Chapter 26

26

Ivan

O nce I remove the hood from her head, Shelby freezes like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. Her eyes are wide and filled with tears, locks of her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. She’s still in her plush green pajamas, the same ones she was wearing when we barged in and snatched her out of her home.

“Where am I?” she asks, shaking like a leaf as she looks around.

“You’re safe,” I tell her.

“What does that mean? I was safe at home on my sofa!”

“Relax, I have no intention of harming you. I just want to talk.”

We’re in the back room of The Violin, my late cousin’s jazz bar. It is closed for the evening, not another soul in sight.

“We were never properly introduced,” I say, taking my seat in front of her chair. Her hands and ankles are bound with zip ties, but I consider it a temporary measure. I didn’t even tighten them as much as I normally would. “I’m Ivan Sokolov.”

Again, she stills, horror and fear engulfing her.

“Oh God. What do you want with me?”

“I promise we’re not going to hurt you, Shelby. We need your help.”

She scoffs, her brow furrowed with skepticism. “And you couldn’t just ask me? You had to do all this?”

“Be honest. Had I simply come up to you and introduced myself, would you have been willing to help or would you have gone running for the hills?” I pause to observe her awkward silence as she averts her gaze for a second. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Listen, Shelby, you need to understand something. You’re protecting the wrong people.”

“Oh, no, don’t think for a second that you can manipulate me like you manipulated Lyric.”

“Lyric loves us, and we love her,” I reply. “Nobody manipulated anybody. What happened between us just happened, Shelby. Love is love. Surely, you can understand that better than most, given all the water that you’ve been carrying for Matthew Phelps, of all people.”

“That’s not a fair comparison, I—”

“Jack Bowman kidnapped Lyric. He’s holding her hostage until my brother and me and our friend surrender,” I cut her off.

Shelby’s jaw practically hits the floor. “Wait… what?”

“Here,” I say, showing her the image and text message that Max received. “This was sent to us a few hours ago. And we know for a fact that the address is where we’re going to die, unless we get ahead of this and play it smart. Shelby, Matthew Phelps is not a decent man. He, much like Bowman and Smith, is a criminal, and likely a murderer by proxy.”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“It’s the truth and you know it. I see it written all over your face. You know what kind of person he is. And you’re conflicted because Lyric is such a good and kind human being. It probably made sense to you that her father, despite his political panache and sharp debate skills, would also be a good and kind human being. I get it, I really do. But Lyric herself gathered plenty of information proving otherwise. And I know she wanted to talk to you about it.”

“She did. Earlier today,” Shelby lets a sigh roll from her chest. “Oh, God, I saw her. She was worried about you guys, about me, about how it would all turn out.”

I nod slowly. “Bowman is using her as leverage right now. To get to us.”

“Does Matthew know? I need to tell him!”

“He can’t do anything about it. Bowman and Smith outnumber and outpower him right now. He is useless. But you, Shelby, you can help us.”

“How?”

“I’m betting that you know which closet it is that Matthew keeps his skeletons. I need proof that he’s a part of this conspiracy. That proof will put Bowman and Smith in the same pot. I need evidence to show the guys at Quantico before I accuse their entire Chicago field office of egregious acts, decades-long corruption, bribery, racketeering, and God knows what else. I need proof Shelby, so that I can get to Bowman and Smith before they do something awful and irreversible.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “They want the three of you in jail for life. How is that awful?”

“What part of ‘they kidnapped Lyric’ didn’t you understand?”

Shelby stops, briefly glancing at her bare feet.

“How did it get to this?” Shelby asks herself, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s out of control. Matthew would never—”

“Don’t think for a second that he will ever go against Bowman or Smith,” I say. “They will never be punished for taking Lyric away, even if it’s just for a few hours. They’re depriving her of her freedom, Shelby. You can’t let them do that. You have to pick a side—Lyric or her father. What will it be?”

“This is insane.”

“You’ve known Lyric for years. You’re best friends. Or you were best friends. As far as she’s concerned, you still are, Shelby. What about you?”

“She has always been like a sister to me. I would never even think about hurting her or letting anyone else hurt her. I just can’t believe her father would do something like this.”

“You have to believe it. Look back on every interaction you’ve ever had with Matthew,” I insist. “Look back, try to remember. How many times has Matthew said or done something that gave you pause. That made you worry or doubt him, if only for a second?”

Shelby gives me a pained look. “Too many times. I just chalked it up to politics.”

“But it wasn’t just politics, was it?”

“What can I do? I need Lyric to be okay.”

“So do we. We also need all the ammo we can get against Matthew and his buddies. You’re close to him, Shelby. Close enough to help us.”

She shudders for a second when I slowly take out a small pocketknife and show it to her. She soon realizes what I intend to do with it, reaching her hands out so I can cut the cable ties off.

“Matthew will never forgive me,” she mumbles as I get rid of her ankle restraints next. “But he’s responsible for all of this. I can’t stay blind forever.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“He keeps a small, secret vault in his campaign office. It’s filled with a variety of files—cash, flash drives, minidisks, that kind of stuff. He calls it his blackmail stash. I thought it was a joke at first until the time he met with one of his city council opponents, supposedly to talk. He took out one of the flash drives, put it into the guy’s laptop, and played a few clips for him. By the end of the meeting, Matthew had the votes he needed to get a specific regulation to go through. His opponent resigned the next day. They found him dead about a week later from an overdose.”

“Were you present for that meeting?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t see the screen. No audio either, I think the video was on mute. Or maybe it was CCTV footage with no sound, I don’t know.”

“Do you remember the context of the conversation?”

She nods once. “I tried to talk to him about it after the guy left. Matthew said that it was the cost of fighting for the good people of Chicago and that he had no regrets. Getting his hands dirty in order for city legislation to pass felt like the right thing to do.”

“And when he heard about the guy offing himself? What did he say?”

“Nothing. He didn’t want to talk about it. But he was laughing, almost jovial. Accepting congratulations for other projects. Excited to do his fundraiser later that evening. Jesus, I’ve been ignoring a lot of stuff. The more I think about it—”

“The more you realize how awfully wrong you were about this man. I get it.”

Shelby looks at me, shame burning red in her eyes. “I can show you the vault. I caught a glimpse of his access code.”

“You need to be the one who hands the contents of that vault over to us. Legally, you’ll stand a better chance against any retaliation from Matthew or his lawyers if you do,” I warn her. “This will get ugly. But I promise, we’ll get you the best counsel available. We’ll protect you.”

“I don’t think I care about any of that right now but thank you. I just want it all to stop. I want Lyric back, Ivan, and if this helps you make that happen, I’m willing to do whatever you need.”

This will tip the scales so hard, and so fast that Bowman, Smith, and Phelps won’t even see it coming. I just hope we can get to Lyric before it’s too late, and that once it’s all over, we’ve all survived. Otherwise, I am ready to go down swinging if that’s what it takes to protect the people I love.

With Shelby’s intel, we’ll be able to do the one thing we weren’t sure we could do.

Our affairs in order, Max, Artur, and I prepare ourselves for the single, most challenging battle of our lives. The battle that will either cost us our lives in this war against this crooked faction of the Feds or win it. Everything is at stake. Everything can vanish into a puff of nothingness if we’re not careful.

Or it could lead to that fabled happy ending that we never imagined we’d ever see, let alone have within our reach. It’s almost there. I can almost touch it. I can almost taste its sweetness.

“Let’s see how many of them come to our aid,” Max says as we get out of the car.

We’ve been parked across the street from the FBI’s Chicago field office for almost ten minutes. Watching. Waiting. From the outside looking in, it seems like a pretty standard institution. I wonder how many of the people who work there are aware of the dirty operations that take place behind some of its closed doors. I also wonder what they will do when the truth inevitably smacks them across the face.

“I’m not going to hold my breath considering this morning’s vote,” I mutter.

Truth be told, I am hopeful, but hope is a fickle and dangerous thing. It can feed you delusions and have you blinded to outcomes that would otherwise be considered inevitable. This is a wholly different kind of war that we’re fighting.

“Word of Larionov’s demise has already gotten out,” Artur says. “I am curious as to how many will understand that it had to be done.”

“Frankly, we’re going to have our hands full either way,” Max replies. “The Chinese and the Japanese were the first to raise their hands in that meeting. We’ll need to have a sit-down with those fuckers.”

“Provided we survive tonight,” Artur scoffs.

“I don’t know about you, but I plan on surviving.”

“We have plenty to live for, don’t we?” he says.

“We made it this far,” Max chimes in. “We’re almost at the finish line. If we pull through, the other families will have no choice but to accept our terms.”

“It’s insane either way,” I say. “It’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up no matter the outcome.”

“Then we’d best make sure it’s the kind of outcome we’re going to enjoy cleaning up after,” Max replies with a deep frown. “I’m tired of this bullshit. And I’ll bet you Lyric is tired, too.”

Silence falls heavily over our shoulders whenever her name comes up. She’s in there, scared and alone, at the mercy and whims of veritable monsters. The woman we love, the woman we intend to live the rest of our lives with—she’s trapped, being used as bait to draw us out.

Max’s phone pings. “Here we go,” he mutters. “Our crew’s about to converge on 45th and Lennox. Perfect timing.”

“Good. Let’s roll,” I order, getting out of the car first.

Artur and Max follow, and the three of us cross the street with calm movements, our chins up. The closer we get to the building, however, the greater the dread clutching my heart. Its grip tightens as we go up the front steps. Agents stare us down.

“Who are you and what are you doing here? It’s midnight. The field office is closed to the public,” one of them says.

“Let Director Smith know that the Sokolov’s are here to surrender,” Max replies.

The agents exchange stunned glances before one of them takes out his gun and points it at us. “Don’t move.”

“I said, we’re here to surrender.”

“Just don’t move!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down,” I grumble and slowly put my hands up.

Artur and Max do the same, their eyes scanning every inch around us, every movement. There’s plenty of lighting in this area, mainly because of the federal buildings that line the street, along with the three major banks farther down the road. Cameras everywhere, and uniformed officers frequently out on patrol. Therefore, our faces will be clearly visible on multiple instances of CCTV footage. Time stamped and everything.

The first agent steps to the side and reaches out to a colleague inside the building via his radio. My ears twitch as I listen in. “Cole, I’ve got the Sokolov’s here asking for the Director. Were we expecting them?”

The reply that comes through is muffled, but my guy seems to understand the words perfectly as he nods once.

“I see. Okay. We’ll wait,” he says, then puts the radio away and comes back to us with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Are you carrying any weapons?”

“No, sir,” Max replies. “You can search us.”

He takes out a metal wand detector and runs it up and down each of us. It beeps in all the usual places: the belt buckle, the change in my pocket, my Rolex, the metal screws in my left shin. I lift my shirt and roll my pant cuffs up for him to see that I am, in fact, clean. After running the wand over us, they proceed to pat us down too, prompting Artur to chuckle.

“You fellas are a tad overzealous,” he says.

“You’re the fucking Bratva. Do we look stupid?” one of them replies and takes a step back, somewhat irritated that he hasn’t found a single concealed weapon on any of us.

Artur shoots him a cold grin. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

“You’re dead anyway,” the first agent says, a sneer on his face.

Director Smith comes out, practically bursting through the double doors. He’s accompanied by six heavily armed tactical agents, clad in black and Kevlar, their semi-automatic weapons pointed at our heads.

“Gentlemen. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Smith says.

I know he’s being sincere. I can see it all over his face, he can’t seem to hide it. He definitely did not see us coming, which is good. The element of surprise will work in our favor, hopefully. It doesn’t stop my blood from rushing, however as I stare each of the agents down, tension stretching through my muscles until I feel as though I’m dangerously close to snapping.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you underestimated us, Director Smith. But you’ve crossed a line,” Max says, “and we need to talk.”

“Oh, is that how you think this is going to go?” Smith laughs. “Sure. Let’s talk.” He looks at one of his agents. “Cuff them. Take their phones. They’re going into holding downstairs.”

“You do whatever you want,” Max interjects. “But we need to see Lyric first.”

Smith’s lips stretch into a devious grin. “You know, when I first heard the rumors about the three of you, I thought, eh, people have fetishes, urges, whatever. But an actual relationship? You, fellas, are something else. It’s almost a shame to see you go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Max replies.

“Okay. I see how you want to play this,” Smith chuckles, nodding back at the double doors. “Chop, chop.”

We’re cuffed and brutishly pushed through several doors before we’re crammed into an elevator. Once we reach the basement, the entire atmosphere shifts into something dark, unsettling, and downright suffocating. The six agents escorting us split into two groups: three ahead, three behind. Smith leads the way, annoyingly chatty.

“I honestly didn’t think you guys would make it here,” he says. “Who’d you send over to that address we gave you?”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Max replies.

Smith laughs. “Cannon fodder either way. You’re right.” He takes us through another massive steel door and the holding cell level opens up before us. I hear Lyric’s rushed footsteps before I see her. “Here. As promised,” Smith adds.

We reach Lyric’s cell and she freezes with her fingers wrapped around the bars. “Oh, no,” she mumbles, horror draining the blood from her face. “No, you can’t be here.”

“But we are,” I say, giving her a faint smile.

“Are you okay?” Max asks while Artur scans her carefully from head to toe. She seems fine at first glance, but none of us is taking the emotional toll into account. Given the circumstances, I’m just grateful to see her awake and alert. “Did they hurt you?”

“They—”

“We had a bit of a snafu with the officer in charge of retrieving her,” Smith cuts her off. “But she’s good now. She’s safe. As long as you three don’t try anything stupid.”

“You guys shouldn’t have come here,” Lyric says, a sense of urgency making her voice tremble. “They’re going to kill you.”

We know.

I can’t really say that aloud, though. I can’t give Smith that kind of satisfaction. But we walked in here knowing precisely what to expect, thanking the gods for every second that we still have on this earth. The longer Smith drags it out, the better for us.

We were banking on him to be his usual self-flattering, self-indulging, narcissistic, gloating piece of shit. So far, he hasn’t disappointed us.

“Lyric, you’re a smart girl. It’s time for you to accept that there are things in this life that you simply cannot change,” Smith says with a wry smile.

A few more seconds.

It’s all we need.