Chapter 1 – Aria #2
I waited a moment longer, then straightened my spine and stepped into the corridor. The plan was to head downstairs and then go straight home. But everything changed when I spotted a trail of blood on the floor.
It was nothing dramatic—just a few drops leading down the hall. That’s when it hit me that whoever those men were, they must have had a hostage with them. And this was the blood of their victim.
That’s a story right there, a voice said to me.
That was the voice that always got me into trouble: the voice of curiosity and audacity.
Remember, the plan is to get home safe and sound, another voice said to me. The voice of reason. Just go home, Aria.
You came here to gather information on the financial corruption of this industrial site. Whatever pictures you took in that archive aren’t enough for your research. But if you follow this trail of blood, I’m sure you’ll have more than enough for your paper.
My voice of curiosity and audacity struck a hard bargain.
Listen to me, Aria, if you go down that road, you might get us into more trouble.
I stood there, stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea. Both voices were right. But as much as I wanted to leave, I couldn’t just run away without first trying to understand what was going on.
My gaze shifted between the blood trail and the staircase ahead of me. I thought for a moment, then decided to go check the blood.
This is a bad idea, my voice of reason said.
It wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal. The new plan was to follow the trail, see where it led, get a grip on what was happening, and that was it. Easy peasy.
And so I traced the faint drops of blood, my heart hammering in my chest. My shoes were as silent as they could be against the floor.
It’s not too late to turn back.
I ignored the whisper in my head and kept going, rounding different corners. Then I heard it—the voices.
There was a red door slightly ajar across the hall, and I rushed over in a few long strides. I hid behind the door, my back against the wall. From here, I could hear them clearly inside.
They were speaking Russian, their voices low but chaotic. When I dared to sneak a peek, I saw about five huge men towering over an older man who was kneeling before another man in a black suit.
The guards were armed with pistols fitted with silencers.
I didn’t get a good look at the man in the black suit, but the aura he exuded was strong enough to make me weak in the knees. He commanded attention without even speaking, and the way the kneeling man looked up at him told me he was the boss.
“You can’t kill me,” the kneeling man said, blood dripping from his bottom lip. “I’m one of the Bratva’s most profitable business partners.”
Bratva? I thought to myself. Like the Russian mafia?
Oh, hell no! my voice of reason sparked. That’s it; get outta here, now.
“Someone else will take your place,” the boss said, his voice deep, husky, and menacing.
I watched one of the huge men march forward from behind, his arm around the kneeling man’s neck. My eyes widened in horror as I witnessed cold-blooded murder unfolding right in front of me.
The kneeling man struggled against his attacker’s strength. He tried to stand, tried to regain his balance, but his feet kept scraping the floor. He slapped the guard’s strong, unmoving arm around his neck as he choked.
“You knew the cost of betrayal,” the boss said, crouching before the man struggling to stay alive. “Yet you went ahead and sold Bratva information to the enemy.”
He watched this man’s spirit fight to stay in his body, his expression cold as ice. The kneeling man’s legs slowly stopped moving, and his hands fell to the side. Lifeless. Only then did the guard loosen his grip, and the man’s head hit the floor with a thud.
My hand flew to my mouth in panic, my eyes wide with horror. I should’ve listened to my voice of reason and headed straight home when I had the chance.
But it wasn’t too late.
I turned to leave, and that’s when I accidentally kicked a bucket I hadn’t even known was there.
“Shit!” I cussed under my breath, steeling myself as the noise echoed off the walls.
I took off immediately, knowing the sound had given me away. Without looking back, I sprinted down the halls, turning sharp corners as I fled the scene of the crime. I wasn’t sure whether they had seen me. I wasn’t going to wait to find out.
Down the stairs, through the lobby, and then out of the building. I didn’t even stop to tell the receptionist that I was leaving—I just wanted to get as far away from here as possible. It was already raining by the time I stepped outside, but I didn’t care.
I rushed over to my car, got in, started the engine, and drove away with squealing wheels.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The words burst out of me in a nervous rush as I sped through the rain.
I combed my fingers through my messy blond hair while gripping the steering wheel tightly with the other hand.
What the actual fuck had I just witnessed?
A murder?
No, no, no.
Maybe the man wasn’t dead. Maybe he only passed out. Right?
As insane as that was, it was the least of my problems right now. Whether he was murdered or not, I was there. I saw the whole thing, and now these Bratva men already knew someone had spotted them.
Fuck!
They weren’t going to let this go, especially since they might think I’d go to the cops.
Maybe I should go to the cops. Right? Maybe they could protect me from these men—and maybe I could expose Meridian Solutions’ corruption and their involvement with notorious gang members.
But no.
These mafia men often had eyes and ears everywhere. Most of them had connections inside and outside the police force. If I went to the precinct with this case, I might not make it past tomorrow.
Dang it!
I slammed on the accelerator, my car shooting through the street like a rocket.
Unanswered questions flooded my mind.
Did they see my face?
Frankie had said the cameras were temporarily disabled. Were they back on when it happened?
Did Frankie know that Meridian Solutions was in league with the Russian Bratva?
Who was the man they killed?
Dang it.
No matter what angle I looked at this situation from, the outcome was always the same.
I was cooked—doomed.