Page 48 of Ruin
I laugh, the sound perfectly calibrated to suggest I’m modestly embarrassed at her compliment. "Still advocating for victims, just with better resources now. That's actually why I wanted to see you."
Michelle raises an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest.
She always was drawn to challenging cases.
"I'm working with a client whose family is being threatened by Russian organized crime," I continue, letting genuine concern creep into my voice. "The usual escalating intimidation—pay up or family members start disappearing. But this feels bigger than a simple extortion case."
"How much bigger?"
"I think we're looking at Bratva involvement. The leader's name is Kirill Zhukhov. Ever heard of him?"
Michelle's expression sharpens, and I know I've hooked her.
She pulls out her phone, makes a note. "Zhukhov... that name sounds familiar, but I can't place it. I can run him through our databases, see what comes up. This is for potential court proceedings?"
"Potentially. Right now, I'm just trying to understand what we're dealing with before I advise the family how to proceed." The lie flows easily, naturally. I've gotten very goodat this—reading people, telling them what they want to hear, manipulating them into giving me what I need. "If it's really Bratva-level organized crime, they'll need federal protection, not just local police."
"Smart thinking." Michelle nods approvingly. "The locals can't handle that level of sophistication. But Selene, if this family is really being threatened by the Bratva, they need to contact the FBI immediately. You're talking about people who make the Italian families look like choirboys."
"Of course. I just want to be fully informed before I make that recommendation. Knowledge is power, right?"
"Absolutely. Give me a day or two to compile everything. I'll pull criminal records, known associates, recent activities, the works."
We spend another twenty minutes chatting about her current cases, mutual acquaintances from my internship days, normal small talk that feels like speaking a foreign language now.
She tells me about her latest prosecution—a domestic violence case where the husband tried to claim self-defense.
I make appropriate sympathetic noises while thinking about how Cassius would handle a man who hit women.
Lionel would probably be involved, and pliers.
When we part, Michelle promises to fast-track what she has and call me as soon as possible with whatever she finds.
She hugs me goodbye, and I catch a whiff of her vanilla perfume—innocent, sweet—everything I'm not anymore.
Walking back to my car, I catch my reflection in a shop window.
Designer clothes, confident posture…predator's grace in every step.
The diamond collar at my throat catches the sunlight, beautiful and unmistakable.
I look exactly like what I am—a wolf in expensive clothing.
I love it.
Michelle callsthe next evening while I'm getting ready to see Cassius.
I'm standing in front of my full-length mirror, applying red lipstick that looks like blood against my pale skin, when her ringtone cuts through the quiet.
"Selene, this Zhukhov guy is bad news.Reallybad news."
I cap my lipstick and give her my full attention. "What did you find?"
"He runs the eastern seaboard operations for the Bratva. Money laundering, human trafficking, arms dealing—you name it, he's got his fingers in it. Known associates include half the FBI's most wanted list." Papers rustle in the background, and I can picture her at her cluttered desk, surrounded by case files. "His rap sheet is extensive but he's never been successfully prosecuted. Too smart, too well-protected."
"What about his methods? How does he operate?"
"That's where it gets interesting. The Bratva is typically brutal but sloppy. They like sending messages, making examples out of people. Public executions, torture, hurting the loved ones of their enemies to the point they take out entire families."
