Chapter Six - Andrei

There’s no reason I should be attracted to her, and yet—that’s the exact reason why I am. Other than her hair making her standout, there’s nothing extraordinary about Sophia. In her picture, she’s fresh-faced, those smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose doing it for me. Smiling, I keep staring at the photograph trying to find anything special or offbeat about her, but her tortoise shell glasses, and green eyes are probably as much as I’ll find. Her mouth is stern, but all I remember is how it parted when I brought her to sweet, sweet orgasm.

Her body is standard and she’s of average height. Still, she’s one I want, and at this stage, it’s because I can’t put my finger on why.

“Obviously this is her. Not someone else?” I question Makar lightly, but his specialty is tracking and tracing. He’s incredibly good at his job, and Makar’s been my shadow for a long time. Almost since the start of my pick pocketing days back in Russia.

“Yes. It’s her,” he says, taking a seat in my home office, a grin tugging at his mouth as if he wants to laugh. Ruslan has one of our main Bratva offices in downtown Chicago, but I prefer the comfort of my own home to work out of. It’s much more of a low profile, although I can be found if need be.

Adjusting the paperweight on my desk, I place it atop of the photograph, wanting to know more. “Good job. And?”

“Oh, I know all about Miss Sophia. Want to hear?” He snickers, crossing one leg over the other.

“Sure. Indulge me,” I reply curtly, steepling my fingers in front of me.

“Well, she’s a second-year at Chicago Law School, and she’s in the top of her class. She’s one of those intelligent types.”

“Mmm. Go on.” Smart is something I admire in women, even though it’s been hard for me to find, and when I have, they’ve usually been a hidden enemy.

“She is without family. Here.” Makar hands me an article with a mangled car and police tape in front of it. I read the headline. Horror Holidays: Couple killed during Christmas Break. Shit. She didn’t lie. So far, she’s told me the truth. Again, a smart woman. I keep reading the old paper, impressed that Makar managed to secure a copy.

“Where did you get this?”

“Ah, I’ve got a special librarian friend who works in Chicago archives. She’s very good.”

“Impressive. Poor Sophia.”

“Yeah, looks like she got the rough end of the stick with Mommy and Daddy.”

“Looks like. Any other relatives that she’s stayed with? Aunts, uncles, cousins? Anything like that? No family at all?”

Makar shakes his head. “No. It’s odd. I looked for the cousins, the aunts, the uncles, but the Hearst family is small. The mother—Alice, had one sister and she lives in Europe. The must not be close because I couldn’t find any records of her visiting or her leaving the country. I called about her passport, just to get some information.”

“Hearst is her surname?”

“Yep. Hearst. She’s American through and through. No other heritage I could find.”

“Right.” My brain ticks over, thinking about how she would have coped after losing her parents so young and having no one around her. It must have been hard. Makar reads my mind, bringing it up.

“Yeah, I feel bad for the girl. She’s got an uncle in New York, but there doesn’t seem to be any contact with him either. Father’s side, there don’t seem to be any relatives.” Makar’s information checks out for me, since when I looked at her bookshelf, there weren’t any other photos of her with other relatives.

“Huh. Friends?”

“She does have a couple she’s close with. She hangs out with them mainly at coffee shops and in the library. She studies a lot, this girl. Must care about her work,” Makar remarks observationally.

“It’s probably all she has. Who are they? And what do you make of them?” I ask, peppering Makar with more questions.

“One’s name is Ava Knight. She’s her classmate, and they’re always together. And get this, you already know the other one.” Makar winks, his mouth twitching.

“What do you mean? I don’t like those types of surprises. Who is it?”

“It’s not a bad connection. It leads back to us. She’s friends with Fiona. I don’t think she’s seen her much since the baby’s birth, but yeah, they’re friends.”

“Fuck me. Ruslan’s got ahold of the other one. Now I’m intrigued. Any others I should know about?”

“Nah, nobody noteworthy. Do you really like this girl, Boss? She seems a little too plain for you.”

“I do,” I reinforce, ignoring his comment, because there is something propelling me in her direction. There’s no time to think about her too hard because a loud rap of knuckles on the office door indicate trouble.

“Chicago Police Department. Open the door!” a barking voice bellows from the other side, but there’s no time for me to open it, because they’ve already burst through my door with excessive force, five of them barging in, and on top of that, I’m certain they have backup.

“Ah, Officer Williams . Nice to see you again,” I drone calmly, plastering a fake smile on my face. “I didn’t realize you were making house calls so early in the morning.”

The tall, wiry guy is one I’ve encountered several times over the last few years. He seems to be one of the vigilante types wanting to be do-gooder of the year, but he’s going to be spinning his wheels for a very long time on traffic duty if he keeps fucking with the Bratva.

Makar and I exchange heavy glances with one another, used to the drill, especially since securing the Omerta Files, but it’s those same files that keep us in a winning position with the cops. There is enough dirt in their department to keep us out of jail for life.

“You’re under arrest,” Officer Williams commands, his stupid moustache reminding me of a strip of fake fur. It’s hard not to laugh about it, but I tuck away my amusement for the sake of not being shot at. I can’t handle such things this early in the morning.

“What for?” I counter, playing dumb.

Officer Williams steps forward, his face grim. “You know what for, but let me humor you. The death of Ryan Caleb.”

“Who the fuck is that?” I reply, throwing my hands up in angst, buying as much time as I can. If I’m honest with myself, I probably could have let Ryan hang out a little longer. I shouldn’t have killed him so quickly. I didn’t even get the information I wanted in the first place, like Makar pointed out.

“Cut the crap, Andrei. I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every month.”

Shrugging, I stare at a very disgruntled Officer Williams. “Probably because I’m innocent, and wasn’t it the FBI the last time? Where are your friends?” I taunt, Officer Williams’s eyelid flickering.

“Shut up. You’re under arrest for the murder of Ryan Caleb.”

“Last time I checked, you can’t arrest me without evidence. How can I be under arrest for the murder when you haven’t even called me in for questioning?”

Officer Williams and his crew step further into my office, taking up unnecessary space, but I know how efficient and cunning our lawyer team is, so I’m not worried.

“I would say it’s clear you had something to do with the guy’s murder when we found his phone in an abandoned building on the Southside. That’s the last place Ryan was seen before he disappeared. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now, would you?”

“No. I wouldn’t. What does that have to do with me or my associate?” I ask, watching Officer Williams’s face turn red. I suspect we’re going to have a long list of run-ins over the years, but personally, I look forward to the tussle. It will give me somebody to play with until I order a hit on him, or better yet, target his family.

The other officers are shifting their weight from one foot to the other, saying nothing, but Officer Williams receives an iPad from one of them, which he passes to me. “Take a look at this. The footage might help jog your memory.” He looks mighty pleased with himself as I calmly review the footage of me and my men entering the building.

Fuck. I searched for the cameras and didn’t see any. I asked my team to case the joint before we kept him in there, but obviously someone dropped the ball. I hold in my frustration at the oversight, angrier with my team than this pea brain of an officer standing in front of me.

“YA voz'mu na sebya padeniye,” Makar murmurs, indicating he’s more than willing to take the fall, but there’s no need for him to.

“No,” I reply firmly, my jaw setting as Officer Williams watches us both in bewilderment.

“Talking in Russian isn’t going to help you. I’m taking you the fuck in. You asked for evidence, and here it is,” Officer Williams taunts, a wide grin inching his filthy moustache up. I want to rip it off his face, but all I do is stand up, smoothing down my slacks.

A slight frown blankets Makar’s face, but I know what I’m doing. If this is the only evidence they have, it’s not going to work for them at all.

“The handcuffs won’t be needed. I’ll come with you. Nice and easy, Officer Williams,” I reply, looking him dead center in the eye. I can tell he thinks he has me by the balls, but he’s clutching at thin air in this case.

“Are you sure, Boss?”

“Yes, Makar, I’m sure.” I bury my eyes into Officer Williams as he smirks at me. “I’ll be out in a week. It gives me a holiday. Come on, Officer Williams let me help you with the paperwork.”

He starts mirandizing me, shoving me in the direction of the door as I wink at Makar. His face eases of strain. It’s not new for us to receive warrants for our arrests and warnings about our dealings on a regular basis. We’ve got too much ammunition against the Chicago Police Department and our tentacles as a Bratva operation run way deeper than Officer Williams knows.

“You’re going down, and you’re not getting out in a week if I have anything to do with it,” he trash talks as we descend in the elevator.

Oh, yes I am. “Are you sure, Officer Williams?” I reply cockily, knowing it’s only going to take a call to my lawyer and his team for us to shore up my walk out of the cop station.

“You and your little Russian mobster friends are done taking over our city. I’m here to clean up shit, and I’m going to see about making an example out of you, my friend,” he growls.

And I’m going to see about getting rid of you, just like I did Ryan, my friend. You’re next….