Chapter 4
“The world will try to rush you into decisions you’re not ready for. Take your time anyway.”
— ROBERT MONROE
Constance
I spend almost thirty minutes in the bathroom at the police station trying to clean myself up.
By the time I finally emerge, I’ve managed to scrub off all my makeup and what feels like a layer of skin from my hands, arms, and face.
The blood on my clothes has partially dried into a sticky mess that clings to me.
I need a giant tub to sink into for all the aches and pains.
And even with half a roll of paper towels and a sink bath, I still stink of blood and terror.
Detective Tillman assigned a woman from the office staff to escort me to the bathroom.
She checked on me numerous times during and even procured another towel so I could blot away some of the blood soaking my clothes and hair.
I won’t feel human again until I’ve stood under a hot shower for a few hours, but my efforts made me feel a bit better and gave me time to recover from the shock of my ordeal.
God, I wish Maximo was here with me. After everything that’s happened, oddly enough, I know I won’t truly feel safe until I’m with him.
Melissa suggested I get away from him, to have some time to think clearly. But now I am.
Maybe it’s stupid, but I want to be with Maximo, despite all the risks.
Once I’m satisfied that I look at least somewhat more presentable and my mind has calmed a little, I drape the towel over my shoulders and let the woman guide me back to Detective Tillman’s desk.
He’s on the phone as we approach and gestures me toward a nearby room with its door standing open.
I step inside, and my guide advises me, “Have a seat, please, and wait here for the detective. Can I bring you anything while you wait?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee. Decaf, please.” I try to smile at her, but my face feels stiff and my expression must look more like a grimace.
“I’ll be right back,” she replies as she pulls the door closed, leaving me alone in the small, chilly room. There’s a small table with four chairs placed haphazardly around it. I take the one farthest from the door, putting my back to the windowless wall.
The woman returns a few minutes later with a steaming cup of black coffee.
She places it on the table along with two sugar packets and two small disposable creamers.
There’s a thin red straw poking up from the mug.
“It looked like Detective Tillman was just hanging up the phone. He should be in to speak with you in just a moment,” she tells me.
I open one of the sugar packets as she leaves the room and dump it into the cup, then give it a stir.
I’m trying to keep calm and not let the anxiety knotting up my guts make me do or say anything I’ll regret later.
I know I shouldn’t be drinking much coffee considering my condition, but after everything I’ve already been through today, I don’t think one small cup is going to matter.
When the detective enters the room a short time later, I concentrate my attention on the red straw as I swirl it around my drink.
“I was able to reach Mr. Luciani, as you requested, and he says he’s on his way to the station to pick you up and answer some questions about your ordeal today,” he begins without preamble.
“Thank you,” I reply, focusing on my coffee.
“While we wait for him, I hope you’re feeling well enough to try to help me connect a few dots about what happened to you today. Did you know those two men? Do you have any idea why they kidnapped you?”
I knew exactly why they tried to kidnap me.
I killed a Russian gangster who ordered the murder of my father, and now his mother wants vengeance.
“I’m not sure,” I tell my coffee mug as I lift it to my lips.
“Has there been any updates on my friend Melissa’s injuries?
” I add after taking a small sip. My thoughts slip back to the baby, and I realize I can’t bring myself to drink any more.
“I sent one of my associates over to the hospital to get her statement,” Detective Tillman says, then immediately refocuses the discussion.
“Let me tell you why I think you were kidnapped, Miss Monroe. I’m still waiting on the IDs of your assailants, but I have a strong suspicion I’m going to find out that they are associates of the Volkov crime family.
Your friend, Mr. Luciani, recently helped organize and fund a police crackdown on some of their illicit businesses.
So much so that I have it on good authority that both Kirill and Alexei Volkov have completely disappeared.
While we don’t know their present whereabouts, I suspect this attempt to kidnap you was orchestrated as payback towards Mr. Luciani. Does that sound feasible to you?”
“It’s possible that my relationship with Maximo is what led to this,” I concede. I’d much rather he think that was the reason I was assaulted versus the truth. I certainly wasn’t going to admit to him that they were after me because I was the one who ended Kirill Volkov.
“Tell me how you came to be involved with Maximo Luciani,” Detective Tillman prompts. “You’re a young college student, just about to graduate, and somehow you end up on the arm of one of the city’s biggest…businessmen. How did you two meet?”
I recognize immediately that I’m on dangerous ground with the shrewd detective.
I have to assume he knows that I’m Robert Monroe’s daughter, and that I was first seen with Maximo after the arson that destroyed my family’s restaurant.
He’s trying to connect the dots that would show the picture of how the Luciani-Volkov feud started.
“You probably know that my father’s restaurant, Monroe’s, was burned down two months ago,” I tell him, deciding to stick to the publicly available facts.
“Right, and soon after that you begin appearing beside Maximo Luciani. Walk me through how that relationship developed.”
“Mr. Luciani—Maximo—sent his condolences after my father died. They had been…friends.” I chose the word carefully. I had almost said associates but felt that gave too much away. “Maximo invited me to contact him if I needed any help or support while I was grieving my loss.”
“A concerned friend of the family. That makes sense,” Detective Tillman admits.
“What doesn’t make sense is the sudden uptick in violence around the city that followed your father’s funeral.
Did you know in the last month multiple investigations have been launched regarding shootings at the local ports?
One was at a warehouse being rented by a business called Redux, a shell company owned by the Volkovs.
By the time authorities responded to the reports of shots fired, all they found were shell casings and blood stains.
There were no bodies, and representatives from Redux refused to cooperate with any further investigation.
Before we could even begin pushing for more information on that incident, there was another reported shoot-out at the docks.
Once again, by the time we responded we found only shell casings; there wasn’t even any blood this time.
Just an empty berth where a boat registered to Alexei Volkov was normally moored. ”
I shrug, careful to keep my expression neutral. “Sounds like a slow couple of weeks in this city,” I quip.
Detective Tillman stares at me impassively, his pale blue eyes boring into me from under his bushy eyebrows as though they can see right through my deflection.
He’s a good cop, and if I was the same woman I had been even a few months ago, I might have cracked and spilled everything I knew under his glare.
But I wasn’t the same Constance Monroe who stood in the rain at her father’s grave, shattered and lost. Maximo had helped me rebuild myself into something stronger, fiercer, and intensely loyal.
“How about a bomb detonated in a club Kirill Volkov was renting, and reports of shots being fired during the evacuation? Does that ring any bells with you?” His prying eyes keep trying to unnerve me, gauging my every slight reaction.
I give him nothing. “Are you going to ask me about every crime committed in the city this year? Why would you assume I know about any of these things?” I scoff.
“All I know about Maximo and these Volkov people is that he was concerned enough about their presence in the city to fund special investigations into their business dealings. If that ran them out of town and put a stop to whatever illegal enterprises they were engaged in, he deserves a medal. And I don’t deserve your suspicion after everything I’ve been through,” I add.
Before I can finish speaking, the door opens behind Detective Tillman, and a tall, lean older man looms over the two of us in the small room.
“Ms. Monroe?” the man asks me as he places a hand on the detective’s shoulder.
“I’m Major Henry. I need to borrow Detective Tillman for a moment, if you don’t mind,” he says as he moves his hand from the shoulder to clap it on the detectives back. “Outside,” he orders.
They pull the door shut behind them, but I’m only left alone in the small windowless room for about thirty seconds before the major returns.
“Ms. Monroe, please come with me. I’ve spoken to Detective Tillman and we both agree that after everything you’ve been through today, this isn’t the time to be asking a lot of questions.
Mr. Luciani is on his way to pick you up.
If you’ll accompany me to my office, we can wait for him together.
” He waves me forward, then leads me out of the interrogation room and through a large open area filled with cubicles.
On the far side is a glass-walled office, hung with blinds, which Major Henry ushers me into before closing the door.