Chapter 25Valerian
25
Valerian
A fter hanging up with Linda to arrange for her to keep Claire company, I slide my phone into my pocket and nod at Viktor. He doesn’t need a full explanation since he knows where we’re going.
The sleek black sedan glides through Philadelphia’s dimly lit streets, the night stretching out ahead like an open hand. The city moves in the periphery, late-night cabs picking up fares, figures slumped under streetlights, sirens wailing in the distance. None of it distracts me. My mind is already where I’m headed.
Jay was attacked.
Why?
On the surface, it could be the usual—debts unpaid, picking a fight he couldn’t win, or just being at the wrong place at the wrong time. My instincts say otherwise. The Petrovs don’t waste their time beating up nobodies unless there’s a message attached.
And that’s what I need to figure out.
Viktor pulls up at the hospital entrance, and I step out, straightening the cuffs of my suit jacket as I take in the building. The automatic doors slide open with a whisper, and the scent of antiseptic washes over me. Hospitals all feel the same—too clean on the surface, but underneath, they reek of weakness, pain, and waiting.
I make my way down the hall, scanning the door numbers until I find the one I’m looking for. Jay has been moved to a regular room, out of ICU, finally.
A corrections officer stands outside Jay’s door, arms crossed, and posture stiff. He’s young, maybe early thirties, and his uniform is slightly wrinkled. His duty belt sags from the weight of a baton and sidearm. He sizes me up as I approach. His hand drifts slightly toward his weapon, not overtly aggressive, but a reflex.
I reach into my pocket and slip out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, holding it between two fingers.
“Why don’t you grab a coffee?”
His gaze moves to the cash, then back to my face. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should push back.
I don’t move. Just wait.
The moment stretches. Then, like I knew he would, he takes the money and steps back. “Yeah… sure. Five minutes.”
I push open the door and step inside. Jay looks up from the hospital bed. He’s a fucking mess, his right eye swollen shut, his cheek split, bruises blooming in violent colors along his jaw and temple. His arms are limp at his sides, bandages wrapped around one wrist, an IV taped down on the back of his hand, and the hospital gown hides the sutures probably still in his skin from his surgery.
For a second, he just stares at me. His breathing goes shallow, and I see relief flashing across his face. Then it’s gone, replaced by guilt, fear, and shame.
I close the door behind me and take slow, measured steps toward the bed. I don’t speak.
He shifts, wincing as he tries to sit up. “Valerian.” His voice is hoarse, like his throat is raw from something, maybe a tube or maybe screaming when he was being beaten.
I drag the chair closer, scraping the metal legs against the linoleum. Lowering myself into it, I stretch out my legs, resting my elbows on my knees. “We need to talk.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yeah,” he croaks.
I watch him for a moment. Let him squirm.
Then, finally, I speak. “Tell me what happened.”
His fingers curl into the blanket as his gaze darts around the room, looking anywhere but at me. “The Petrov Syndicate guys jumped me. I owed them money.”
I exhale slowly through my nose, tilting my head.
Lies.
“You owed them money.” The words roll off my tongue like silk, each syllable dripping with disbelief. A fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows across his bruised face.
He nods so fast his head bobs like a puppet’s. “Yeah, I?—”
“How much?” The question cuts through his stammering.
His mouth works silently, like a fish gasping for air. Beads of sweat form along his hairline despite the hospital room’s chill. “I... I don’t know exactly.” The words come out in a whisper.
I raise an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch between us. The steady beep of his heart monitor quickens. “You don’t know?” My fingers drum against my knee, a quiet rhythm that makes him flinch with each tap.
He fidgets against the stark hospital pillows, his bruised fingers picking at a loose thread on the thin blanket. Sweat darkens the collar of his hospital gown. “It was a lot.”
The antiseptic smell burns my nose as I study him, letting the rhythmic beeping of machines fill the uncomfortable silence between us. When I finally lean forward, the plastic chair creaks beneath me. “If this was just about money, you’d still be paying it off, Jay.” My voice cuts through the air with glacial precision. “Petrov doesn’t put people in hospital beds for debt. He makes them work it off.”
Jay’s jaw tightens, the muscles bunching beneath his purple-mottled skin. He turns toward the window where city lights twinkle against the night sky, a view that costs extra in this private room. “They wanted me to join their gang,” he mutters, the words barely audible over the steady drip of his IV.
I let out a short, humorless breath. “Did they?”
He nods. “Yeah. They?—”
I cut him off with a scoff, each word dripping with disdain. “Petrov’s men inside, who are all medium-security or higher, wanted a low-level, first-time offender in their crew?” The fluorescent hospital lights buzz overhead as I step closer to his bed. “Try again.”
Jay clutches the thin hospital blanket, digging his fingers into the fabric. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. “Valerian, I…”
“Try again.” The words slice through the air between us.
His chest heaves with a shaky exhale. His good eye, the one not swollen shut from the beating, squeezes closed like he’s trying to block out the truth. “They wanted me to do something,” he whispers, the words trembling past his split lip. “I couldn’t.”
There it is. I remain still as stone, my expression unchanged. The steady beep of his heart monitor fills the silence stretching between us.
Then, with ice in my voice, I ask, “What?”
He swallows hard. His fingers dance nervously across the sheets, picking at a loose thread. “They wanted me to kill someone.”
A slow, cold wave rolls through me. “Who?”
His throat bobs. “Lev Mikhailov.”
The name means nothing to me, but Jay’s entire body is wired with tension now, like saying it out loud made it real. I don’t break eye contact. “Who is Lev Mikhailov?”
He exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “He’s an accountant. A hacker.” He glances at the door, then lowers his voice. “Used to work for Petrov, doing their books. Not just basic accounting either. This guy’s a genius with computers. Laundered millions through offshore accounts and encrypted their financial records so tight the feds couldn’t crack them after trying for years.”
He shifts on the mattress, wincing at the movement. “Thing is, they finally nabbed him. Not even on Petrov business, some sting or something, I guess, but now...” His voice drops to barely a whisper, forcing me to lean closer. “Word is, he’s willing to talk. Give up everything he knows about Petrov’s operation if the feds cut him a sweet enough deal.”
My teeth grind together. “So, the feds have leverage on him?”
“Yeah.” Jay’s head bobs in a weak nod, his complexion pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. “And Petrov? They’re scared shitless he’s going to spill their secrets. This guy knows where every dirty dollar is hidden, every bribe, every payoff. He could bring down their whole empire.”
It makes sense. If Lev Mikhailov was just some small-time accountant, Petrov wouldn’t risk killing him inside a federal system. That means this guy isn’t just holding secrets. He’s holding something critical.
“Why you?” I ask.
Jay lets out a bitter laugh that turns into a painful cough. “We both work kitchen duty. We’re both minimum security. The regular Petrov guys? They’re all bratva , all medium-security with extra scrutiny. Too much attention, but me?” His lip curls. “I was invisible. I could get close.”
I nod slowly, absorbing this. “And you refused.”
Jay’s expression cracks. “I’m not a killer, Valerian.” His voice is hoarse. “I couldn’t do it, and I couldn’t risk it. If I got caught, I’d never get out.” His fingers tighten on the sheet. “So they beat the shit out of me. Said next time, I’d better do it right.”
Rage and relief mingle as I exhale sharply. This wasn’t a random beating. It wasn’t about Jay’s gambling. It wasn’t about hurting Claire to hurt me.
This was about keeping Lev Mikhailov quiet, and Petrov was willing to use Jay as a disposable pawn to do it.
Jay looks up at me, desperation in his eyes. “Valerian, please protect Claire. I’ve already failed her as a brother. Don’t let my mistakes get her killed.”
Through the fluorescent hospital lights, I study his battered face. If he lifted his gown, I could see the surgical wound in his chest, where the surgeon removed shards of his broken rib from his lungs. The desperation in his gaze burns through, pleading with me.
“I’ll keep her safe. You have my word.” He sinks back against the stark white pillows, relief softening his grimace. He frowns when I add, “For her, not you.”
“Are you…?”
I don’t give him a chance to ask the question I know he’s about to utter, wanting to know my relationship status with Claire. Instead, I turn and slip out just as rubber-soled shoes squeak against linoleum. The corrections officer is returning from his coffee break.
When I exit the hospital room, Dmitri straightens from where he’s been leaning against the wall, his dark suit a contrast to the institutional white paint. He raises an eyebrow in silent question as I approach.
“We need to talk,” I murmur, already striding past him toward the exit. “Not here.”
As I walk out of the hospital, I pull out my phone, dialing Sheila. “I need you to arrange something with the warden. Ensure Jay Bennett’s safety when he returns.”
Sheila’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I’ll make it happen. Anything else?”
“What about transferring him to a different facility?”
There’s a pause on the line. “The Petrovs have reach in all the nearby prisons. Best I could do is out of state.”
I consider this for a moment. “No. He’ll want to stay close to his family.” I’ll have our guys shadow him instead. “Make sure the warden and our guards know there’s a bonus in it for them if Jay is kept safe, and a reckoning if he isn’t.”
She hesitates for only a second. “Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.”
I end the call and turn to Dmitri next. “I need everything you can find on Lev Mikhailov. Former Petrov accountant and hacker. He’s the missing piece.”
He nods. “On it, boss.”
“Also, be sure our guys serving time at that prison are Jay’s new shadows, not just the man you’ve had transferred in to share his cell. I’m paying enough for the guards and warden to turn a blind eye to him having a security detail.”
“Sure thing,” says Dmitri, reaching for his phone.
As I slide into the back of my waiting car, the leather seat cool against my back, Dmitri gets in the passenger seat. “Something’s not adding up,” I say, running my thumb over my bottom lip. “Petrov wouldn’t risk a prison hit unless he was desperate. This goes beyond simple retaliation.”
Dmitri turns in his seat. “You think there’s more to it than targeting you?”
“He’s fighting on multiple fronts, but Yuri hasn’t yet cracked whatever he’s trying to hide.” I tap my fingers against the armrest. “With this Mikhailov threat, and him waging war on us, Matvey’s spread thin and maybe distracted.”
A predatory smile curves my lips. “And that makes this the perfect moment to strike.” I lean forward, meeting Dmitri’s gaze in the visor mirror. “Get our people ready. By the time I’m finished, there won’t be enough left of Petrov’s empire to fill a matchbox.”