Chapter 20

Jason

A day has passed since Audrey was taken from me.

I've been making plenty of calls in the meantime. While I'm not connected or knowledgeable about the Russian mob, I did serve with a wide variety of people in the Army. We spent countless nights in the trenches together, not caring where we hailed from. We were all the same in the heart of war.

"Paddy, you son of a bitch. You're getting younger while the rest of us are getting older," I declare as I meet with one of my former staff sergeants, Patrick Maguire, in his family-owned pub, the Golden Shamrock.

The cops know this place well. The Irish mob owns it. It's where they run some of their business, even though the judicial system was rarely able to pin anything on them. Patrick is the youngest of the Maguire clan, heavy hitters in the aforementioned Irish mob. He's the only one who can give me some intel about the Bratva.

Ironically, we never talked about his family or their dealings while we were in the service, nor after we came back. Today, however, is different. Today is the day I cross every boundary I swore I'd never cross in order to get my woman back and save her from whatever nasty fate awaits her in my absence.

"That's a crock of shit," Paddy replies and traps me in a bear hug as he steps out from behind the bar to greet me. "You look ten years younger, my brother!"

"I just dress better," I chuckle.

"How've you been, Jace? It's been ages!"

I nod at one of the corner booths. "I need a word in private."

As soon as the words come out of my mouth and he registers the tension in my voice, Paddy's body language changes. He's not the warm and friendly, red-haired and green-eyed, freckled pub owner who's nice to everybody anymore. Now he's downright menacing.

"What's wrong, Jace?" he asks, his tone low.

"I need your help."

Immediately, he barks a few orders at his bartenders, letting them know that he's going to be busy for the next hour or so, then makes sure we get some of today's specials brought to our table straight from the kitchen, along with a couple of draft beers.

"I haven't seen you look this serious in a long time. Tell me what's going on?"

The music is loud, so I carefully look around and then lean across the table. "I've got some Russian mob issues, Paddy. You're the only one I can trust to help me."

"Holy shit," he mutters, his eyes wide with shock. "They've been dropping a lot of bodies since yesterday. You have anything to do with that?"

"No."

Indeed, the news outlets have been flooded with reports of suspicious deaths sprinkled all over the city. Various Russian-mob-related individuals keep popping up dead, either poisoned or hanged, each of them tied back to the Abramovic family. There have also been a couple of Fedorov-linked deaths, as well.

"There's a silent war happening between the Fedorov and the Abramovic Bratvas," I tell Paddy. "And it all tracks back to Audrey, Fedorov's daughter."

"How are you connected, though? I thought you were a straight arrow, man."

"I still am. But Audrey and I—"

"Oh, no," Paddy instantly puts two and two together and starts shaking his head. "No, man, that's the worst thing you could become involved in. And your daughter … oh, man, no, get as far away from them as possible."

"Not an option, Paddy," I insist. "I love her, and she loves me. She ran away from her family. Moved out here a couple of years ago. She wants nothing to do with the Bratva but somebody in Chicago recognized her. They told Arkady Abramovic about her and that maniac has tried to kill her—twice. And now, her father has come to Chicago and taken her away."

Paddy pinches the bridge of his nose. "And he's letting Arkady know that he won't tolerate any attacks on his family."

"From what I'm told, Arkady is trying to muscle his way back into New York. He wanted to use Audrey as leverage," I say.

"Dumb move. Grigori is a weathered wolf, Jace. He will burn this whole city down before he lets a single Abramovic set foot in New York."

"Either way, the gauntlet has already been thrown," I sigh. "And Audrey and I got caught in the middle." I go on to tell him about how we met, about the secrets and lies that nearly tore us apart, about the attempts on her life, and Grigori's visit to my apartment.

Paddy listens quietly while the waitress brings our food and drinks over, but I can't eat or drink anything. I'm too wired, too anxious, too eager to resolve this before it's too late. "I need to know everything there is to know about the Bratva, Paddy."

He thinks about it for a moment, then takes a long sip of his beer, quietly looking around. Contemplating. Likely wondering whether he should play the neutral part or help me. I get it—the Maguires don't want to deal with the Russians. The Irish and the Russians steer clear of each other, in general. It's the same in New York, from what Audrey told me. Sort of an unspoken pact dating back decades.

"Here's the thing, Jace," Paddy finally says. "I can't do anything to help your girl out. Lord knows I'd send some guys over to the Aspinall in a second."

"The Aspinall?"

"That's where the Fedorovs are staying. The whole underbelly of Chicago knows about it," he says.

"You've already told me something new," I mutter. "I've been trying to find her since yesterday."

Paddy chuckles dryly. "I can imagine. But if Grigori doesn't want you to find her, you won't. Listen to me, Jace, and listen carefully; I can't get involved."

"I'm not asking you to—"

"As soon as you leave this table, I won't know you anymore, you hear me?"

I give him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever it is you're going to do with the information I provide, I can't be linked to it in any way. So, for safety's sake, let's consider ourselves strangers once this conversation is over. It's the price you got to pay for what I'm about to tell you."

It pains me to hear him say such things, but I get it. He's next in line to take over the Maguire empire. That's a lot of men, plenty of businesses, and billions of dollars. Dark money that ultimately feeds into the city. He cannot be perceived as a rat or a snitch. The old-school mob game is still on, and snitches still get stitches. They still put cement shoes on people in Chicago, and I don't want Paddy to take the fall for anything pertaining to my mission.

I nod slowly. "I understand. Okay."

He takes a deep breath before he begins. "Back in the early 1900s, the Fedorovs and the Abramovics ran New York together. There were the occasional skirmishes, but they got along for the most part. The cops couldn't do anything about them, so they just let the Russkys do their thing, provided they paid a little tax under the table if you catch my drift."

I nod again. "I see. What happened?"

"Prohibition. That brought out the worst in everybody, including the Bratva. They didn't get along anymore. The Fedorovs wanted to try different avenues, but the Abramovics were keen on smuggling booze. The latter declared war, and the former gave it to them a little too hard. What was left of the Abramovic family took off and sought refuge in Chicago," Paddy says. "Not long afterward, Hitler rose to power. The war left the city ripe for plucking, and the Abramovic Bratva were there to fill in for the Irish and the Italians. By the end of the 1950s, they were just as big and as influential."

"As were the Fedorovs in New York, right?"

"Right. The 1980s, however, started to get even more interesting. Cocaine was the game, and everybody got into it. Igor Abramovic, Arkady's father, played that game, and he played it hard. When Grigori took over the Fedorov Bratva, he focused more on the guns and other illicit substances, even banning cocaine deals on his turf."

"They were still at it, then, even from afar."

"Of course. The war never ended between the two families. And the Abramovic fellas have been keen on going back to New York since before they left," Paddy says. "I'm telling you this so you'll understand precisely how stubborn Arkady Abramovic is about New York. That man carries the grudge of entire generations, while Grigori carries his. Audrey is but a pawn."

"I need to get her out of there."

"In order to do that, you need to know where each of the Bratva bosses are headed, what they're doing, who they're talking to, who they're in business with. You need intel, Jace, and I can give that to you. But like I said, it'll cost you."

"Our friendship. I get it. I'm sorry."

He smiles gently. "I know love when I see it, brother. I can't blame you."

"So where do we start?"

"Grigori Fedorov. This isn't his first visit to Chicago, but it's the first official one. He's come around before if only to personally monitor certain spies he's had living here since the early eighties."

I feel my eyebrows arching upward with surprise. "He's invested, then."

"More of a micromanager. He's the same with his sons, mind you. Long after Vitaly takes over the Fedorov Bratva, Grigori will still be pulling the strings from behind the curtains. The old man won't stop running the show until he takes his last breath," Paddy scoffs. "But that's a good thing because he's also a creature of habit. Very particular about where he sleeps, what he eats, who cooks his food, who brews his coffee … I mean, the man has taken every page out of a Russian dictator's playbook and made it his own."

"I can track him based on these habits."

"Yes, and I'll send you a text after you leave here with a list of his known aliases. I know you're still in touch with Ronnie."

"He's in the Bureau's Chicago field office," I confirm.

"Ronnie can help you with those aliases. Use him. The kid worships you. He'll do anything for you."

"He caught a bullet for me," I sigh, briefly remembering the incident in Fallujah that cost Ronnie his kidney but saved my life when we were ambushed. "I'll run it by him. Thank you, Paddy."

"I'm not done," my friend says. "You need to know a few things about Arkady, too."

And so, I sit quietly while I listen to his tales about Arkady Abramovic, about his business dealings and operations across the city. It's enough information to paint a clear picture of the monsters that I'm about to go up against.

It also gives me spectacular insight into a world that, up until a few days ago, seemed surreal, like something out of a Hollywood movie. Ever since I got out of the Army, I steered clear of asking for favors from the men whom I served with. The situation I've found myself in now, however, demands that I make a few more calls—one to Ronnie, in particular. I need the help of my brothers in arms if I'm to do this right.

"You might have to get your hands dirty," Paddy warns me.

"Yeah, I'm aware."

"Do you still have your sniper rifle?"

"Yeah."

I keep it in a locked cabinet in my home office. It's been years since I even opened the case, let alone fired a single shot. Paddy nods slowly. "You're going to need it. You won't be able to get close enough—"

"Long range, huh? I can't just hand the intel over to the Feds?"

"Not without burying me," Paddy says, his brow deeply furrowed.

"I'd never do that."

"It's the cost of doing business with the mob, Jace. If you want Audrey, if you really want her, you have to be ready to do for her what you did for this magnificent country of ours."

The thought hits me like a hammer to the gut. I've considered the possibility already. It didn't sit well then, and it doesn't sit well now. But if push comes to shove, I'll do it. I'll tap into my darkest side and let the monster out to play again. I just need to make sure I don't forget who I am in the process. Otherwise, I will never be able to look my daughter in the eyes again.

"I will never be able to repay you, Paddy," I say to my friend.

"Just don't call me if shit hits the fan, Jace. The Irish boys can't help you."