Chapter 7

7

Ivan

I t wasn’t an easy decision, but we had to let Bowman go.

As soon as Smith dropped Lyric’s name, I knew it was only a matter of time before that fucker would find a way to bring her into this. Normally, we wouldn’t care. We’d forge ahead, no matter the potential collateral damage. And having a whale like Bowman in our possession could’ve secured some advantages for the Bratva going forward.

There’s just something about Lyric Phelps that tugs at our heart strings. It’s a dangerous pull, especially now that we know who she is.

“Bowman’s going to be holding a press conference before Phelps’s debate,” Artur says as he joins Max and me in the living room. We’ve got a few bottles of whiskey along with plenty of Chinese takeout for comfort food after what we all can agree has been a shitty week. “I want to watch.”

“Are we sure he doesn’t have any way of pointing a finger directly at us?” Max asks again. “I know we were careful, but—”

“He has no clue,” Artur reassures him. “We were more than careful. The guys we hired to guard him were outside contractors. They spoke three different languages, none of them Russian. They were paid handsomely. Two of them are already in Mexico.”

“Good. At least there’s that,” Max grumbles.

“Besides, the cops would’ve been at our door already,” I remind him. “Smith would’ve been leading the charge with a huge grin on that smug face of his.”

“That fucker has some nerve,” Artur says.

We’re still embittered and downright offended by his approach. It wasn’t the office raid that rattled us; we’re used to those. It was the hairline distance by which he missed Lyric’s involvement. It could’ve turned out a lot worse. All we can do now is breathe a sigh of relief knowing she’s safe.

We were supposed to meet her last night, but we ghosted her because we had no choice. Surely, she must be pissed off and disappointed. She has every reason.

I feel terrible about it.

It’s unlike me to experience such remorse. I’m a hard man. Zero empathy, zero care toward most people. I see something I want, I take it. I see someone trying to hurt my brother or my best friend, I take bloody action. When Lyric’s name dropped during the raid, I was too close to ripping Smith’s head off. I needed every ounce of self-control that I could muster in order to stop myself from splattering him all over Max’s pristine office.

“There he is,” Max says and turns the volume up.

The three of us sit on the sofa. We’re tired and feeling depleted and defeated. Seeing Bowman in front of the camera playing the fucking victim brings the taste of bitter bile up into my throat.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Bowman says. In the hours since his release, he has managed to get a fresh haircut and a smooth shave. “As you all know, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since my release. I needed some time to get a proper checkup, to pull myself together, and to process the entire ordeal.”

“Our guys never laid a fucking hand on him,” I grumble. “We should’ve roughed him up a little. At least he would’ve had a real reason to complain.”

“I stand before you tonight as a free man,” Bowman declares in front of the camera with the stoicism of Alexander the Great. “What I went through, I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. They took me from my hotel room, gagged and bound. They held me hostage while communicating their demands to the FBI’s field office, here in Chicago. This was a power play, but our people are just as good at this game as these monsters and their predecessors. More than once, the federal authorities have managed to put the worst of the worst away. The movies have romanticized the mafia. We don’t care about their influence or their dirty money. Over the decades, including the years I spent leading the Chicago field office, we’ve fought them, tooth and nail. We fought them in the streets, we fought them in court—”

“We fought them on the beaches of Normandy!” Artur mocks him, prompting a chuckle out of Max and me. “My God, the man is so full of himself, he’s bordering on delusional.”

“He’s lucky that Smith tried to drag Lyric into this, otherwise he would still be bound and gagged and whatever else he’s yammering on about,” I add.

“Today, it ends!” Bowman declares. “I’ve had enough of these mob families terrorizing members of law enforcement and hardworking Americans. I’m joining forces with the FBI and Matthew Phelps’s campaign, effective immediately, in order to put together a program aimed specifically at the city’s underbelly. Its Bratva, its Mafia, its Irish Mob, its Triads and Yakuza… we are done letting these rats get away with heinous crimes. We are done with our cautious approach. From now on, we’re going hard after every single one of them, until the city of Chicago is clean and mighty again.”

“PR shitstorm on the horizon,” Artur mutters.

“We’re organizing a cross-agency task force, and we’re going after the Russians first,” Bowman says. “While there is no clear evidence that the Bratva was involved with my kidnapping and ransom demands, those demands would’ve yielded results benefitting the Russians the most.”

Our list of demands was carefully crafted to make life easier for the other families, as well, but Bowman isn’t being specific on purpose. He knows it was us. The Chicago Feds have spent the past couple of years persistently harassing us, more so than the Italian or Irish families. He’s got the microphone, though, and the nation’s ears and hearts.

This really didn’t work out the way I had hoped.

“It is my ambition that within the next two to five years, Chicago will breathe freely again,” Bowman says. “I stepped down from public service a few years ago, but I can still support our fine men and women in blue with my company and private security resources. We need all the strength and manpower we can get to stand up against these families. And so, it is with great pride that I officially endorse Matthew Phelps’s candidacy for a state senate seat. Our city, our marvelous state of Illinois, and our country would be better served with him. His vision aligns with my own, the best interest and well-being of the people at the very center of his campaign and agenda. I stand behind him, as do many of our former colleagues and friends in uniform.”

Max curses under his breath and turns the TV off. “This motherfucker.”

“It’s going to get worse,” Artur says. “The press will start coming around more often. They’re going to want to know what Sokolov Industries reaction is to all of this.”

“We will give them nothing,” Max states firmly. “No matter what the tabloids imply, we’re running legitimate businesses here. We don’t have time for a media war with Bowman or Phelps.”

“They won’t see it that way.”

“I don’t fucking care. What I do care about is that we get the rest of the Bratva in line,” Max replies. “Which means we have to reach out to Polina and her father. We definitely need the Larionov’s support for this.”

The idea fills me with cold dread. I had feelings for that woman. Deep feelings. For a long time, I thought she was it for us. The wife we’d always dreamed of. She was eager to be shared. She grew up in the Bratva, so she understood how we operate, what our life is like. She understood the expectations and the risks.

If only she hadn’t betrayed us.

Rarely have I felt hurt by anyone in my adult life, but Polina delivered quite the blow. Rage still tests my resolve whenever I hear her name.

I need another shot of whiskey, because we’re going into a public war against Bowman and his supporters. It’ll take a lot of skill, a lot of diplomacy, and a few unsavory backdoor deals in order to save ourselves and our future. Bowman is coming for our heads, simply because he can and because it’ll give Phelps the kind of political win that’ll further advance them both.

I reckon Bowman will consider a run for office as well.

Phelps probably sees himself as the next President of the United States.

“We’ve got an even bigger problem,” Artur lets out a heavy sigh as he looks at Ivan and me. “I can’t stop thinking about Lyric. I want to see her again.”

“You’re not alone,” Max replies, running a hand through his rich, brown hair. “It’s a delicate situation though.”

“How many women have we actually met that were so incredibly responsive to the three of us?” Artur asks and shakes his head slowly. “I don’t care who her father is. I mean, I should, but Lyric is special.”

“We can’t avoid her forever,” I say. “I mean, we could, but it’ll turn into agony soon enough.”

Max finally concedes. “I know.”

It’s quite the shitstorm we’re wading into, yet we can’t seem to stop ourselves from going deeper. I don’t know how this will end, but I do know that I am ready to scorch all of their asses if that’s what it takes.

We’re building something great here, something that’ll take the family away from all these skirmishes with the Feds. It’s going to take time and alliances that will make me want to gag, but it’s a hard game we’re playing, and Bowman just promised us hell if we don’t fight back.