Chapter Eight - Ruslan

My Chicago office is one of the many Chicago River skyscrapers that overlook the water, and every morning I take the time to admire the view from above. It's taken me many years to reach the top of my game in the Bratva network, and I don't plan on falling off its perch anytime soon. With my hands shoved deep in my pockets, I'm distracted by a hard knock at the door.

"Come in," I shout, still attempting to make heads or tails of our attempted heist of the Omerta files. Andrei and Mark should have obtained the CCTV footage already, but really the information I wish for has to do with retrieving the correct number for my special Red October.

Mark enters with a dubious expression lining his face, and I find myself wanting to ask about the wrong information. "I have news."

I gesture for more information from him. "What news do you have? Is it to do with the girl? Did you get the CCTV footage from Destiny Bar?"

"The girl, hey?" Mark chuckles in amusement. "No, it's not about the girl in the red. This news is about Kian."

"News about Kian," I repeat back slowly as I drift off momentarily, intrigued by my interest in the girl still.

"Yes—news about Kian. I have to admit, this is a new one. You've never been obsessed with a woman like this. And yet, she's not even a woman yet. She looked young."

I look up, assessing Mark for a moment, but I don't care what he thinks of me. What I want, I take, and if it's the girl in red from Destiny's Bar that I want, then it's her I'm going to have.

"She might be young, but she's also smart, and she defied me. Nobody defies Ruslan Utkin, but I'm fine to play catch the mouse, but when I catch her—"

Mark's face shifts, his cheeks holding air as if he's about to burst out into laughter. "What will you do?"

"Don't you worry about what I'm going to do with the girl. You should find one of your own and then you won't be so concerned," I spit back.

"Ah, you like her… she's gotten under your skin." Mark winks, his chuckle deepening.

"I would like to get my hands on her, that's what I'm saying. What footage do you have to show me?"

"There's some interesting CCTV footage that you might find useful for our Omerta investigation."

"Hand it over. Let's take a look." Mark hands me a USB file, and I round my desk, slotting it into the side of the computer. Pulling up the surveillance footage, I take note of the time recorded in the bottom right-hand corner. My mouth presses together in a grim line, as I see it's dated two weeks prior to our break-in. Balling up my fist, I shake my head. "Fuck, we were too slow."

"Yes, it looks like we were—but watch," Mark advises.

"Okay, let's see who we have to steal the Omerta files back from."

Mark and I pore over the action on screen, taking note of the streetlight up above shining on the derelict house, the time stamp reading a touch before midnight. A similar time to ours. I'm looking for people as the time passes on the screen, but what I should be looking for is a car.

That's when I take note of it. What appears on screen looks to be a brand-new black Chrysler Dodge Ram blending in with the silhouette of the night's backdrop. I watch as the car drives off, craning forward to check for the license plate, but it's too dark on screen to pick it up.

"Son of a bitch. Who owns this car?" Jabbing at the screen, Mark points to the screen again.

"Finish up the video, and check the additional photos I've added in. They were taken by my sources. Guess whose car it is?"

A surge of fiery heat runs through my body as I pull up the new file, which include the license plate. Skimming through the pictures, I note there's a PDF file attached with all the Chicago DMV details of the car owner. A wry smirk covers my mouth when I see who the file is from.

"The sneaky old bastard, fucking Luca Marino. The old dog still has some fight in him," I remark, sighing. "This throws a temporary spanner in the works, but it should be easy enough to rectify," I bring up, taking note of how vulnerable the old man's physical condition is.

"That's the same thought I had. Trust me. Never in a million years did I think Luca Marino would be the one who would dupe us."

Contemplating the next move, I say nothing, thinking it through. He might have beat us to the punch to obtain the files, but there's no way he's going to be able to keep them. "He killed Kian. It had to be him. There was only one car on the CCTV." I hitch an eyebrow in admiration. "I'm surprised he didn't organize someone to get the files for him. What's he playing at?" I muse.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why would you risk it in his condition to gain the files? He must have a bigger plan. He can't hold on to them, he's going to die," I say to Mark.

"That's true. So then who will he give the files to?"

Combing a finger through my well-kept beard, I run over the details in my head. If you're going to stay one step ahead of the enemy, then you need to know how they operate.

"Wouldn't his consigliere take over?"

"Sure. Isn't that Marco?"

"Last time I checked. That's the word on the street unless things have changed. He might be handing it over to him."

I lean back in my plush leather chair, a glint in my eye. "This works incredibly well for us."

Mark nods, grinning. "Yes. We don't have blood on our hands for once, and we have only an old man to tackle. This is an instant win for us."

"Right. So now all we have to do is pay Luca a little hospital visit, because after all, he might need a little extra bedside care," I snicker, cracking my knuckles, and then there's the other mystery to attend to….