Chapter 29 Alexei
Alexei
My Alinyonok is tense as I blend our morning smoothies. She’s worried about the German girl. I don’t care much about Birgit’s fate, but I don’t want Alina upset, so I will do whatever is necessary to fix this situation.
Valery’s reply to my message arrives with a ding as I hand Alina her cup.
Aware of the situation. Handling it.
I reply back: Need more details. Alina aware as well.
I’m sure he understands what that last part means.
“What did he say?” Alina asks when I put the phone away again.
I take a gulp of my smoothie. “Nothing much yet. As soon as—”
Another ding on my phone.
I skim Valery’s reply, then read it out loud:
Police found footage from the hostel’s security camera.
Schwann had a confrontation with Bocelli a few days prior to the incident.
He came on to her in the lobby; she punched him in the face.
Told him to fuck off and die. Since this took place prior to Alina’s arrival at the hostel, my team didn’t scrub it.
Alina drags in an audible breath. “She never told me about that. Said he was harmless, albeit a ‘pervy idiot.’”
“Maybe he was harmless to her.”
I bet the motherfucker preferred his victims weak and passive—either drunk or too sick to fight back, the latter being the category he probably figured Alina fell into. Except she surprised him.
For the umpteenth time, I wish I’d gotten there earlier so I could’ve sliced the bastard open myself. Slowly. With a serrated blade. Keeping him conscious the whole time as I force-fed him his own guts and—
“We have to do something to fix this.” Alina paces the kitchen, smoothie in hand. “We can’t let her get in trouble for what I did.”
“I’m sure they’ll just question her and let her go. There’s no body, nor any other evidence linking her to the disappearance.”
Or at least there shouldn’t be. Unless Valery’s team overlooked something else?
I reach for my phone again:
Is there something else we should know? Any reason this can’t go away on its own?
Valery’s reply takes a minute to arrive, and I read it out loud for Alina again:
Maybe. We’re digging deeper into the Bocelli family in Italy. Preliminary evidence suggests they’re connected to Enzo Accardi. Linus appears to have been his third cousin.
Motherfucker. That would explain why the rape charges against him were dropped.
I lower my phone to find Alina staring up at me.
“Who the fuck is Enzo Accardi?” she demands.
“The owner of Accardi Enterprises.” When she still looks blank, I add, “His organization runs Sicily.”
Alina chokes on the smoothie she just took a sip of. “They’re mafia?”
“They don’t like to be called that anymore.” Which I can understand.
“But that’s what they are, right?” Alina sets her drink down with a thud. “The man I killed is connected to the Italian mob?”
“The Sicilian mob.” Though now that I think about it, Accardi has his tentacles all over Italy.
Alina throws up her hands. “Why didn’t this come up before?”
Good question. I text it to Valery. He replies immediately:
Relation too distant to blip on the regular background report.
Were only alerted to the possibility of a connection when we hacked Bocelli’s father’s email this morning.
A couple of weeks ago, he reached out to Accardi for help with prosecuting the only suspect, the German girl.
Seems convinced she’s behind it. Accardi must’ve pulled some strings with the Geneva police to initiate the arrest.
“So let me get this straight,” Alina says after I read her the message.
“The father of the man I killed is looking for someone to blame, and because of his distant mafia relative, he was able to get an innocent woman arrested on next-to-no evidence?” Then she must reach the same conclusion as I did earlier because she gasps and says, “That’s how he got away with it, right?
The rapes he was never prosecuted for? Accardi must’ve pulled some strings for the Bocellis then too. ”
“I suspect that’s the case.”
Which makes everything so much more complicated.
If Bocelli truly thinks her guilty, Birgit is fucked.
With Accardi’s kind of pull, proof of innocence can be disregarded, or conversely, evidence of guilt manufactured.
It’s simple enough to do. We’ve done it dozens of times ourselves, as have the Molotovs.
When you have enough money and power, the legal system is your weapon, to be wielded as you see fit—which is fine when we’re the ones wielding it.
But in this case, it’s being wielded against an innocent woman, one that my wife cares about.
And, more importantly, a woman who knows my full name and thus Alina’s.
At this very moment, Birgit could be talking to the Geneva police, telling them all about the sick Russian woman who stayed with her—and then disappeared right when Bocelli did.
If they don’t put two and two together after that, I’ll be very surprised.
“We need to do something.” Alina resumes pacing. “We have to get Birgit out.”
That, or ensure she’s not able to speak to anyone.
I bet that’s the solution Valery is favoring.
And it’s one I would choose also if not for the fact that it would cause Alina distress.
Not to mention, Birgit may have already opened her mouth, and eliminating her would only bring the police—or worse, Accardi’s people—to our doorstep that much sooner.
The Geneva police are not a real threat to us, but Accardi could cause trouble if he were so inclined.
Would he be inclined, though? Just how close is he to the Bocellis?
It’s one thing to bribe a cop or two to indulge a distant relative, but it’s another thing entirely to go up against a family as powerful as the Leonovs… and the Molotovs.
I doubt Alina’s brothers will stay on the sidelines in this fight.
I’m about to text Valery with my next question when a text from him arrives with a ping:
Konstantin just accessed the cameras and arrest records at the station. Schwann hasn’t said anything about Alina yet. The problem can still be contained.
“What did he say?” Alina grabs for my phone, and despite my misgivings, I show her the message.
Her face goes pale, and she clenches her jaw. “No. Absolutely not. Birgit is not expendable. Do you hear me? You cannot ‘contain’ the problem by making her go away. I won’t have it.” Her voice rises. “Alexei, please, don’t let them hurt Birgit, or I swear to god, I will—”
“I won’t.” The promise emerges of its own accord, born not of rational thought but of an automatic, instinctual need to please her, to take away the source of her stress and worry.
Six months ago, I wouldn’t have made this promise.
I would’ve done what’s best for her and for our future life together, regardless of the fallout—as I’ve done so many times in the past. But that was before.
Before I knew what it was like to have her snuggle close to me and hear her whisper, “I love you.” Before I knew—truly knew and understood—the tender, vulnerable, complicated core of her, this woman I’ve wanted for so long and have fought so hard for.
Six months ago, I was a man she hated—and I don’t want to be one ever again.
So, even though the simple, logical thing to do would be to let Valery eliminate Birgit as he’s undoubtedly planning, I frame Alina’s face with my palms and tell her solemnly, “I’ll stop them. We’ll find another way to make the problem go away.”
She inhales slowly, and I see the tension drain out of her. She believes me, trusts me, and that makes all the upcoming headache worthwhile. I lean in and kiss her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent as I do, and then I text her brothers:
Do not do anything. It’s time for a meeting.