Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
T he silence is palpable, an uncomfortable quietude that’s settled between us. Roman lights a cigarette like we have all the time in the world, even though he knows we’re on borrowed time.
After Milo— or should I say Miles? Nah, I think I prefer Milo—told me what he found at the Federovs’ hangar and begged me to help him, I had no choice but to call a meeting. Decisions like the one I’m about to make don’t happen without discussing it with my two best friends first. Though right now, Roman is looking like he’s more on my side than Haldon.
The steady beat of the music below us thumps through the floor. Club Palma is always pumping loudly at this time of night, which is why we can afford to have conversations like this one without being overheard.
Milo sits next to me, wearing a borrowed hoodie and jeans—that only make him one hundred times more attractive—while his eyes are sharp and unreadable. He doesn’t speak. He’s left that for me.
Roman’s the first to break the silence. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Milo out of a suit,” he smirks.
Haldon lets out a low whistle, leaning back on the couch opposite me, his arm draped over the cushions like he owns the room. He technically does, which is a little more intimidating than I care to admit. “Didn’t think you’d actually forgive him after what he did.”
“Me neither,” I mutter, glancing sideways.
Milo doesn’t react, but the way his jaw feathers tells me he hates that we’re talking about him like he’s not here, and he can’t do a thing about it. That was one of the conditions I set when I agreed to help him. If he needs us to help him take out the Federovs, then we do it our way, including keeping quiet unless we need his input.
“You kissed and made up, then?” Roman taunts through a cloud of smoke.
“Are we here to talk about who I’m fucking, or are we here to talk about the Federovs?”
Roman smirks, tapping ash into a nearby tray. “Both, honestly. You brought an FBI agent here without explaining what kind of mess he’s dragging behind him, and expect us to help him.”
Milo straightens, calm but clear. “I’m not here to ask you to clean up my mess. I’m here because we can help each other out.”
I snap my gaze to Milo, wishing he’d followed through on keeping his mouth shut. The situation between us all has changed. He’s no longer the enemy we all thought, he’s potentially worse, and controlling how this went down tonight is not exactly going to plan.
“I wouldn’t say we need your help,” Haldon sneers. “More like you need us.”
“And he’s not afraid to admit that!” I bark, shooting up from the couch. The room falls into a tense silence, the atmosphere so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it. Roman regards me carefully, while Haldon blinks back his surprise. This is the first time I’ve lashed out like this, but this really isn’t up for discussion.
“It still doesn’t change things,” Roman reminds me, which just pisses me off further. Since his return to the city, he’s spent all his time and energy on cementing his reputation in the city. This is clearly just another one of those days.
Memories flood me as I think of when Milo turned up at my door over a week ago, bloody and broken. I didn’t know if he was going to make it, but seeing how Haven dove straight into doctor mode, I have the utmost respect for her. “Milo came to me because he knows he can trust me,” I say, trying not to choke on the words.
“That’s all well and good, Vee. But how do we know we can trust him ?” Haldon questions. I don’t miss the accusatory tone. It’s funny how they were mocking me over my attraction to Milo, and now they’re punishing me for it.
I understand their reservations, but I know this is bigger than Milo being in the FBI. I turn to Milo. I know how much he needs this. We need this. The Federovs are an even bigger threat, not only to The Five, but to the city. If Milo is correct and the Russians are trafficking, that goes beyond everything we stand for. We might play on the less than legal side of the law, but we draw the line at the flesh trade.
Turning back to face my best friends, I take a deep breath, hoping Milo realizes how much I’m risking for him. “If he crosses us, I’ll take the hit.”
A silent conversation flows between the three of us. My best friends know what my loyalty is worth. As kids, we used to go down to the batting cages and play chicken with the baseballs. One of us would stand against the fence, behind the pitching machine, while the other would attempt to hit the ball. It was totally up to us whether we aimed for the target or not, and that’s what brought us closer. Testing each other’s stamina and loyalty was how we bonded, how we forged a friendship, learning to trust one another.
This moment right now feels like another test, and I’d gladly stand in front of that pitching machine and take the hits they send my way. My loyalty is worth more than the money in our banks, because it can’t be bought. My loyalty is earned, and standing here in front of them, asking to help Milo, proves that he’s earned mine.
Roman runs a finger over his lip, his eyes pinned on me as smoke swirls around his face from the cigarette wedged between his fingers. I’ve never asked for anything from the guys; this’ll be the first time. Surely that has some weight to it.
“Well, I call shotgun on taking the first hit,” Haldon grins, full of malice wrapped in amusement.
“Fine,” Roman eventually relents. “Where do we start?”
Relief washes over me. It isn’t until Milo tugs me back onto the couch that I realize I’ve been frozen, just staring at my two best friends.
“That drug you found at the docks, I know what it is.” Milo pulls out the baggy I gave him a few days ago, pink powder sparkling under the light of Haldon’s office.
“Cocaine laced with fentanyl,” Haldon answers him.
“Rosecaine,” Milo clarifies.
Roman raises a brow. “Rosecaine?”
Milo nods. “It’s more than just a new product. It’s lethal. Addictive. The kind of thing that wipes out entire neighborhoods before anyone knows who’s selling it. The Federovs are flooding it in, fast. But that’s the least of our problems.”
“How so?” Roman questions.
“The Federovs are trafficking girls into the city. I found them in the hangar,” Milo answers. “I know the Federovs, they’re trafficking them, moving them like inventory.”
The room stills as Milo pauses.
Roman doesn’t blink, but I hear Haldon curse under his breath.
“How many?” Roman asks.
“A dozen, maybe more. I only had minutes inside, but they’re not just selling drugs—they’re selling people .”
“And you want us to do what, exactly?” Haldon asks, his tone careful now. “Go in guns blazing?”
“I need to find them. I need to know where the girls are or if they’ve been moved.” Milo leans forward. “I know what I’m asking is huge, but if you can help me take down the Russians?—”
“You’re asking for war,” Roman stamps his cigarette out in the tray beside him.
Milo nods. “Yeah. And I’m not asking lightly.”
I glance at Roman. He glances back. The pause is long enough to carry weight.
“We’ll help” Roman says finally, “but assurances will be needed. If the Feds come down on this, we don’t get burned for it.”
“I’m not with the Bureau anymore,” Milo says. “And when this is over, I’ll make sure what you do stays buried.” It’s a promise I’m not sure he can make, but I’m willing to believe him. It’s the first step towards rebuilding trust, right?
Facing Milo, I gesture towards the door. “I need to talk to the guys.”
He nods, pushing up from his seat and heading towards the door. When it’s closed, I turn to Roman and Haldon. I know I’m going to get a ball busting— which is probably called for—but I’m hoping it can wait.
Haldon shakes his head, smirking at me. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger.”
“Fuck you,” I growl.
He rolls his eyes in response, ignoring my anger to ask Roman, “What about our mole?”
“He’s gone silent,” he answers. “We don’t know if he’s dead, compromised, or just playing a long game.”
Haldon swears again, sharper this time. “Then we’re flying blind.”
“Not completely,” I say. “We’ve got Gracie, we can ask her to see what she can find on surveillance. We’ll trace movements from the hangar. If the girls were moved, we’ll find out where.”
Roman leans back, nodding slowly at me. “Alright. You’ve got a sliver of faith from us. Don’t let it crack.” He stands, readjusting his suit. “We done here?”
“Got some grovelling to do, bro?” I smirk.
He tucks a fresh cigarette between his lips, murmuring, “Something like that.”
Haldon moves towards his desk, but not before he gives me a look that’s half amusement, half warning. “Tell lover boy to keep his head down,” he taunts. “And try not to die for him, Vee. Wouldn’t be a good look.”
“Go fuck yourself, Haldon.”
* * *
G racie’s already muttering to herself when I step into her office. She’s perched on her stool, her expression tight. Her beanie flops to the side as her blonde curls wrap around her face.
“So what am I looking for?” she asks without looking up. Her fingers move a mile a minute, windows popping up on her screens.
“We need surveillance on this location,” I explain, placing a piece of paper in front of her. The coordinates Milo provided should take Gracie to the hangar, but finding working cameras in that area is hit or miss. The whole place is pretty much abandoned, which is probably why the Federovs chose that location in the first place.
She taps a key. Grainy footage flares to life—nighttime, headlights, motion. We watch as women are dragged toward the back of a truck. No resistance. It’s like they’re on autopilot. There’s no fight in them, just morose obedience.
My fists clench as Gracie scrolls through minutes of footage. “Where are they taking them?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs. Her body shudders as her eyes follow a few young girls heading to the back of a separate truck. “Maybe to another holding site. Maybe out of the country.”
“Can you track the trucks?” I ask.
Gracie nods, eyes flicking over lines of code on her screen. After a tense few seconds, four new windows pop up. “License plates are fake, but I can match timestamps to traffic cams. I’ll find out where they’re going.”
“Good.” I pause, then lean a little closer. “One more thing.”
Gracie looks up, her brows stitching together as she waits for my request.
“I need information on someone. Kyrovsky?—”
“Didn’t we do this already?” She asks, raising a brow as she types.
“First name Miles.”
She pauses, looking up at me. Her mouth rounds into an ‘O’, but she doesn’t say anything, just returns to her search.
Less than a minute later, she pulls up a file, her eyes scanning rows of information until another window opens. “Family’s still alive,” she says, reeling off the information in front of her. “Father’s in bad health… Looks like advanced liver failure. Miles disappeared four years ago.”
“Four?” I frown. Something isn’t adding up. Milo said he hadn’t spoken to his parents in five years, since he started working for the Federovs.
She squints at me. “You want me to dig deeper?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“Okay, but what’s the play?”
I give her a small smile. “Sometimes, you need to know what someone’s running from before you can trust where they’re going.”
She stares at me for a second, before grabbing her coffee mug and slurping the liquid loudly. “You and your fucking riddles.”