Chapter 22

22

Lyric

O ne thing that has worked in Max, Ivan, and Artur’s advantage is that they’ve managed to shake every federal tail they’ve had. They’re never in the same place for too long, and the city of Chicago is basically their oyster. They have friends and Russian family allies who will happily cover for them. Different apartments and penthouses, various cars and offices where they can conduct their business from—none under their names.

It got to this point because the FBI has been ramping up its harassment tactics, courtesy of Director Smith and the local field office.

Smith is hell bent on taking the Bratva down unless they stay in the same system that has worked so well for him and his horde of crooked cronies. But my men persevere, and the more they resist, the more their partners are inclined to believe that maybe there’s something else in store for the Bratva aside from the same old, same old.

On my end, I have a reckoning to deal with.

I must prove my algorithm right. The scenario it gave me was chilling to the very bone, but if I am to use any of its findings against my father—and therefore against Bowman and Smith, as well—I need more concrete evidence. Based on the guys’ own intel regarding my father and Shelby, I decide that I have to take a step forward and put my friendship with Shelby to the test.

Despite my earlier warning, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, that much is clear. Dad is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and while I hate myself for thinking so, Shelby is better off seeing for herself who he truly is.

“It’s been a while,” she says as we sit down for coffee at one of our usual cafes uptown. “You look good, Lyric. You’re glowing.”

“Pretty sure that’s just sweat,” I say, laughing lightly.

“No, I mean it. You look wonderful,” Shelby says. “Though I’m not sure what’s changed.” She pauses, her tone taking a temperature dive. “I heard about the argument you had with your father about the Sokolov’s.”

“You heard?”

“Yeah, he tells me pretty much everything. I’ve become his confidante lately.”

She says it with a hint of pride, and I need to take a deep breath before I’m about to gently rain on her parade. I give her a soft smile.

“He trusts you then.”

“He does,” she replies with a confident nod. “I mean, it’s hard to trust anybody in politics these days, so I’m glad he feels like he can trust me.”

I nod slowly. “Look, Shelby, my father’s got it all wrong regarding the Sokolov’s.”

“Does he though?” She narrows her eyes, carefully analyzing my expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Well obviously, I never told him anything about your involvement with them, Lyric, but even so, he can tell that it’s not the right path for you, especially under these complicated circumstances.”

“Are you talking about how the FBI are constantly harassing them for no good reason?” I shouldn’t get so defensive, but I can’t help myself. “Let’s face it, Shelby, they’re just using them as scapegoats at this point. They have nothing on them.”

“Yet.”

I give her a confused frown. “Yet?”

“Your father says it’s only a matter of time before the Feds start digging up the right corpses. And when they do, you don’t want to be anywhere near them, Lyric.”

These are delicate waters I’m treading. One wrong move, and I could end up turning Shelby against me. She has already gotten way too close for comfort where my father is concerned. The last thing I want to do is push her all the way into his arms.

I look at her, listening intently as she voices her feelings regarding my relationship with the Sokolov’s, though part of me wishes I could just smack the sense back into her head.

“I love you like a sister,” she says, “and you know that. I’m all for you finding true love, no matter how weird or taboo it may seem to the rest of the world, because I believe in your ability to discern right from wrong. Which is why I’m here, talking to you about all this. Your dad has no clue how deep your dealings with the Sokolov’s goes, and I would never tell him. But Lyric, it’s time to get serious. The Chicago Bratva is going down, sooner or later. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I offer another mellow nod, just so she’ll feel heard. “Thank you, Shelby. It means the world to me that you care so much about me. I care about you, too, and don’t you ever doubt it for a second. Which is why I need you to listen to what I have to say as well, okay? Can you do that? Can I talk straight like you just did?”

“Of course,” she smiles softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Brace yourself, Shelby. Because you might end up hating me by the time I’m done with you, I think to myself.

“So, here’s the thing. I know my father better than most people. Better than you, believe it or not,” I say.

“I believe it.”

“I’ve seen his rise up the political totem pole. I’ve seen how far he’s willing to go, how dirty he’s willing to get in order to win,” I continue, watching as Shelby’s expression gradually shifts from openness to wariness. “Matthew Phelps preaches fairness and righteousness, but he doesn’t practice it. You have no idea the kind of bribes he paid to even get on the city council ballot. The backdoor deals he made along the way. The favors he owes to some pretty shady people, that I know of. I can’t imagine what I don’t know about. I can give you names, dates, places, just so you understand that I’m not making any of this up.”

“I have no reason to distrust you.”

“I know he can be charming and he can really knock your socks off. And it’s easy to believe him, because his record appears spotless from the outside,” I continue. “I completely understand. But do you remember all those times that I aired my grievances with you about his political exploits?”

“I do. I just—”

“You believed me then, and you know, deep down, that you still believe me now,” I say. “You fell into his sweet honey trap, I get it. I would’ve too, if I planned on devoting my life to making the world a better place. You want to believe him, and you see all these good things that he does. Charity, social justice, calling members of Congress out to show more consideration toward his constituents, but even you know that they’re all just photo ops while he continues meeting with unsavory monsters behind closed doors. You must’ve seen it for yourself by now.”

Shelby lets a heavy, shuddering sigh roll from her chest. “I understand that politics is a dirty game, Lyric. I also understand that if you want to do some good in this world, you have to make deals with unsavory monsters as you call them, in order to get your agenda at a table where it has the best chance to be turned into reality.”

“What you don’t understand is that my father’s agenda is a pure work of fiction,” I tell her, discreetly pushing a USB drive across the table between us. “My algorithm can prove it. I can link every decision he’s ever made to a consequence that directly benefitted him or his cronies while it ultimately screwed over the very people he claims to serve. Every tax cut, every incentive, every bill and regulation he passed through the city council all leads back to him, his and his friends’ business interests. And there’s no one he’s tighter with than Jack fucking Bowman, who benefitted the most.”

“That’s bullshit,” Shelby snaps, but I insist and force her hand to close around the USB drive despite her initial resistance. “They’ve only known each other for a couple of years, ever since the Bureau decided to pay closer attention to the Chicago Bratva.”

“No, you’re wrong about that. It’s all there. Proof that they go way back and that they have been working together on a variety of projects for decades.”

“No.”

“Yes. Believe me, or don’t. Everything I’m telling you is backed by evidence. If you don’t have eyes to see, you’ll say it’s all purely circumstantial. But I know you, Shelby, I know you won’t let yourself be blinded by your own emotions. You’re a brilliant woman, and I love you to bits. I trust you’ll do the right thing with what I just gave you.”

A frown casts a deep shadow between her brows as she gives me a doubtful look. “And what is the right thing, Lyric?”

“You’ll know. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you will know.”

I think she already does, but she isn’t ready to accept that the reality she has built for herself in my father’s company isn’t real. It hurts, and I can see the pain dulling her gaze. She shakes her head but tucks the drive into her pocket before tossing a few bills on the table. “I’ve heard enough. Be careful, Lyric. I need to get back to work. Your father has a massive fundraiser to host tonight.”

“Shelby, I—”

“No, I’ve heard enough!” she snaps. “You tell me that I already know this and that. Well, let me tell you something you already know but aren’t ready to admit yet. Your father may be flawed, but he is fundamentally a good man. He may be a politician, but he really is working for the people. He’s determined to change this corrupt system. What really pisses you off is the fact that he and I have gotten closer. Too close for your taste, and that’s insanely hypocritical of you. You get to hook up and screw three older dudes at once, but I can’t experience something real and sweet with just one older man because he happens to be your father.”

“What?”

“Let’s call it what it is,” she says, then walks away.

I’m left staring at her, watching her stomp out of the café. Minutes pass, and I begin to doubt myself and the motivation behind what I just did. I’ll admit, I’m not exactly a fan of Shelby and my father getting together. But that’s not my issue.

My problem is that his downfall will likely hurt Shelby.

I stare at the Sokolov mansion from behind the wheel of my rental car. It would’ve been too risky to drive here in my own vehicle but I don’t believe I was followed. They haven’t been answering my calls or text messages. I tried calling their office more than once, but their secretary didn’t know what to tell me. To say that I’m a tad concerned would be a massive understatement, given the circumstances.

I’m supposed to give them my algorithm results—a USB copy like the one that Shelby got. I gave it to her first as a courtesy. What if she…

“No, she wouldn’t,” I mumble to myself.

We may have our skirmishes and disagreements, but Shelby would never betray me. There’s something else going on here and I need to figure out what it is, so I cautiously drive around the block a couple of times before pulling into the alleyway behind the house.

It’s odd, I soon realize, that there isn’t any security detail around.

They were supposed to have at least a couple of guys posted outside, visible for any surveying Feds to see. But it’s eerily quiet as nighttime falls over the city with its dark blue blanket of stars and half-moon hanging lazily in the eastern sky.

I don’t like this.

My instincts tell me to turn back. I should go home and wait for Max, Ivan, or Artur to text me or call me. The Bureau is watching this place, though I’m confident they haven’t spotted me yet. I stare at the back gate for a while, struggling with my own indecision, fingers lingering on the wheel while the engine hums idly.

A knock on my car window startles me. “Oh, shit!” I yelp, then exhale sharply as I recognize the police uniform. “Sorry!” I roll the window down and give the patrol officer a shy smile.

“You’ve been sitting out here for a while,” he says. “Do you need help?”

The name on his tag says O’Donnell. My stomach churns. I feel like a kid who got caught casing the candy store, even though I had no intention of committing any crime.

“Hi, Officer O’Donnell. No, I’m fine. Sorry, I was just stopping to text a friend of mine,” I laugh nervously. “You don’t want me texting and driving, do you?”

“A friend of yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives me a stone-cold look and I don’t know what to make of it. “Would your friend be any of the Sokolov’s? Because they aren’t home.”

“Oh.” I pause for a moment, trying to figure out what’s going on. “No, sir, I don’t know the Sokolov’s. I’m just texting my best friend, Shelby. She’s doing a fundraiser with her boss tonight,” I tell him, trying to sound as calm and as compliant as possible. “Like I said, I didn’t want to text and drive.”

“You really shouldn’t lie to a police officer, Miss Phelps,” he says, and my blood runs cold.

He knows who I am.

I gasp as I see his hand shoot out, something metallic and shiny in it.

I try to get away but he sticks me in the neck.

Heat instantly spreads through my skin. My head lolls and my body suddenly abandons me. I fall over the steering wheel, numb and quickly fading out of this world. My mind is racing in every which way, but I can’t do anything about it.

Fuck.

I never should’ve rolled the window down.

My eyes peel open. It’s dark and cold. The dampness makes my skin feel clammy all over as I struggle to pull myself into an upright position. My limbs are soft like jelly, my heart starting to race as I become more and more aware of my surroundings and I remember what happened.

The cop. O’Donnell.

A sense of urgency takes over, and I’m desperate to move and get off this stale, dirty couch. I wonder how long I’ve been out for. My body feels so weak.

“Ugh,” I moan, my mouth tasting like dry cotton.

A door opens, yellow light from the hallway cutting through the darkness of the room. I look up to see who’s coming. I don’t immediately recognize his stocky frame, but as soon as he speaks, shivers run down my spine.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Director Smith says.

“What the hell did you do to me?” I croak, dread taking over and stiffening my joints, my eyes darting all over the place.

The light coming in through the open door allows me to see my surroundings. I spot a window with iron bars on it. A dusty dresser next to it. An old coffee table with a bottle of water for me to drink, an armchair.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“Relax, you’re going to be fine. O’Donnell may have been a tad overzealous with his choice of tranquilizer, but you won’t be feeling much in terms of side effects. The nausea will take a while to wear off though,” Smith says.

I suddenly worry that whatever he injected me with might have hurt my baby. But I can’t let Smith know I’m pregnant. It would give him even more leverage.

“You kidnapped me?” I manage, giving Smith the nastiest look I can muster. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

“I’m making sure you stay put and out of our way,” he says then leaves a takeout bag on the coffee table. I can’t see what’s inside, but I can smell the fried chicken and the fries from where I’m sitting. “It was the only sensible thing I could do, given that we’re about to rain fire and hell on those Sokolov pricks.”

I look around again. “What did that cop inject me with?”

“I already told you it was a tranquilizer, probably valium or something similar. Relax.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a tad bit too relaxed under the circumstances. Director Smith, you kidnapped me. Do you have any idea what will happen when this gets out?” I say, fury finally awakening the rest of my dormant senses. My agitated heart keeps pounding and I feel like I’m becoming more alert with each deep breath that I take. “This is unconscionable!”

“Unconscionable, huh. I suppose it is.” He’s mocking me. There’s a smirk on his face. He’s downright amused.

“Not to mention illegal!”

Smith chuckles dryly. “Honey, we’re so past illegal at this point that you’re lucky I decided not to kill you and just be done with it. We’re in the big leagues, Miss Phelps. There’s no room for you on the playing field; I’m only doing this as a courtesy to your father. Don’t test me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It took us a while, but we finally got everybody we needed on board to take the Sokolov’s down, once and for all,” he says. “There are major movements taking place as we speak, and once we find those rat bastards, it’ll be all over for them.”

“You have nothing on them!”

“I don’t need to have anything on them. I just needed enough votes from the other families to make sure that I could go ahead with my contingency plan before I take them out.”

Fear tightens its clutch on my throat, the grip so strong it nearly crushes my windpipe as I struggle to breathe. Waves of hot and cold wash over me, my vision blurry as this new reality begins to sink in. They caught me unprepared. They kidnapped and drugged me. And now, they’re keeping me hostage. To what end, I don’t yet know.

What I do know is that they’re making a different kind of move against the Sokolov’s. Against my men, my lovers. A violent kind of move. And the other families are now involved. This popped up as one of the least likely scenarios in my algorithm’s trial runs, though I could never figure out who would bow before the Feds and who would stay loyal to the Bratva. I didn’t have enough inside information.

“Where are they?” I ask Smith. “Max, Ivan, Artur. Where are they?”

“If I knew, I’d personally have already put a bullet in each of their skulls,” Smith grumbles, then nods at the paper bag. “You should eat something. It’ll help the tranquilizer effects wear off sooner.”

“You really are as bad as they said you were,” I mumble, unable to look away from this man. “You walk around, flashing that badge and pretending to be a man of justice, yet here you are—”

“Here I am, about to get richer once the Sokolov’s get fitted with their brand-new cement shoes,” Smith replies. “It’s a wild world out there, Miss Phelps. A wild and unforgiving world. For every drug dealer we take out, three more rise up to take their spot. For every mobster we indict, three more rise up to torment the same neighborhoods we worked so hard to clean up. I’ve been at it for years. Bowman, too, before me. We’ve seen it all, and we’ve seen enough. We can’t stop people from doing wrong, but we can at least make a pretty penny off of it. We can make sure our kids and grandkids will never have to deal with these assholes.”

“I’m sorry, is this the ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ bullshit speech? I can’t believe you fell for it, Director Smith. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Ashamed of what? All the zeroes in my bank account, once the Sokolov’s are out of the race and the Bratva is back to doing what it does best? All those fuckers had to do was continue their daddy’s legacy. It would’ve been easier and cheaper, not to mention more profitable for everyone involved. But no, they had to be righteous pricks. Thinking they were better than the rest of us.”

“They are better. You’re proving that right now.”

Smith gives me a hard glare. “And look where that got them. Their own people have turned against them. You’re stuck here until we bury them. Like I said, you’re lucky I have too much respect for your father, otherwise, I’d—”

“Kill me. Yeah, you made that perfectly clear.”

“The option is still on the table, should you try something stupid,” he says. “Your old man won’t need to know the details. I can make it look like an accident. I’ve done it before. Be smart for once, Miss Phelps, and just sit tight. Eat something and stay hydrated while we hunt those bastards down and end this circus, once and for all.”

He laughs and walks out, having the decency at least to turn the light on. I hear the lock as the door shuts behind him. A single, dooming click. Every possible emotion is blowing through me right now, and it’s not long before I feel a panic attack coming over me.

I take several deep calming breaths as I start analyzing my situation, choosing to focus on the solution rather than the problem.

All I can do is be careful. Not only for my sake, but also for my baby’s.

Dammit, I should’ve stayed home.