Chapter 23

23

Max

W e’re lucky we still have friends in low places.

Rumors reached our ears and we smelled the rats. We figured it might come to this, so we prepared for the worst. They almost got us, though. Someone figured out that we had the penthouse as a safe haven. Ivan kept casing the block, almost obsessively. To his disappointment, his suspicions turned out to be true.

They came in the middle of night.

They wore black leather jackets, gloves, and balaclavas, silencers on their semi-automatic pistols. They thought they would catch us unprepared, but we were waiting quietly in the dark. They didn’t stand a chance. One by one, the assassins fell, and then it was our turn.

Ivan smashes Rudy’s knee with a baseball bat while Artur goes through his phone. I can barely hear myself think from all the screaming and wailing. We’re in a dumpy basement with only one functioning neon light, the sound of water dripping down the old, rusty pipes.

“Cry all you want,” I say, my arms crossed as I sit in a chair in front of Rudy. “No one’s going to hear you down here.”

The sound of his kneecap crumbling turns my stomach. We don’t like resorting to such measures but they gave us no choice. Rudy sobs, his face red as he struggles to cope with the pain, while my brother stands back for a moment, bat defiantly resting on his shoulder.

“I told you,” Rudy manages in between sobs, “I don’t know.”

“And I told you that I don’t believe you,” I reply. “Come on, Rudy. We go way back. I’ve known you since you were trying on your mother’s lipstick and red pumps. Remember? Your dad came home and found you like that, then dragged you across the block to show everyone.”

“Max, I swear to God, I don’t know what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” Artur cuts in. “Somebody sent hitmen after us. The other families wouldn’t do that unless it was sanctioned by a vote. And we all know who stands to benefit the most from our premature departure.”

Rudy gives him a troubled look. “The local Feds? Seriously?”

“Rudy, your father made a deal. It’s obvious. The Irish would never turn against us, not without some kind of incentive.”

“How do you know it was our guys?”

Ivan takes out his phone, showing him photos of the shamrock tattoos on our dead hitmen’s necks.

“Oh, God,” Rudy mumbles, drool trickling from the corner of his bruised mouth. He got quite the beating even before my brother decided to kick things up a notch. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense if your father decided to stick to the old ways despite our advocacy and our efforts to steer everybody in a better, safer, and equally profitable direction,” I retort. “I’m going to ask you one last time, Rudy, though I hate having to repeat myself. Who did your father meet with this morning?”

“This morning?”

Artur rolls his eyes. “Come on man, even the busboys at Dalton’s pizzeria knew about the big boss meetup this morning. You’re going to take over for your father one day. You can’t tell me you didn’t know anything about it.”

“Oh, he knows,” Ivan mutters. “His knee is going numb, though, so he’s probably thinking he can withstand more of what I’m about to deliver.”

Rudy gives him a terrified look. “Wait, what?”

CRACK!

The bat meets his other knee with the same sickening sound, followed by more howls and wails. I roll my eyes, lacking any sympathy for those who actively chose to betray us. I have no mercy for traitors and spineless sacks of shit, especially when their treachery threatens not just our lives, but the lives of countless others who have nothing to do with our business.

“Who was at the meeting?” I ask, keeping my tone low and calm.

“Oh, God.” Rudy coughs and gags, dangerously close to puking his guts out. Artur splashes some cold water over his face, then slaps him around a couple of times, just to keep him alert and talking. “Dad was there. I asked him what it was about, he said… he said it wasn’t for me to know yet. That he’d tell me when it’s over.”

“When it’s over,” Ivan repeats after him, looking at me.

“Who else?” I reply.

“They got the Chinese and the Japanese on board. Shin and Mizuma,” Rudy says. “Pretty sure the Mexicans had a delegate. One of yours too.”

“One of ours?” Artur raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Who’d they send to represent the Bratva?”

Rudy shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“I hate that answer,” Ivan says.

“The old… the old man, I think. I heard my dad talking to him over the phone. Oh, God, I forgot his fucking name.”

Ivan readies his bat. “What should I swing on next?”

“Larionov. For fuck’s sake. Old man Larionov!” Rudy cries out.

Artur curses under his breath. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Old man Larionov is making a power move, making backdoor deals with the families we’ve known to be resistant to our shift in the organization.

“Were the Feds involved?” I ask Rudy.

He nods once. “Bowman. He called the meeting through about a dozen proxies.”

“Where did the meeting take place?”

“Houston Grill. The VIP lounge. They closed it off for the rest of the day.”

Ivan gives me another look. “Houston Grill. Matthew Phelps’s joint.”

We knew from our own investigation that Phelps had a stake in several diners and restaurants across the city—all of which should’ve resulted in a major conflict of interest for many of his city council votes. But without any proof on paper and only rumors to rely on, knowing this information felt useless.

Not anymore.

Phelps, the high and mighty politician running for state senate, facilitated a meeting between mafia bosses. A meeting in which a decision was made. A decision to have me, my brother, and my best friend killed because we were spoiling a carefully crafted ecosystem of trafficking directly coordinated by the Feds’ Chicago field office.

“Larionov decided to be stupid then,” Artur sighs. “I’d hoped he’d be more reasonable.”

“When have you ever known that dumb fucker to be reasonable?” Ivan grumbles.

My phone pings. One look at the screen and my stomach sinks. Every other noise, including Rudy’s panting and wretched sobs, is drowned out by the sudden drumming in my ears. My heart is thudding as I stare at the image I just received via text from an unknown sender.

“Guys,” I mutter, beckoning Ivan and Artur to come closer.

The three of us are faced with our worst nightmare, now come true. Lyric, sitting on a dirty old sofa, looking pale, terrified, and in visible discomfort. The image is accompanied by a simple but effective message.

“45th and Lennox. Midnight. You know what to do,” I read the words aloud.

Ivan roars with unbridled fury and takes the bat to Rudy’s knees again.

“Ivan, stop!” Artur pulls him away, making sure the bat hits the floor while Rudy pretty much soils himself in sheer horror. “Stop, man. We need a clear head about us.”

“What happened?” Rudy asks, his eyes wide and glassy.

I give him a sour look. “Consequences of your father’s dumb actions.”

“They have her,” Ivan snarls. “What the fuck do we do?”

Ice fills my veins as I abandon my emotions. My love for Lyric gets tucked away, wrapped in layers of cold, merciless darkness as I get up and shift my focus back to Ivan and Artur.

“We get her back,” I tell them. “The smart way.”

“The smart way,” Artur repeats, doubt saturating his tone.

“We’ve got a couple more hours,” I say. “And one more stop to make before 45th and Lennox.”

The Larionov villa is well guarded, especially at night, but the old man’s bouncers are slow and lazy, and no match for us. Besides, we’re remarkably motivated by Lyric’s abduction to the point where we go through each security detail like a red-hot knife would go through a stick of butter. One by one, they fall as we work our way to the top floor.

The clock is ticking, and I have no intention of losing this war.

We find Larionov in his private study, sharing a bottle of grappa with his daughter.

“How sweet,” I quip as I burst through the double doors, leaving two more bodies behind. Ivan and Artur are quick to flank the chairs by the window where Larionov and Polina are seated. “Good. You’re both here. It’ll make everything go a lot easier.”

Polina stills, glass in hand, panic imprinted upon her pretty face. Larionov grunts and makes a move for his ankle piece, but Ivan fires a warning shot that hits the chair leg. Wood splinters fly out. Polina screams. Larionov curses and raises his hands in a quick, defensive gesture.

“We need to talk,” I say, surprised by my own calmness. “What did they promise you?”

“What are you referring to?” the old man asks, not even bothering to hide the deception anymore. It is blatantly disrespectful.

“I don’t think you want to do things this way,” I warn.

Artur and Ivan have their guns trained on them both. Polina seems confused and outraged, her gaze bouncing between us in growing agitation. “Max, what are you doing?”

“You know damn well what I’m doing, Polina. You brought this upon yourselves,” I say. “The minute you betrayed us, you knew this would be coming.”

Larionov scoffs, shaking his head in disgust. “You were supposed to be dead already.”

“Sorry, your guys just weren’t fast enough,” Artur chuckles. “Oh, by the way, there’s something you should know,” he pauses, taking his sweet time to enjoy the consternation on their faces, the looks of guilt and shame, anger and helplessness, as the realization of their fate becomes inevitable. “It wasn’t just Max who had a run at your daughter.”

“Artur!” Polina shouts.

“The three of us had her,” he says. “Day in and day out, for quite a long time. Polina was perfectly happy with us sharing her while she waltzed around your house, pretending to be your precious, innocent angel.”

Larionov gasps. “How dare you say such things?”

“It’s the truth and you should hear it before you leave this world behind,” Artur replies. “Your daughter had all of us at once, and she loved every minute of it. It’s why she’s been pestering you to get Max to marry her. She’s desperate to be in our bed again.”

“You piece of—” Larionov moves to get up, but Ivan empties the rest of his clip in the old man’s chest first. Polina screams. Artur tells her to shut up, forcing her into a sudden, shocked silence.

I wish I had a smidge of sympathy left for her but I don’t.

A minute passes in heavy, loaded silence, as Larionov breathes his last muted breath while staring at me. I wonder what his final thoughts were. Artur wanted him to suffer. He wanted the shock factor to destroy him before death took him. I cannot imagine a more torturous way to die, knowing such things about your daughter, a daughter you had so highly revered.

I have a mind of doing the same to Phelps, if we all survive what comes next.

“You have two choices right now,” I calmly tell Polina. “And not a lot of time to decide.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses, bringing her knees up to her chest. She hugs them tightly, desperate to give herself some kind of comfort while she’s forced to sit there and stare at her father’s lifeless body.

“Cry all you want,” I tell her. “But these are the facts. You’re screwed on every possible level. I know Bowman called a meeting with every mob head that would listen. I know your father was there and voted for our assassination. Rest assured, every single person who voted yes this morning will not live to see tomorrow.”

“My father—”

“Your father betrayed us. He broke the code that he and his father before him were so proud to have enforced. You don’t turn on your own people, Polina,” I cut her off. “Now, I know that Bowman has Lyric.”

“Lyric?”

Artur gives her a hard look. “I have zero tolerance left for you right now.”

“Okay, so?” Polina croaks, wincing just a little.

“You either tell us what you know about where she is, what they plan to do with her, every single fucking thing, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you, or you die. Tell us and you have my word that I will let you live.”

Polina narrows her eyes at me, her fury palpable. “And what’s my other choice?”

“Say nothing and I will make you wish I would simply put a bullet through your head,” I reply. “I will kill you slowly, until you beg me to end it. And trust me, if we don’t get Lyric back alive, I will make it hurt like nothing you’ve ever known.”

“You love her,” she mumbles. “You actually love that prissy bitch.”

“That’s not your concern,” I say.

Ivan gives me a dark look. “You’re being too nice, brother.”

“I’m giving her one last chance,” I say, then turn my sights on Polina again. “So, what’ll it be, Polina? Where do we stand?”