Chapter 21

Jason

T he next morning finds me outside the Gordon Office Building, owned by Lisa Abramovic, a front for the Chicago Bratva. It's supposed to be neutral territory, housing some big financial companies and a couple of restaurants, but Ronnie warned me that it is rife with Abramovic goons. All it takes is one wrong move, and I might find myself dismembered by one of Arkady's bodyguards.

His office is on the top floor; that much I know for sure.

Wearing my best suit and a pistol strapped to my ankle discreetly hidden under my pants, I walk into the main lobby and stop by the reception desk.

The receptionist looks up from the computer while I briefly scan the lounge area, immediately spotting the on-duty Abramovic guards sitting sipping coffee and pretending to read the newspaper while they keep stealing glances at me.

"Hi there, Melinda," I say to the receptionist, her name tag pinned to the pale blue lapel of her jacket.

She gives me a pleasant nod and a smile. "Good morning. Welcome to Gordon. How may I help you?"

"My name is Jason Winchester from Winchester Holdings. I'm here to speak to Arkady Abramovic."

"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name," Melinda says a little too fast.

One glance over my shoulder tells me I'm definitely in the right place. The goons, albeit impeccably dressed in black suits, have already stood up and are confidently walking toward me, so I shift my focus back to Melinda, looking calm and unbothered.

"I think we both know that's a lie. He's expecting me, I assure you."

"Mr. Winchester, I'm truly sorry, but we don't have—"

I give her a wry smile. "Melinda, just call him up," I say, cutting her off.

A split second later, I see dread in her eyes as I find myself flanked by the two massive and likely heavily armed gentlemen. I take deep, measured breaths and keep my cool when I feel the muzzle of a gun pressed into my ribs.

"I suggest you leave," one of them says in a thick Russian accent.

"And I suggest you tell Arkady he'll want to speak to me. I may not be one of you fellas, but I've got enough useful people on speed dial to make sure your boss never opens another fucking taco joint in this city going forward," I bluntly reply as I stand my ground.

To my relief, Melinda is already on the phone, muttering something into it while looking at me with a mixture of fear and concern. Once she hangs up, she nods at the two men. "Mr. Abramovic says he'll speak to Mr. Winchester," she says.

Instantly, the gun disappears from my side, and I turn to the guy who held it against me. "You really need to work on your manners."

"Search him first," Melinda says.

Fuck. Well, I should've seen this coming.

I exhale sharply. "Before you so eagerly start fondling me, let me be honest. I did come packing," I say, prompting the two men to instinctively reach for their weapons again. "No need for violence. I'm just letting you know. And now, I will slowly reach down and take the piece out for you to hold on to until I leave, okay? I want it back when I'm done. It's a family heirloom."

The second bodyguard nods once, and I stay true to my word. Slowly, I crouch down and remove the gun from my ankle holster, holding it up with two fingers. He takes it and then motions me toward the elevator. "Come on. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"After you, fellas."

Once we're on the top floor, the entire atmosphere changes. If downstairs is intended to be warm and welcoming, up here is supposed to be as intimidating and threatening as possible.

The walls are a dull grey. The floor is sleek black, and shiny enough to display my reflection. The lighting is minimalistic and brutal, and the temperature is uncomfortably cold, part of the psychological warfare that Arkady Abramovic wages against anyone who dares to come into his lair.

I find it interesting that he chooses to keep his office here, hidden among the mortals, camouflaged by finance bros and corporate heads.

I would imagine it's hard for the Feds to waltz into this place as often as they'd like. They would require warrants, and Arkady knew that when he designed it. He's more exposed to rival mobsters here than he is to the cops.

"Nice digs," I say as I'm unceremoniously shoved into Arkady's office.

The door slams shut behind me.

I stand in the middle of the room, quiet for a second while my eyes scan the space. Everything is black, an annoyingly clean black. The desk and chairs are stainless steel and thick glass. It wreaks of toxic masculinity.

He sits behind his desk, an evil emperor overlooking his domain.

Sitting on the guest sofa are two large wearing dark grey suits that are a little too small for them and black ties. They look at me with murder in their eyes. I'm guessing these are the guys who taste Arkady's food and drinks for him, just in case someone thinks about spiking his dinner with polonium.

"Jason Winchester," Arkady says, half-smiling as he looks at me with ice-cold eyes. A scar on his temple catches my eye. His hair is close-cropped, military style. His skin is pale. He's bulky enough to intimidate but still looks good in an Armani suit. "I never imagined I'd see you here."

"Honestly, I never planned on coming here," I reply with a casual shrug. "But you kind of forced my hand. And it's time for you and me to have a little chat."

Arkady gives his men an amused glance, but I don't bother to pay them any attention. The key here is to exude confidence without appearing as a threat.

"So, what is it you wish to talk about?" Arkady asks me.

"It's private," I say, nodding toward his bouncers. "They need to leave."

He laughs. "You're audacious, I'll give you that."

"I was already searched downstairs. I'm not here to cause trouble, but the information I have is far too sensitive. It's for your ears only."

"Entice me," he says.

"I believe we both share a common enemy. A certain old wolf named Grigori. I know how to take him down."

And there it is on his face. The sparkle of curiosity. The hunger. The greed that takes over and clouds his otherwise calculated judgment. I've struck gold, just like Paddy said I would. Arkady thinks about it for a moment, then gives his men a brief order in Russian. They clearly aren't happy about it, but still, they oblige and leave the room.

I take a step forward.

"All right, you have my attention, Mr. Winchester."

"I'm here to help you."

"Help me, then. Just get on with it already; I have other meetings scheduled for the rest of the day."

"Very well," I say as I take out the secondary gun I have in the back of my pants. The guys downstairs were too distracted by the weapon I mentioned and offered to them—they didn't search for another. The second piece of brilliant advice that Paddy gave me. "So, here's the deal. I need you to leave Audrey Fedorova alone."

Arkady's good humor fades as he stares down the barrel of my 9mm.

"I was wrong. You are not audacious. You are downright stupid," he mutters.

"Relax, Arkady. I'm not here to kill you, though that would certainly take care of one issue. I really am here to talk, but not just about Grigori."

"The daughter."

"That's right. Stop coming after her. Fight her father and brothers all you want. Kill one another and be done with it, as far as I'm concerned. But leave her out of this. She's not with them, she will never be with them, and she deserves freedom from what has already been a difficult life as a Fedorov."

He gives me a wry, overly confident smile. "You love the little rabbit, don't you?"

I ignore his question. "I'm more than happy to negotiate potentially fruitful business transactions between Winchester Holdings and whatever front you've got running in this building. I'm sure my money would be put to good use."

"You want to buy Audrey's safety," Arkady says.

"Either that or I will blow your brains out right here, right now. It's your choice."

"Not really a choice, though, is it?"

"You've pushed me past my limits not once but twice."

He shrugs and lets out a sigh. "I do not care for you. Frankly, I do not care for Audrey, either. And I don't know what you're talking about."

"See, this is insulting. It's making my trigger finger itchy," I say.

"Mr. Winchester, have you ever considered the possibility that maybe the Fedorovs are the ones who tried to take her? I've heard about the incidents, and frankly, if I really wanted to hurt Grigori, I'd simply find Anton or Vitaly in any of their New York brothels and send their heads over on a silver platter."

I find myself somewhat confused by his words. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm an efficient businessman, Mr. Winchester. If I wanted to kill Audrey, I would've killed her. I can see why someone might want to grab her, perhaps thinking that they'd be doing me a favor. An action I certainly do not condone, I might add. But I heard about what happened at the hotel the other night, and I assure you, that wasn't us."

"Who was it, then?"

"Isn't it a coincidence that as soon as the little pup Anton set foot in Chicago, there was an attempt on Audrey's life?"

"You're telling me the Fedorovs tried to kill one of their own?"

Arkady shrugs in an almost dramatic fashion. "Meh, I wouldn't say kill her, per se. More like scare her enough for her to go running back into her daddy's arms."

My blood runs cold and my stomach drops as I begin to understand the implication behind his words. And now, it's starting to make sense. Grigori Fedorov is a cold, ruthless man. His sons are either his accomplices or his pawns. Either way, that whole shootout at the hotel could very well have been staged.

How do I prove it, though?

"Would you be able to point me in the right direction? I've got a bone to pick with the people who shot at Audrey," I say. "If you are innocent, Arkady now's your chance to send this hunting dog as far away from your scent as possible."

"I can tell you where they're staying, but I would advise against going in there half-cocked like this," he replies, somewhat amused. "Grigori is in town on business, and he never travels light."

"He's in town on business with you."

He chuckles lightly. "You could say that. I got his message loud and clear. He's a fool to think he can make me kneel before him."

"How many people does he have with him?"

"Expect at least thirty, and all of them excellent marksmen," Arkady replies. "But I should warn you—tonight's not a good time to try anything. Morning is your golden hour, during the guard's shift change."

"You seem to know quite a lot about their movements," I say.

"Of course. A good general learns everything they need to know about the enemy."

That's unsettling but logically correct. I know I'm not going to get much more out of him. Something tells me Arkady is doing me quite the courtesy already. He probably has a panic button under his desk, and if he wanted me out of here sooner rather than later, he would've pressed it by now.

He didn't, which further proves that Arkady was not responsible for the hotel attack. Therefore, it strengthens his theory. Grigori and Anton—either one of them or both—orchestrated it, then swooped in to grab Audrey from my place.

I have to get her away from them and fast, one way or another.