Chapter 7
Ice Pick
The morning sun cuts through the blinds like a blade, and I'm already awake when Ava stirs against me.
She's tangled in the sheets, one leg thrown over mine, her hair a wild mess that somehow makes her more beautiful.
Last night's confession hangs between us, unspoken but present, and I wonder if she remembers what I said or if she thinks I was already asleep.
I remember what she whispered back. "Me too" isn't "I love you," but it's close enough for now.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Text from Vulture.
Vulture:
Church in thirty. New development on the shell companies.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake Ava, and head for the shower.
The hot water does nothing to wash away the tension settling into my shoulders.
We took down the Reapers, freed the girls, and arrested the buyers.
But someone's still out there, someone powerful enough to send people after Ava's apartment, someone desperate enough to leave threatening messages.
That someone's not going to stop until they're either in custody or we're all dead.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Ava's awake and sitting up in bed, the sheet pooled around her waist and nothing else covering her. It's a sight that makes my mouth go dry despite the urgency of Vulture’s text.
"Church?" she asks, having obviously seen my phone light up.
"Yeah. New intel on the corporate structure you've been tracing." I pull on jeans and a t-shirt, watching her watch me. "You should eat breakfast, check on Sarah. I'll fill you in after."
"I want to be there. If it's about my investigation, I should hear it firsthand." She stands, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness, and crosses to where I've laid out clean clothes for her. "Don't try to protect me from information, Mason. I need to know what we're dealing with."
"Church is for patched members only."
"Then make an exception." She pulls on underwear and jeans, then one of my shirts that hangs off her shoulder. "You said yourself I'm not really a civilian anymore. I've earned the right to be in that room."
She's right, but that doesn't make it easier. Bringing a woman who's not an ol' lady into church breaks tradition, challenges the structure we've built. But Ava's not a normal civilian, and this situation's anything but standard.
"I'll talk to Vulture," I concede. "But if he says no, you stay out. No arguments."
"Fair enough."
We head downstairs where brothers are already gathering, some nursing coffee, others eating breakfast that Harrior's put together. He might be the newest full patch, but the man can cook, and the smell of bacon and eggs fills the common room.
Sarah's at one of the tables with Condor, who's showing her something on his laptop. She looks better than yesterday, there’s some color back in her face, though she still jumps every time someone walks past.
"How's she doing?" I ask Ava quietly.
"As well as can be expected. She's scared but trying to hide it." Ava watches her friend with concern. "She doesn't understand this world, doesn't know the rules. I need to make sure she's protected."
"She is. Sterling's got eyes on her, and Condor's keeping her occupied. She's safe here."
Vulture appears from the hallway leading to his office, spotting me and jerking his head toward the chapel. I follow, Ava trailing behind me, and his eyebrows rise when he sees her.
"She wants in on church," I say before he can object. "It's about her investigation. She should hear it directly."
Vulture’s quiet for a moment, weighing the request against club rules and precedent. Then he nods. "Fine, but this doesn't become a habit. Understand?"
"Understood," Ava says, relief flashing across her face.
We head down to the chapel where brothers are already taking their seats.
The surprise on their faces when Ava walks in is universal, but Vulture’s presence keeps anyone from voicing objections.
I pull out a chair for her, positioning it beside mine but slightly back from the table.
Close enough to hear, far enough to respect the hierarchy.
When everyone's settled, Vulture calls the meeting to order with his gavel.
"We've got developments on the corporate structure behind the trafficking operation," he starts, nodding to Condor. "Tell them what you found."
Condor pulls up files on his laptop, projecting them onto the wall.
"I've been digging into those shell companies, following the money like Ava suggested.
Turns out several of them connect to a single holding company based in the Cayman Islands.
That company, Apex International Holdings, owns pieces of legitimate businesses all over the country. "
"How legitimate?" Sterling asks.
"Real estate development, logistics companies, a few restaurants and nightclubs.
" Condor pulls up another screen showing a web of connections.
"But here's where it gets interesting. Apex International Holdings is majority owned by a trust. And that trust's primary beneficiary is listed as a man named Victor Castellano. "
The name doesn't mean anything to most of the brothers, but I catch the way Ava goes rigid beside me.
"You know that name?" I ask her.
"Victor Castellano. Real estate mogul, political donor, sits on half a dozen charity boards.
" Her voice is tight. "I looked into him six months ago when I was investigating corruption in city contracts.
He's connected to everyone who matters in this city, untouchable because of his wealth and influence. "
"Not anymore," Vulture says. "Robert has been coordinating with the FBI. They're building a RICO case, using the evidence from the warehouse raid combined with the financial records Condor's pulled. If we can prove Castellano's directly involved in the trafficking operation, we can bring him down."
"That's a big if," Falcon points out. "Men like Castellano don't get their hands dirty. They pay people to pay people. Layers of insulation."
"Which is where the Reapers come in." Ava leans forward, her mind clearly racing. "They're the direct connection. If we can prove the Reapers were being paid through companies owned by Apex, and those payments coincide with trafficking shipments, that establishes the link."
"The feds are already working that angle," Condor confirms. "Several Reapers flipped after the arrests. They're testifying that they received payments from shell companies they now know were connected to Castellano."
"How solid is the testimony?" I ask.
"Solid enough for warrants. The FBI raided three of Castellano's properties yesterday.
Offices, a private residence, and a warehouse in the industrial district.
" Condor's expression is grim. "They found records.
Ledgers detailing payments to the Reapers, transportation schedules, even a list of buyers. "
The room's quiet as this sinks in. We've got him. After everything, all the violence and danger and close calls, we've got the man at the top.
"When do they arrest him?" Rook asks.
"That's the problem." Falcon's jaw tightens. "Castellano disappeared. His lawyer claims he's on a business trip overseas, but the FBI thinks he was tipped off about the raids. He's in the wind."
"Someone leaked the investigation," I say, my blood running cold. "Someone with access to federal information warned him."
"That's the working theory. Which means there's still a mole somewhere in law enforcement, someone protecting Castellano." Vulture looks around the table. "Until he's caught, this isn't over. He's got resources, connections, and a strong motivation to eliminate witnesses."
His eyes land on Ava, and the implication's clear. She's the witness who started this whole thing, the journalist whose investigation exposed the operation. If Castellano wants to bury this, he starts with her.
"She doesn't leave the compound," I say, my voice flat. "Not until he's in custody."
"Agreed. And we double security. No one in or out without verification.
" Vulture stands. "We're in lockdown until further notice.
Sterling, coordinate with Robert and keep us updated on the FBI's progress.
Condor, monitor all channels for any chatter about Castellano's location. Everyone else, stay sharp."
Church breaks up, brothers dispersing to their assignments. Ava stays seated, processing everything she just heard, and I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
"What're you thinking?" I ask.
"I'm thinking Castellano didn't build this operation alone.
He's got partners, people who helped facilitate the trafficking.
If he's disappeared, they might still be accessible.
" She looks at me. "I need to go through my notes again, cross-reference every name I've collected with Castellano's known associates. "
"You can do that from here. We'll get you whatever resources you need."
"I also need to talk to some of my contacts. People who might know where Castellano would run, who he'd trust to hide him."
"Ava."
"I know, I know. Lockdown means lockdown. But phone calls are safe, right? I can make calls from here."
I don't like it, don't like the idea of her reaching out to people who might be compromised or connected to Castellano. But she's right that we need more information, and her contacts are resources we don't have access to through normal channels.
"Make your calls. But you do it with me in the room, and if anything feels off, you hang up immediately." My hand finds hers under the table. "I'm not losing you because some contact turns out to be dirty."
"You're not going to lose me." She squeezes my fingers. "I'm too stubborn to die."
"That's what worries me. Your stubbornness is going to get you killed."
"Or it's going to get us the information we need to end this." She stands, pulling me up with her. "Come on. Let's get to work."