Mob Boss Series Book #1: The Russian Heir

Chapter Thirty One: The Things That Sink

Bryce's POV
It's early in the morning. I haven't checked the clock but I'm thinking 4 or 5am. The birds are chirping, maybe a little after 5? Is it 6am? I'm not sure. I'm just beginning to wake up. I stretched my arm to the other side of the bed where her petite frame usually lies. When I came up empty, I sat up suddenly. In a another reality I would think she's in the bathroom or snagging an early morning snack. But in this reality, the one that seems to exist right now, Lettie is gone. She disappeared and we still can't find her.

It's been weeks since Domingo came into the picture. I'm counting five and still he hasn't been able to catch Brody. I'm beginning to think that she could be dead. If it's by my brother's hand, it's because she refused to do whatever he wants. If that is true, if Brody did this, I will bury him alive and I'll sit there till he has breathed his last.

I slowly pushed the covers away feeling the crisp morning air flowing from the window on my exposed skin. It was a hot night. I opened the window. Lettie likes to open windows. She doesn't like air conditioning. I still do that.

I got up and stalked my way to the floating white sheers. As I was reaching for the window, I saw an SUV driving steadily along the curved driveway towards the house. It could be Alexei. He doesn't sleep much. He says he will have enough of that in his grave.

I was forced to check the time. 5:35am. I wasn't that off about the time. I pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie and I made my way downstairs. I want to see who is visiting so early in the morning.

When I reached for the door handle,the door bell rang. I opened the door to come face to face with Chuck St Patrick. His expression is as grim as the dark clothes. I noticed the neatly folded arms in front of him. He looks like a soldier who is here to deliver had news.

"Good morning Bryce. I'm sorry to drop in so early and uninvited. May I come in?"

Chuck is known for two things. He is honest and he is polite. There's never a ride moment from him.

I stepped aside unable to speak. He came into the house and lingered on the same spot. He only moved when I invited him to follow me. We took our seats in the formal living room facing each other. The fire is always burning in this house. It's a tradition that has always been there. I did not argue with it when I moved in.

"W-what can I do for you?" I can't fight my rising heart rate.

"How are you holding up?"

"How do you think?" I asked him.

"It must not be easy. I'll get to the point." He is also known for that. Not small talk. When he small talks, he's hiding something or putting something off. "We recovered the plane. I had the remains transported to a privately owned warehouse. Can you please accompany me?"

"Can you just tell me what you found?"

"It crashed in the Atlantic. We recovered the remains of the plane. The flight recorder and the black box are badly damaged. There are some things someone should see for themselves if the mind is to accept." He stood up. "Let's go Bryce."

He is also quite authoritative. Sometimes he just doesn't ask. He says so. I got up from my seat with a lot of hesitance. I'm dreading any finality to this. I don't want a finality.

*
The warehouse is owned by the St Patrick Group. It's tucked away among other warehouses bat the edge of the compound.

"What do you guys store here?"

"It's confidential." He answered.

And each warehouse has about three visible guards.

"Do they know what the St Patrick Group is hiding in these warehouses?"