Chapter 46 Ransome
RANSOME
I’m staring at the mugshot of Amara’s dad.
“What was the offense?”
“Drunk driving. Also driving without a license.”
“And you booked him?”
“Yep. He’s lying face-down in a cell as we speak.”
“Good.”
Damon is a friend of mine. He is also chief of police for the NYPD. It often comes as a shock to people when they find out that Bratva men, pakhani specifically, have an understanding with the police department.
It really shouldn’t. Considering the amount of work we orchestrate on the streets of NYC, it makes sense that we have men on the inside. Aka, cops on our payroll.
In the last couple weeks, I’ve involved myself more and more in Amara’s family. I looked into them. Had my little drop-in with Gianni.
But investigating her siblings isn’t the only thing I’ve been doing.
I’ve dug into their dad’s info. How it went under the radar that he was a cop is beyond me. I guess I didn’t really give a shit about the guy because I knew he was a literal piece of shit. Knowing that had me diving even farther.
After that, I came to a solid conclusion.
The man needs to be gone.
Maybe not six-feet-under gone. After all, he is Amara’s father. But behind bars isn’t unreasonable. And honestly, if the man was behind the wheel after a night of drinking, he deserves soap on a rope anyways.
“It wasn’t a hard arrest,” Damon goes on. “He was literally sitting at a dead end traffic light through two rounds of reds and one of my guys snagged him for that. Afterwards, we got him for drunk driving and a record of unpaid tickets too. I can hold him as long as you want.”
“Let him rot,” I say into the phone. I’m in my car on my way to work, and I’m half-tempted to swing by the prison just to see the douchebag myself.
But I don’t. Knowing Amara, she is already there and has a piping hot coffee waiting for me, something I desperately need right now.
As I expected, as soon as I walk through the door she is standing there, coffee in hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Rozanov.” She hands me the mug, and I take it.
I take it. “Good morning, Miss Parker. Your father has been arrested.”
I take a sip and head to my desk, looking at the schedule for the day.
I don’t even have to look at Amara to know she is staring.
“What did he do this time?”
“Drunk driving.” I take another sip.
“Of course.”
“Among other things.”
“Let me guess. He wants me to bail him out. I swear to God, I should just leave him there this time. Maybe it’ll clean him up.”
“You can’t bail him,” I say as I sit down.
“You mean shouldn’t,” she corrects me.
“No. I mean can’t. I’ve asked them to hold him.”
There’s a beat before she goes on. “On what grounds?”
I look up from my schedule to meet her eyes. Her white button-down shirt tucked into a black pencil skirt is very professional. Very tidy. Very distracting.
“On the grounds that he isn’t helping you or your siblings feel safe.
On the grounds that he has made their home unlivable.
On the grounds that I have connections with the NYPD and stopping him for sitting too long at a red light at 2:34 in the morning while his blood was more vodka than plasma tells me he’s better off in a cell and you are better off if he is there too. ”
Amara blinks a couple times and bites her lips in thought.
“So you arrested my dad. Now what? My siblings are still living in a dump.”
“See, that’s the thing.” I open my computer and motion for her to take a seat in the chair in front of my desk. “I found a house.”
“Oh?”
I can tell she stopped breathing. She’s holding her breath because Amara has lived an entire life hoping for things and rarely seeing them come true for her.
“This house,” I turn my laptop around, “is a new build. It’s in a neighborhood far away enough from your old house that the area is actually safe. Family-oriented. People have doorcams and let their kids play in the street. The HOA covers the yardwork and there’s a community pool.”
“It’s pretty,” she says, her voice empty and soft. She’s still holding her breath, if not physically then metaphorically. “But why are you showing me this?”
“Because I bought it.”
Amara gives me a questioning look. “No offense, Ransome, but that house seems a little quaint for your taste.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I won’t be living there.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
With that, I lace my fingers together on the desk and lean in.
“Because your brother and sisters need a safe place to live. A place free of violence and drugs. A clean place with three bedrooms and a patio and even a two-car garage so Eliza can park on one side and Gianni can work on his car on the other side. They need normalcy.”
“Wait.” Her voice cracks and she shakes her head, swallowing back the visible lump in her throat. “You bought my siblings a house?”
“I did.”
“That house?” She points at my lap top.
“That house.”
“But… why?”
“Because they matter to you,” I say. “And they deserve better.”
Amara has to turn away and I’m not sure if I should offer her a hug or a tissue or what. In the end, I let her have her space to silently sob for all of ten seconds before she collects herself and turns back to me.
“You have no idea what this will mean to them. What it means to me.”
“I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if you’re all safe.”
Amara smiles with a nod. “Yes, sir.”
There are a million emotions behind her eyes. I don’t know when I learned to read them, or when I started to realize what to look for. Like many things about Amara, it seems this one snuck up on me too. Just like the warmth at the center of my chest. Pride, I tell myself, for a job well done.
That’s not what this is, a spicy voice just like hers whispers at the back of my mind, and you know it.
I look away, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Alright. Well, we have work to do.”
“Yes, Mr. Rozanov.”
She stands up and makes her way to the door. Then she stops, looking back over her shoulder. “Ransome?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Amara doesn’t wait for any answer. She closes the door behind her and clicks away on her heels.
I pick up my coffee. Then I shove up from my chair and stand near the window, looking down at the city.
I did it for her. And I did it for them. But there was more motive to it than that.
The city is teaming with people. All those people are up to something. Some of them are up to no good.
And I’ll be damned if anyone Amara cares about gets hurt.
The house will be wired. No hidden cameras or anything like that. But now that the Chadovichs are doubling down, I need eyes on everyone. No one is coming anywhere near Amara and her family.
Not Tristan. Not his guys.
Not even Amara’s father.