Chapter 23 Cian
CIAN
Faina’s visit and revelation that she’s actually an Interpol spy leave me reeling, but there’s no time for me to process. She drops her bombshell and then she’s dragged away, leaving me to spend the next three days learning everything I can about the Lebanese Mafia.
Men who never would have made it onto my radar are suddenly key in tracking down Hawk.
The men who come to educate me bring nothing but brief bouts of information and warnings about how dangerous these families are.
The crimes they list off pale in comparison to what happens in New York, but I know better than to say anything.
The last thing I need to do is incriminate myself.
But is there even any point in staying quiet?
If Faina only freed herself from Interpol after her father died and Anastasia made her Underboss, there’s no telling what family secrets could fill a file around here about me.
Helping them might bring me immunity to one case, but for all I know, there are several other cases with my name on it built by information she provided.
It’s hardly freedom, but I take it because one more day in that suffocating cell might actually kill me.
Faina and I sit across from each other in a moving van while a man in black cargo pants and a sweater winds a wire up through my shirt and tapes it to my chest.
“You really think we’ll get into that party with a wire and no one will be able to tell?” I mutter.
Interpol agent Richard Whittle sits next to Faina across from me and barely glances up to grunt. “They won’t care about you enough to notice.”
“You tell me this Mafia is so protective over its own people, won’t open their doors to anyone, and you had to get us specific identities to even get us into this place and yet you think they won’t notice?”
Richard glances up and then sighs as if my very presence is the sole cause of all despair in his life.
“Listen. The Lebanese are holding a weapons auction. Not silly little handguns or submachine guns, I’m talking the real deal.
Ground-to-air missiles, bombs and more carnage than you can even dream about.
They have people coming from all over so yes, I think they will be more focused on protecting the weapons than caring about you and who you represent. ”
“We’re married?” Faina, who was busy poring over the file of our identities, finally looks up. “Should we practice history?”
“No,” I reply shortly. “Might be easy for you, but I’m not used to living a lie.”
Her eyes narrow. “And if we get questioned?”
“You heard him.” I jerk my head to Richard. “They won’t even look at us.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Richard snaps.
“Do I?” I mutter. “Do I know that? Who can tell with you fucking pigs.”
The guard working on my wire is less than gentle when attaching the last piece to my belt, then he shoves me back in my seat and sits beside me.
“You know what you have to do,” Richard states. “Get in, find Hawk, get out.”
“And if he’s not there?” Faina adjusts her own wire and lowers her shirt.
“Then you find out where he is and what he’s buying.”
“Understood.”
Faina’s matter-of-fact responses speak of experience, but each one is just a reminder that she was a cop. And working for Interpol again seems as easy as slipping into familiar shoes.
Should I even worry what she could have given to Interpol about me? I have no family left, no one to mourn me if I end up in prison and no one to betray. But Gifford loyalty runs so deep that the very thought of sending myself to my last days in a cell feels like I’m letting their memory down.
That and a four-by-four cell might actually kill me.
“A lot of work for some weapons,” I mutter. “But where the fuck were you guys when we were fighting the scum of human trafficking, huh?” My gaze narrows to Richard. “Is it only weapons that you give a shit about? Only weapons that make you run across countries trying to catch an asshole?”
Richard’s face hardens and he pulls a gun from the black case to his left as the van pulls to a stop. As he hands it to Faina, he speaks. “You’re on a one-way ticket to the rest of your life behind bars so if you want to argue the semantics of which crime is worse, then I’m all ears.”
As Faina takes the gun, she suddenly flips it around between her fingers and slams the butt right into Richard’s face. “Shut the fuck up!” she yells as she’s restrained by the other guard next to her. “Threaten him again and our deal is off the table, understand?”
Richard, through a bloody nose, barks orders for us to be tossed out and as we’re thrown from the van, I barely manage to keep my balance and stumble to my knees.
Faina lands next to me with a grunt and our eyes meet.
I see hope there, the same protective spark that makes my heart flutter, but this time, there’s pain too.
“I don’t need you fighting my battles,” I say as I pick myself up.
“I’m fighting for your freedom,” she replies. “Why can’t you see that?”
“Because I can’t trust anything you say.”
Those words sour on the back of my tongue as we adjust our clothes and slip into the lie of a married couple. I want to believe her. I want to soak up the relief I felt when she walked into that room and I saw she was still alive, but all I hear is the siren in my mind that she can’t be trusted.
She lied to me and yet what hurts more is that she never trusted me enough to tell me the truth.
Leaving the van behind, we walk across the street and approach the large iron gates that stand between us and yet another rich bastard’s mansion where money changes hands for skin. Faina slips her arm around my elbow and I dig the fake invitation out of my pocket.
“This is suicide,” Faina mutters as she adjusts her blonde wig with her other hand. “Hawk knows what we look like and these disguises won’t fool someone like him.”
“Death at his hands or death at the hands of them,” I mutter, jerking my head back toward the van. “I see no difference. At least this way I can pretend I’m making an active choice in the whole thing.”
“So how do you want to play this?” She slips into such a business-like role that reminds me of when we first reunited all those weeks ago. “Tipsy on arrival or quiet and unassuming?”
“Play it by ear. We’ll match the crowd.”
“Alright.” Faina sucks in a deep breath as we reach the gate. “Showtime.”
This auction is much like the countless others I’ve attended over the years although it’s a relief to see actual weapons on display.
I keep expecting to see people in collars and chains being sold off to the nearest rich bitch with how things have been lately.
People around us speak a variety of different languages, but the numbers don’t lie on the placards arranged on a table next to various chess pieces.
Within ten minutes I’ve worked out that each chess piece corresponds with a certain type of weapon and if you’re interested in it, you get a stamp on the back of your hand.
From there, a large bowl filled with multicolored stones is how we bid.
Each stone represents a different value broken down into millions and once you have what you desire, you put the stone in an envelope and sign your name.
It seems this auction keeps an air of mystery and it’s down to pure chance that you’ll bid the highest.
Faina and I walk the party and scan every face we pass searching for either Hawk or anyone who looks familiar.
Faina makes small talk with a couple of women but comes back with nothing of use.
The language barrier prevents me from engaging with anyone other than a waiter who’s kind enough to bring me a Bourbon after almost spilling a tray of champagne over me.
Unfortunately, there’s no sign of Hawk or anyone from his organization.
Is this a dead end? I wouldn’t put it past that dick to leave us out to dry.
Faina excuses herself once more for the bathroom and I’m drawn to watching her walk away.
The dress they poured her into is black and floor-length, with an open back that features gold thread crisscrossing over the gap.
It barely hides her beautiful body, and it’s a distraction that pains me once she vanishes into the restroom.
Complicated emotions swirl in my brain, amplified by the painful, anxiety-filled days I spent in silence locked in that cell. Being here feels like trying to make out the words on a page while a very bright light glares directly in my face. And Faina is a welcome shadow that hurts.
Why couldn’t she trust me with the truth?
Did she ever mention anything about my family?
Is she the reason Interpol even knows who I am?
My mind races faster and faster until someone appears at my elbow and steps past me in a hurry. He bumps into me, spilling the alcohol from my glass, but other than a hurried apology where he barely glances back, he doesn’t stop.
But during that glance, I see something that makes my heart stop. There’s a small scar on his lip and his face is familiar.
Where have I seen him before?
Then it hits me.
We saw him back at the hotel while Fake Hawk was shooting that poor man right in the middle of the hall. If he’s here then he survived that explosion and if he survived, he must be important to Hawk.
I move after him as Faina comes out of the restroom and I motion her over as subtly as I can while keeping one eye on the fleeing man.
“You got something?” she asks hurriedly.
“I remember him from the hotel.”
“Someone survived?” She vocalizes the surprise that lingers in my own mind. “He’s got to be important.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” As we reach the door, the stranger doesn’t even seem to realize we’re following him and he hurries down the steps toward a waiting car. “We have to follow him.”
“Absolutely.” Faina hurries a few steps down the stairs then pauses when I don’t follow. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t we have to ask your boss for permission?”
“He’s not my…” Faina sighs. “Just come on.” She carries on down the steps and through her sly conversation with the valet, we score a car that isn’t ours and take off after the man from Hawk’s hotel.
Naturally, as soon as we leave the grounds, something crackles at Faina’s hip and while driving, she pulls out a small device.
“Deal’s off, Faina,” barks Richard’s voice. “You flee, you end up behind bars!”
“I’m not fleeing, genius,” she snaps. “We have a lead so shut the fuck up.”
As she tosses the small radio out the window of the car, she quickly veers left and follows the stranger down an alley that opens out into a wider parking lot.
Faina parks us up in the alley and bolts from the car, kicking off her shoes in the process.
Together, we sprint toward the mouth of the alley in time to see the man climb out of the car with a silver case.
He places the case on the hood of the car and opens it.
Leaning down, his actions are hidden by the lid of the case.
Keeping low, Faina creeps as close as she can while using a dumpster for cover.
I join her, ignoring the flash of tightness in my leg as I crouch.
“I have them, sir.” The man’s voice faintly drifts toward us.
“All of them?” comes another voice, instantly recognizable as Hawk.
“Yes, as you requested.”
“How much?”
“Eighty million.”
“Cheaper than I expected.” Hawk grunts. “Good. I want them shipped immediately to the destination, and I’ll add another ten million as a sign of good faith. I don’t need the Lebanese to get cold feet.”
“Understood. What’s next?”
Hawk’s words grow quieter as if he’s moved further away from his microphone. I tilt my head and place one hand on Faina’s thigh while trying to hear what’s being said, but the only word I make out is Serenity and something about after hours.
Faina glances at me and holds my gaze, mouthing the same word. I shrug. It’s not something I’ve come across before.
“I’ll be there,” the man replies, then he closes the case and ends the call.
“We can’t let him get away!” This man is the only lead we have on Hawk so as soon as he picks up the case, I leap up from our hiding place and sprint toward him as fast as I can.
He spots me and his eyes widen. The silver case topples from his hand and he stumbles to get his gun out of his waist but as soon as it’s in his hand, a shot rings out from behind me and he yells.
Blood spurts from his fingers while his gun lands on the ground next to the case, and I tackle him by ducking and slamming my shoulder into his gut.
Together, we crash to the ground and I restrain him with a punch, rolling him over and wrenching his injured hand far up his back.
“Stay down!” Faina yells as she joins me with her gun trained on the man.
“Nice shot,” I pant softly.
She flashes me a smile that makes my aching heart skip a beat. “Thanks.”
The word is barely out of her mouth when the screech of metal against metal and spinning tires rises from the alley.
A moment later, the van we were tossed out of earlier comes steaming into the parking lot with paint from Faina’s stolen car scraped all along one side.
The vehicle’s barely stopped moving when the side door opens and several of the guards spill out with their guns aimed at us.
“Drop the gun, Faina,” Richard barks as he climbs down from the van. “You’re all under arrest!”