Chapter 7
DMITRI
The morning is gloomy and gray, the first frigid day of the season. The wind blows in off the East River, bringing with it the kind of cold that seeps under my coat and settles deep in my bones.
I pull my collar higher, feeling the weight of Brooklyn pressing down with every step toward the precinct.
Pavel walks with me, hands jammed in the pockets of his coat, his face set in that flat but intimidating expression he wears when he’s trying not to look too threatening but also warning others away.
Inside, the precinct hums with energy in the organized crime division.
I know these halls, or at least, halls like these; they’re carved into who I am.
I clearly remember those years of playing all sides, of blood and bargains traded for lives in back rooms, of being on the other side of the interrogation desk and the prison bars—I did not get my tattoos by remaining meek and mild.
But today, with the stakes higher than ever, I’m here for answers.
We pass the desk sergeant, who glances at Pavel and me with a flicker of concern. I let him see my smile, bordering on friendly but still cold, the kind of smile that makes people rethink what they were about to say.
We move down a corridor lined with various information and faded wanted posters. The frosted door to the OC unit looms ahead—a portal to those who know the city’s darkest side.
Pressure gnaws at me. The other Bratva are circling, waiting for a sign of weakness.
My company is bleeding internally, and every day that passes without finding the mole is another day my enemies whisper about how far I’ve fallen.
I’m not a man who tolerates whispers. My father's words echo in my head: Keep your house clean, or someone else will clean it for you.
Time is running out.
We push through the door into the OC division. Among the detainees and disorganized chaos of cops working at their desks, I spot Detective Dean Johnson. He sits at the far side, his back straight, jaw set. I knew nothing about him until I found him accosting Clara outside my building.
Since then, I’ve learned of his reputation, the rumors, and the fact that he’s easily bribed.
Pavel hangs back, silent, letting me lead. That's how it's always been. Trust in my world is rare and precious; with Pavel, it's simple. He watches my back while I walk straight toward Dean, footsteps heavy on the battered linoleum.
“Good morning.” I let my accent color the greeting. “Mind if I take a moment of your time?”
Dean doesn’t look up as he grunts the reply with zero politeness, “I’m busy; someone else will help you.
” He’s sorting through a stack of folders.
There’s a coffee stain on the faded gray t-shirt he wears under the straps of his shoulder holster, and it’s wrinkled enough that it looks like this is his second day wearing it, maybe even the third, judging by the stale smell of coffee and cigarettes wafting from him and the day’s worth of stubble on his square jawline.
This is who Clara Benson fell for? The man she spent two years with?
I know that now, too.
“I’m here to see you, Detective Johnson.” I lean on his desk.
When he finally looks at me, his eyes widen with recognition before narrowing into anger and dislike. There is nothing friendly in his gaze. “You.”
He gives me the same smile I gave to the desk sergeant, a memento mori coming to life and gunning for him.
To his credit, he barely flinches—barely.
If he is indeed looking into me and my company, as he stated last night, he knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of.
Even idiots like him still know when to be cautious.
Detective Johnson shoves himself to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. “You have some balls coming here, Smirnov.”
“I believe you’re the one who warned me there was an open investigation into Smirnov Corp. I have a vested interest.”
“In the investigation or in me?”
The brute isn’t quite as stupid as he’s made himself out to be, and a shrug is the only answer I give him. “You played your hand, now I’m playing mine.”
His glower grows hostile. “If you want something out of the division, you need to go through the channels.”
I ignore him. “I’m sure you’re aware, but someone is feeding law enforcement bad information about the Smirnov Corporation. And you know how these things go—there are people who would like to see me replaced and will do anything to see that happen, even tell lies. I imagine you’ve heard.”
His jaw flexes. “That’s your mess to figure out. And I hope you don’t.”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “Your office has access to a lot of privileged material, things that go missing, things that turn up where they shouldn't, someone that doesn’t bother with warrants.”
Dean’s lips twitch. He’s good—he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t argue. “We follow procedure here. If you believe otherwise, file a complaint.”
He’s stonewalling, but I’ve played this game before. “Funny how procedures bend when you want them to,” I say. “Especially when a certain detective is involved. I’m sure internal affairs would be interested—if they weren’t so easily distracted these days.”
Dean shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “Your paranoia isn’t my problem. And besides, I’m sure you know all about bending procedures and the rules, don’t you, Smirnov?”
“Smirnov Corporation is entirely legal.” I give him a grin, daring him to contradict me.
But he doesn’t give in. “I guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we? You'd better make sure your fancy legal team is up to the challenge of defending your ass.”
“You mean my legal team that includes Clara Benson?”
Nothing about this morning’s visit involves Clara. I came to get information I need while the clock mercilessly ticks away. But I can’t help but needle this cop who thinks he has the right and the balls to threaten me.
Me.
Johnson stiffens for a beat. He tries to hide it and fails. “Clara’s not involved in any of this. She shouldn’t be anywhere near it, or you.”
I study him, the way his hands flex, his knuckles whitening. The rumors about how he treated her do not surprise me. Men like Detective Johnson are always about control, obsessed with it.
“She’s near me by choice; she applied for the job and won it by her own merits. She works where she wants. You don’t get a say.”
Johnson’s voice hardens. “Then fire her. Let her go. She doesn’t belong with your kind.”
“My kind?” I let my eyebrows rise in faint amusement. “Are you telling me you’re concerned about her? Or are you just frustrated that you don’t control her anymore?”
“Why?” Johnson sneers. “Because you want to control her? Let her go, Smirnov. Force her out.”
“No,” I reply simply. “I think I’ll keep her. She’s intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” The detective’s eyes nearly bug out, and he takes a threatening step toward me. Other cops begin to look our way, wondering if they need to intervene. “Stay the fuck away from her, Smirnov. I’m warning you.”
“No. Ms. Benson chose this. And you,” I let the threat hang, cold and clear, “are not welcome anywhere near her. Do you understand?”
He tries for bravado but it’s all for show. “She’s too big for me anyway,” he says flippantly, like he’s above it, and her.
My tone drops to a dangerous level. “Resorting to disparagements. Why am I not surprised? Stay away. I won’t say it again.”
Johnson’s jaw tightens, his composure slipping for just a moment.
The air between us is heavy with resentment, anger, and threats neither of us is willing to voice outright.
It’s clear he’s still clinging to some sense of ownership over her, even as he pretends indifference.
I lean in, keeping my voice low. “You lost the right to say anything about her a long time ago. Whatever you think you had, that’s over now.
Stay away from Clara Benson, or there will be consequences. ”
I turn on my heel, knowing I won’t get any more information out of Detective Johnson, and I’ll have to go through different channels.
But I did get one thing I came for—I got under his skin.
I doubt he’ll listen to me about staying away from Clara.
Men like him never do; they always have something to prove. But the threat is there.
“I’m going to take you down, Smirnov. You better watch your fucking back!” The snarled words hit my ears when I’m halfway across the bullpen, but I ignore them.
If Detective Dean Johnson thinks I have anything to fear from him, he’s dead wrong.