Chapter 31

Benedict

Eva has her son this weekend, which has given me the perfect window of opportunity to follow Christopher. Something in my gut tells me the man’s up to no good, but now I need hard evidence to back it up. This is beyond intuition—it’s a game of cat and mouse, and I can’t afford to make a wrong move. I dress in plain clothes, opting for black pants and a simple black button-down that blend into the crowd. No need to stand out.

As a backup, I’ve tucked my priest collar into my pocket. If Christopher spots me, I can easily play it off, pretend I’m out running errands, doing the Lord’s work. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Vin knows I’m tailing Christopher today. He’s got eyes on the situation too, and he’s assured me the team is ready, standing by in case things go sideways. I don’t doubt him, but it doesn’t ease the tension crawling up my spine. Every step I take feels heavy, calculated, as I blend into the streets, following the man who’s caused so much destruction in Eva’s life. Today, I’m hoping to catch him in the act.

Christopher’s car pulls out of his driveway, and I follow at a safe distance, my heart racing but my focus steady.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and for the first few hours, Christopher does nothing but menial errands—dry cleaning, a stop at the bank, grabbing coffee like it’s just another routine day. He pulls into his office building eventually, and I keep driving, circling the block. Patience is key here. I can’t risk parking too close and drawing attention. If he’s as paranoid as I suspect, he’ll spot a tail immediately. I find a spot a few blocks away, close enough to see him when he leaves but far enough not to stand out.

Time drags on, each minute ticking by slower than the last. My muscles tense from sitting in the car for hours, the fading afternoon light turning into the dull, gray glow of early evening. It’s nearly eight when his sleek black Mercedes finally pulls out of the parking garage. I sit up, my heart rate spiking. I follow, keeping a good distance, my headlights dim. He’s not alone. A brunette sits beside him in the passenger seat, and it’s definitely not his wife.

I’ve seen pictures of Jessica Matthews before, and this woman is a complete stranger. Christopher swerves into traffic, weaving through cars with the ease of someone who’s done this before. I follow carefully, my grip tightening on the wheel as I stay just far enough behind.

We pass through the city until we reach the seedier outskirts, the streets lined with dimly lit bars and neon signs flickering in the night. My stomach twists when Christopher pulls into the parking lot of Club Throwdown. The place is notorious. It’s owned by the Russians. It’s known for illegal dealings, arms smuggling, and worse. A cold sweat trickles down my spine as I realize Christopher’s deeper into this underworld than I imagined.

What the hell is he doing here? The brunette follows him inside, her arm casually looped through his, and I wonder what kind of mess he’s entangled in.

I’ve never been to this place, and I’m wondering what would happen if I walked in. I also wonder what Lazarus Delgado would think if he knew Christopher was coming here. Maybe he’s here to watch an illegal boxing fight, but I highly doubt it.

If I had to guess, I’d say Christopher is selling out Lazarus Delgado, or vice versa.

I guess there’s only one way to find out. Before I head into the club, I pull out my phone, sending off a quick text to Eva.

Can’t stop thinking about you.

She answers back immediately.

Eva: I can’t wait to see you again.

I want to beg her to let me come over tonight, but I know better with her son staying there. It’s too risky. How do you explain to a young child that his mommy is dating a priest? You just can’t.

This is all so fucked up. I tuck my phone into the pocket of my black jeans and step out of the car, the cool night air hitting me as I stretch my stiff limbs. My muscles are tight from hours of waiting, but adrenaline kicks in, keeping me sharp. I adjust my shirt, blending into the shadows as I make my way toward Club Throwdown. The building pulses with energy, neon lights flickering above the door. The deep thrum of bass reverberates through the walls, the chaotic noise of voices, laughter, and the pounding music all blending into one.

The bouncer, a hulking figure with tattoos snaking up his neck, barely glances at me as I approach. He gives a subtle nod, letting me pass without a second thought. I slip inside, immediately hit with the overwhelming assault of flashing lights and sweat-drenched bodies packed tight in the dark, smoky room. The stench of alcohol mixes with the metallic scent of blood and leather, a clear sign of what’s coming.

They’re gearing up for a fight tonight. The center of the club is already cleared, and a makeshift boxing ring stands ready for the main event. Around it, people are jostling for position, eager to get the best view of the action. High rollers and mob types occupy the private booths on the upper level, drinking expensive liquor while exchanging knowing glances.

My eyes scan the crowd, sweeping over the sea of faces. The flashing lights make it hard to focus, but I’m methodical, moving slowly along the edges of the room, avoiding unnecessary attention. I catch glimpses of familiar faces from the underworld—shady businessmen, men with connections to the Russians, and a few I recognize from my time running jobs for Vin. But none of them interest me right now.

I’m looking for Christopher.

I push past a group of rowdy spectators, dodging a couple making out in the corner, my gaze locking onto the VIP section. There, seated with a drink in hand and the brunette hanging onto his arm, is Christopher. He looks far too relaxed, his face lit with a smug grin. He’s laughing at something someone said, oblivious to the fact that I’m watching.

A moment later Enzo Gabini slides into the booth with him, and they shake hands.

My jaw tightens, and my pulse quickens as I assess the situation. I can’t afford to make a move now—not here, not with the Russians around. Before I can process what’s happening, Yuri Chekov slides into the booth with Christopher and Enzo. My pulse races—Yuri isn’t just any criminal; he’s the bratva boss, the head of one of the most dangerous Russian crime syndicates. If Christopher is involved with him, things are far worse than I imagined. My mind spins, but I don’t have time to linger. I subtly angle my phone, snapping a few discreet pictures of the three of them together. The flash is off, and no one notices as I capture the evidence.

What the fuck?

My gut tells me to get out. Fast. This can’t be good. The air in the club feels heavier now, suffocating with the weight of what I’ve just uncovered. The pounding music fades into the background as I push my way through the crowded club, keeping my head low, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might recognize me. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, but my pace remains steady. I can’t afford to look nervous.

Once I’m outside, I quicken my steps, practically jogging to my car. The moment I slide behind the wheel, I send off the photos to Vin before even starting the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I try to steady my breath. The night is suddenly too quiet, the tension wrapping around me like a noose. I don’t stay parked; I drive. Fast. Away from the club and away from whatever mess Christopher has entangled himself in.

I hit Vin’s number on speed dial, my pulse still racing. He picks up on the first ring.

"Christopher was with Yuri,” I tell him.

“You’re sure?" His voice is sharp, laced with concern.

“I sent you the photos,” I reply, glancing at my phone to confirm the message went through.

There’s a brief pause as Vin checks the images. “Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, his tone changing to one of disbelief. “What the hell could Christopher be doing with Yuri Chekov?”

“I was hoping you’d know,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I navigate through the city streets. “Whatever it is, it’s bad. Real bad.”

Vin exhales sharply on the other end. “This doesn’t make sense. Yuri’s got his hands in a lot of dirty business, but Christopher… with the bratva ? What could he possibly be getting involved in?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “I don’t know, but we need to figure it out before it’s too late.”

Vin is silent for a beat, probably piecing things together in his head. “This is serious,” he finally says, his voice lower now, more controlled. “We need to tread carefully. Keep an eye on Christopher, but don’t engage. Not yet. We need more information.”

“Got it,” I say, already formulating my next steps. The conversation lingers as the gravity of the situation sinks in, but I know one thing for sure—Christopher’s involvement with Yuri means whatever’s coming isn’t going to end well.