocking my hip and staring down at his sneering face.

“I heard you loud and clear,” he said and then flicked his wrist to reveal a Ziploc bag I instantly recognized. Sitting in it, plain as day, was the SIM card from Dilbert Wayne’s cell phone. Fuck me sideways!!! I should have destroyed that stupid thing. How did Indro even know about that case?

I’m rarely at a loss for words, but that little piece of tech could get me disbarred—worse yet, thrown in jail. I just stood there like a scarecrow.

“Ma’don.” I finally muttered.

“The Madonna can’t help you,” he said and slid his feet to the floor, spreading his knees and leaning forward in the chair. “But we can help each other. Have a seat.”

“You’re in my seat, cooch.”

“It’s my seat now, gabadost,” he said with the tiniest smile on his lips. “You sit on the desk.” Of course, this big thug would boss me around. With a sigh, I lowered myself onto the corner, as far from him as I could.

“No,” he said, a tinge of menace creeping into his voice. “You sit right here and don’t cross your legs.” I pivoted to his side of the desk, sitting as far back from him as I could. Suddenly the space between us was thick with heat and danger. My heart rate kicked up a notch and my skin began to flush. I knew he’d already killed at least one man, but there had probably been others.

I