I hate talking to her like this. But I have to maintain order or this whole Bratva will go to s**t. Especially if word gets out that the lawyer in stilettos has my balls tucked neatly in her briefcase next to her depositions.
“Of course not, Mr. Zakrevsky.” She stands and extends her hand to me. I’m hesitant to take it, but I do. She gives me a little shake and uses her best “lawyer voice” when she hisses, “It’s a f*****g promise.”
Then the whirlwind that is Bambi Watkins leaves my office the same way she entered, pissed and ready for war.
I just never thought she’d declare war against me.
I carefully skim through her resignation papers. Then I stack them neatly together, make sure everything is in order, and rip them into tiny little pieces until my desk is covered in confetti.
Bambi
