Chapter 3 Alison
ALISON
I pushed through the glass doors and out onto the safety of the street, then stood looking back at the casino, making sure no one was following me.
Even the muggy night air couldn’t chase away the chill between my shoulder blades.
His threat was still echoing in my mind, each syllable made silvery by his Russian accent.
I’d lied. I was scared of him. Especially when I’d felt those powerful fingers wrap around my neck. What had I been thinking, walking in there alone and yelling at him? My heart crashed against my ribs. He really could have killed me and dumped my body in Lake Michigan.
But for some reason, he hadn’t. He probably didn’t view me as enough of a threat.
God, he was so arrogant: he’d actually called Chicago his city.
Until tonight, Gennadiy Aristov had only been vaguely on my radar.
Now I hated him, despite the fear. Maybe because of the fear.
I resent anything that makes me feel weak.
And there was something else. When he’d loomed over me, trapping me in the chair with those thickly-muscled arms, his shirt drawn tight across his pecs… When he’d glowered down at me with those brutally hard, gray eyes…
He had no business looking so good. Or sounding so good: that accent, each syllable painted gleaming silver as his deep growl carried them right to the core of me…
I shook my head and stalked back down the street to where I’d parked my bike.
The fire was still raging at the Community Theater, the glow of the flames painting long orange tongues of light all the way along the polished walls of Gennadiy’s casino.
My steps got smaller and smaller as I drew close, the loss of the place throbbing through my chest.
It’s my city. I’ll burn what I fucking like and there’s nothing you can do about it.
I stood there staring into the flames. They were blurring behind tears, and I didn’t dare blink, or they’d spill over, and people would see.
Inside the burning building, something creaked and then crashed to the floor with a tinkle of glass. The pain spread through me, reverberating…
And then it hit some tiny, stubborn part of me, and that part hardened into granite.
I sniffed and felt my jaw tighten. If I’d been back in New York, my old FBI partner Sam Calahan would have said Uh-oh. You’ve got that look.
Gennadiy Aristov was wrong. Yes, this was his city. Yes, he could burn anything he liked.
But there was something I could do about it.
I climbed onto my bike, put on my helmet, and roared away into the night.
The next morning, my boss, FBI Assistant Director Halifax, walked into his office, turned to close the door...and jumped back, spilling his coffee, when he saw me standing in the corner. “Jesus Christ, Brooks!”
“I want to go after Gennadiy Aristov,” I told him.
“What? No. Why are you in my office?” He started trying to wring coffee out of his dripping shirt cuff.
“Their network is huge.” I unfurled a roll of paper across his desk. It showed a complex tree diagram. “Just since last night, I’ve identified at least a hundred businesses that are likely owned by or part-owned by—”
“Have you slept?”
“—the Aristovs, together with—”
Halifax sighed. “The Aristovs are too big. I already have you working on the Irish and the Italians.”
“Since when did organized crime get too big for us to investigate?” I snapped.
Halifax gave me a warning look. “You know what I mean.”
“You mean it’s politically inconvenient because they have senators in their pocket.”
“I mean, we have limited resources and we have to pick our battles.” Halifax took a deep breath, and his tone softened a little. “You’re a good agent, Alison. But you’re not going to get anywhere with the Aristovs. No one ever has. They’re too smart, too careful.”
“I want to try.”
Halifax glanced through the glass wall of his office to the desks outside. “Where’s Hutchins? Goddamn it, is she late again?”
Agent Caroline Hutchins is the one close friend I’ve made since moving to Chicago from New York.
She’s a single mom, and recently she’d had a run of being late for work because she kept getting stuck in traffic dropping her kids off at daycare.
Unfortunately, Halifax is a real stickler for timekeeping, and he doesn’t care that she makes it up at the end of the day.
“I saw her downstairs, sir,” I lied. “She was going down to Records.”
Halifax pinned me with a look. “Don’t bullshit me, Brooks.”
I swallowed but stood my ground. Caroline’s youngest kid, Jack, was born with a heart defect.
He’s doing better now, but about a year ago, it was touch-and-go, and she went through it all on her own.
The poor woman deserved a break. “I’m not bullshitting you, sir.
She’s in Records. Now, Gennadiy Aristov. ..”
Halifax dropped into his chair, ran his hands through his hair, and groaned. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.”
“Even if you were going to go after the Aristovs, why would you want Gennadiy? Isn’t his brother, Radimir, the Pakhan?”
I could tell I was wearing him down. “Yes, Radimir’s the big boss, but he keeps his hands clean, running their property business and being the public face of the family.
It’s Gennadiy who runs all the illegal operations.
And over the last year or two, as the Aristovs have expanded, he’s gotten more and more ruthless.
Arson. Murder. Remember that gang that robbed the jewelry store last September?
Well, they did it on Aristov turf and didn’t give the Aristovs a cut.
Gennadiy stole the haul and executed all four of them.
” I leaned in. “He gunned down six Mexican smugglers. He caught a guy stealing and cut off his hands!”
“I still don’t think—”
“I’ve prepared a briefing,” I told him. “Shouldn’t take more than two or three hours.” I pulled my laptop out of my bag and fired it up.
Halifax put his hands up in defeat. “Alright.” He sighed. “What would you need?”
“Six good people and six months.”
“You can have three, and three months.”
Fuck. That was going to be near-impossible. “Thank you, sir.”
“And two of them have to be Hadderwell and Fitch.”
My heart sank. Hadderwell and Fitch are both less than a year from retirement, and they’re phoning it in at this point, doing just enough to make sure they still get their full pension.
They weren’t going to love taking orders from a woman, either.
But I forced myself to smile. “Fine. And can the third one be Caroline?”
Halifax waved me out of his office. “Fine. Take her.”
Yes! Caroline was outstanding at the sort of deep research we’d need to take Gennadiy down. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.” I hurried out of his office before he changed his mind.
The first job was to understand who we were dealing with.
I found photos of the Aristovs and pinned them to the wall.
Gennadiy, the murderous crime boss we were focused on.
Radimir, his older brother, with his three-piece suits and permanent icy scowl.
Valentin, the younger brother, who was thought to be the family’s hitman.
And then there was Mikhail, the brothers’ uncle, an older man who did most of the liaising with the rich and powerful and never went anywhere without his pack of Malamute dogs.
“Gennadiy Aristov?” Caroline twirled a lock of golden hair around her finger and blinked up at me nervously from behind her glasses. “I heard some guy once...displeased him and he beat him so hard, they couldn’t identify the body.”
Hadderwell sighed. Tall and balding, he was leaning against the wall, one eye on the stock trading app on his phone. “Brooks, you have no chance of taking this guy down.”
His buddy Fitch—short, squat, and with a thick, ginger mustache—put his feet up on a desk and grunted in agreement. “The guy’s serious.”
I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. “So am I.”
Early the next morning, I pulled up outside Gennadiy’s house, ready to start surveillance. I leaned forward, arms on the steering wheel, and just stared.
The place was massive, a beautiful three-story mansion at least a hundred years old, built from gray stone.
What must a place like that cost, especially here, within easy driving distance of the city?
Tens of millions, easily. And all of it from guns, drugs, and gambling.
I felt the anger bloom in my chest, tensing my shoulders and then rolling down my spine.
He’d got where he was by trampling the little people, by not caring who he hurt.
Well, enough. My fingers squeezed the steering wheel. I’m taking you down.
One thing I had to grudgingly admit: the mansion was far more tasteful than the showy, tacky palaces most criminals spent their money on. He was a ruthless bastard…but he had class.
Then I got my second shock of the day. Gennadiy emerged from the mansion in a thunderstorm-gray suit and marched over to his BMW.
He’s leaving already?! It wasn’t even seven a.m. yet!
I’d gotten there what I thought was crazy early to make sure I caught him, but I hadn’t imagined him leaving for at least another hour or so.
Apparently, he was an early riser, like me.
Gennadiy ran a hand lovingly over his car’s roof, then climbed in and drove off. I quickly started up my unmarked car and followed.
Usually, when we’re tailing a suspect, we’ll stay three cars behind them and keep passing them off between different agents so they don’t notice they’re being followed. But right now, I was staying close: I wanted Gennadiy to see me. I wanted him to know he was under surveillance.
He was sharp. Within just a few minutes, he was checking his mirrors. Then he made a couple of unnecessary turns, just to see if I’d follow, and I did.