Chapter 8
The limousine turned onto a discreet side street in Zurich's industrial district, far from the polished facades of the banking quarter.
No innocent establishments populated this block of converted warehouses.
This was the city's playground for those who required absolute privacy for their particular appetites.
We stopped at a former textile factory. The building's original facade remained intact, but subtle security cameras tracked every approach, and the heavy metal door was guarded by two men whose muscles strained against leather harnesses rather than suits.
"Mr. St. Germain," the larger one nodded as I emerged. "Welcome to Unterwerfung."
The German word for submission. How fitting.
Inside, the club occupied the factory's former main floor, industrial bones preserved but transformed.
Exposed brick contrasted with polished concrete.
Original beams overhead now supported elaborate pulley systems and suspension points from which several patrons hung in various stages of artistic bondage.
The air carried notes of leather, sweat, and the metallic tang of discipline recently administered.
An attendant led me up an industrial staircase to a mezzanine level, then to a circular room at the far end. The room featured a domed ceiling with a chandelier constructed of chains and cuffs rather than crystal. At the center, Shaw awaited.
"Maxime," he greeted, rising smoothly. Unlike the leather-clad patrons below, he remained traditionally attired in his bespoke suit. "I trust the venue isn't too provocative for your tastes?"
"An interesting choice for a business meeting," I replied, accepting the seat he indicated. "Though I suppose discretion is guaranteed when everyone present has secrets to protect."
"Precisely." His gaze flickered to my high collar. "You seem tense. Perhaps because you're carrying marks that aren't displayed as openly as the patrons downstairs?"
Beneath my shirt, Algerone's bruises throbbed as if responding to the accusation.
"My personal life isn't relevant to our discussion," I said evenly.
"On the contrary." Shaw signaled to a server and ordered bourbon without consulting me.
"You're more composed in person than you were on our call.
More guarded. Perhaps because you're no longer performing for an audience?
" His eyes glinted. "Or perhaps because you are performing, and the stakes are higher face to face. "
"I don't know what you mean."
"Those marks you're hiding. On the call, you claimed a 'rough encounter at a club.' But here, in an actual club where such marks are worn proudly..." He gestured at the patrons below. "You're the only one hiding. Why is that?"
I kept my expression neutral despite the heat crawling up my spine. "You overestimate your insight."
Shaw smiled and shifted topics. "You mentioned your best operatives are in Southeast Asia. Xander and Ash, running reconnaissance for six weeks now."
I'd revealed that on the call, testing whether he'd react. Now I wondered if I'd given away too much.
"What about them?"
"I find it interesting that you'd deploy your most capable assets so far from home during a crisis. Unless the reconnaissance is actually pursuit. Following leads on the Banshee theft, perhaps?"
My pulse quickened. "You seem remarkably well-informed about Lucky Losers' operational decisions."
"I make it my business to understand organizations I might acquire. For instance, I know they've been chasing dead ends in Singapore for the past sixteen hours." His smile sharpened. "And I know they're nowhere near the prototype's actual location."
The casual revelation of intelligence he shouldn't possess sent ice through my veins.
"You have a source inside Lucky Losers," I said quietly.
"I have sources everywhere, Maxime. The question is whether you're prepared to become one of them.
" He leaned forward, and the scent of his cologne reached me, something expensive but soulless, nothing like Algerone's signature sandalwood and dark spice.
When Shaw's fingertips brushed my wrist, nothing but revulsion stirred in my gut.
"Let's discuss what you actually want from me," I said, withdrawing my hand.
"Direct. I appreciate that." He leaned back. "I'm interested in Lucky Losers' response to the Banshee incident. What's Algerone's theory about what happened?"
I hesitated as if wrestling with my conscience. "We've identified three potential storage locations for the prototype. Teams are being dispatched simultaneously."
"Where?"
"One in Guangzhou. One outside Moscow. One in Dubai." All lies, delivered with the perfect mixture of reluctance and resignation.
Shaw studied me. "And Dr. Hardin? Where is she?"
"Unknown. Though I suspect she's no longer alive to collect whatever payment was promised."
Something flashed in his eyes. Annoyance. Good.
"Enough games," Shaw said suddenly, rising. "Come with me."
He led me through a private corridor to an executive office, sterile and professional after the club's decadence. Behind a sleek desk, he pressed a button. A hidden panel slid open, revealing monitors. He typed a command, and a specific image enlarged.
Dr. Hardin, very much alive, working in a laboratory.
"As you can see," Shaw commented, "reports of the doctor's demise have been greatly exaggerated."
Seeing her there, working comfortably in what was clearly a GidTech facility, confirmed everything. Shaw had orchestrated the theft entirely.
"Why show me this?" I asked.
"Because I want you to understand what's at stake.
" Another command, another image, this one of the Banshee prototype, partially disassembled.
"We have the hardware. We have your chief scientist. But we're missing the activation protocols.
There are security protections Hardin can't bypass.
" He studied me closely. "These measures are sophisticated.
Far beyond what a weapons scientist would implement.
They bear the hallmarks of someone with extraordinary cybersecurity expertise. "
Xavier must be behind this. Algerone's eldest son’s skills had become legendary in certain circles. No wonder Shaw couldn't bypass the security.
"I need those protocols, Maxime. And I'm prepared to offer substantially more than just a position at GidTech in exchange."
He opened a drawer and extracted a folder, placing it between us. Inside were photographs I'd never seen before, all of Xavier, Xander, and Xion Laskin.
"His sons," Shaw said softly. "The sons you kept hidden from him for twenty years."
"You seem remarkably well-informed about matters that don't concern GidTech."
"Knowledge is my business. Three boys, born to Imogen Duchaucis twenty-three years ago. Triplets." He tapped the paper. "Tell me, did you have the paternity test done before or after you chose not to tell Algerone about his progeny?"
My fingers tightened on the armrests. "Why do you have these?"
"Insurance." Shaw's smile never reached his eyes. "I also have extensive documentation of their vigilante activities across Ohio. Their methods. Their targets. Their body count." He paused. "And most interestingly, their connections to the Volkov crime family."
Cold dread pooled in my stomach.
"The FBI would find this fascinating," Shaw continued.
"Three vigilantes executing their own brand of justice, sons of a powerful defense contractor, with ties to Russian organized crime.
The federal prosecutors would have a field day.
" He leaned forward. "What I want is simple.
The activation protocols for the Banshee.
In exchange, this evidence never reaches federal authorities. "
His voice dropped. "The Volkov connection alone would trigger a RICO investigation that could take down not just the Laskin boys, but potentially implicate Algerone himself. Imagine the headlines: 'Defense Contractor's Vigilante Sons Linked to Russian Mob.'"
The sons were dangerous, capable men, but even they couldn't escape federal prosecution with the evidence Shaw possessed. And Algerone, having only recently discovered his children, would be devastated to lose them to prison.
"You don't understand what you're playing with," I said quietly.
"I understand perfectly. The Laskin boys have carved out their own fiefdom in Ohio. With Algerone's resources behind them, they're virtually untouchable there. Unless the FBI gets involved." He smiled thinly. "Which makes them perfect leverage."
Shaw pushed the photographs toward me. "Strange how life works out. You still feel protective of them, don't you? These vigilantes you kept from their father."
The full weight of my sin pressed down. Years of justification crumbled. I had told myself I was protecting Algerone, protecting our empire. But the truth lay naked between us. I had feared losing him to these children, being replaced by blood connections that would supersede our chosen bond.
"You're playing a dangerous game," I said. "Those three young men are deadly enough on their own. With Algerone backing them? You'd be signing your own death warrant."
"Unless they're in federal custody. Even the Laskin boys can't escape a federal supermax." Shaw paused, something cruel flickering across his features. "Tell me, do you think he'll clutch that bullet-damaged card of his while he watches his sons get sentenced? Will he pray to his lucky ace then?"
The taunt landed hard. I'd watched Algerone hold that card during eighteen months of recovery, during surgeries and setbacks and moments when the pain made him forget his own name. The card wasn't superstition. It was survival.
"No." The word came out low and definitive. "I won't help you target them."
Shaw's eyebrows rose. "No? After coming this far? After sitting in my private office and seeing precisely what information I possess?"
"Use me against Algerone if you must. But his sons are off limits."