Chapter 9 Ivy #2
Ruslan’s smile fades somewhat and then he shrugs, patting his thigh once.
“You’re already in so deep, I doubt it matters now.
I’m not CIA, but this place and the organization I’m with are just as secretive.
We call ourselves the Fifth Suit. There are five of us and we’re all named after a card in the deck.
I’m the Ace. The woman you saw in the sewer with me is Valentina, the Queen.
There’s the King, Bradley. Then there’s Cassian, the Jack, and Raven, the Joker.
You could say we’re the only thing standing between peace and all-out carnage in New York, or any state, for that matter. ”
My thoughts tumble over one another as so many questions flood my mind. “You… what do you do?”
“In short, anything we need to. The longer version is that the organized crime network that weaves through New York and the majority of the United States is like gunpowder next to a lit match. Back in the 1850s, every criminal was out for themselves and no one could get any work done. It was a constant bloodbath and those trying to run a successful business were often caught up in continuous death and warfare. It wasn’t working.
So a few of the top families put their heads together and created the Fifth Suit to create order.
A way for the organized crime world to actually function and stop everyone from just killing everyone to be on top. ”
Why does everything he says make sense to me in a weird way? “So you’re like a Mafia government?”
Ruslan snorts. “Not exactly. We don’t tell families what to do and we don’t get involved in the lower end of things.
Conflicts still happen, people still die, but when it comes to the bigger stuff, that’s when we step in.
If anyone gets too greedy and threatens to upend the peace that keeps organized crime running smoothly and secretly, then we step in.
We have connections to the police and the government to ensure that those in deep trouble are released.
We have access to the best lawyers, can influence laws to keep everyone happy, and we often smooth out international conflicts with Europe and beyond.
There’s another deck out there that we align with every so often. ”
“But I see people arrested all the time on the news. You’re telling me you help criminals walk free?”
“Not exactly. It’s give and take. The underworld is secret for a reason.
It works. Sometimes, we end up helping out the cops or the state government because it’s in our best interests to do so.
We work out deals so both sides are happy.
Sometimes, the cops get a win to keep them looking good and happy. Sometimes, we get a win.”
I shake my head, storing every bit of information he gives me. “So there’s just… you’re just a Mafia government working in secret to keep criminals safe?”
“You could look at it like that if it helps,” Ruslan says.
“And we keep the Underworld in line. The alternative is unrestricted carnage that would destroy this country within six months. Everyone wants to be the next top dog, to earn the most respect, but this life is so turbulent that one wrong word of disrespect and it’s a bloodbath.
We’re the only thing that keeps the world calm. ”
“But why? Why do these families even listen to you?”
“Like I said, everyone wants a piece of the pie and the only way people can get a piece is if we, on some level, work together. There’s a lot of honor and blood loyalty in this life, and that includes loyalty to the Suit.”
“I can’t believe hardened criminals would let themselves be governed.” Reaching up, I tiredly rub at my eye. “That sounds insane.”
“You let yourself be governed. Every single person in this country does. The only difference is that I and my team stop mindless slaughter, we find solutions quickly, and we keep everyone in the one thing that makes them happy.”
“What is that?”
“Money, Ivy. Money is the answer to everything.”
It’s surreal to think a secret organization keeps the Mafia world in check, but on some level, it makes sense.
If I went out into the street and told someone the Mafia was alive and well, they’d laugh in my face.
No one really believes organized crime is a thing anymore, and that kind of secrecy surely allows every hardened criminal to make an insane amount of money.
“But what about me?” I look at Ruslan. “What does any of this have to do with me? My family isn’t part of any organized crime. My dad definitely didn’t deserve to—” My throat closes and I bite my lip to control the sudden surge of grief inside me.
“When I heard about the crash, I was sent to take care of you.”
My eyes widen. “You mean kill me?”
He nods just once. “To everyone, you were the key. A spy. I was to find out which family betrayed the deal and then deal with you. But the more I learned, the more I realized something was off.”
My eyes narrow. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’ve listened to you tell me constantly that you know nothing and that your family isn’t involved, but I know that’s not true.”
My heart starts to pound. “It is true!”
“You believe it’s true, Ivy. But it’s not.” He turns away and digs back into his pocket, then pulls out a photograph and hands it to me.
For a moment, the light shines on the picture and blocks out every detail, so I tilt it, and pain lances through my heart.
The picture shows my father shaking hands with a strange man. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
Ruslan leans over the picture and points to the stranger. “That is Kraven Sidorov. He is the Russian Pakhan of the Sidorov crime family.”
“What?” My heart beats so fast that my head starts to throb and an odd weightlessness sweeps through me as if I’m falling. My voice comes out hoarse and almost unrecognizable to my own ears. “What does this mean?”
“I don’t know,” Ruslan replies. “I believe you when you say you know nothing. But I also believe that you know something and you don’t realize it yet. The Sidorov family supplied the drugs destroyed in that plane crash, so you can see that this doesn’t look good.”
“My dad was a banker,” I croak. “This makes no sense.”
“I know. But we’ll find out the truth. I promise.”
I’m so busy staring at the photo until my eyes blur that I don’t realize Ruslan has placed some other items in front of me on the bed. Lifting my watery eyes, I spot my phone, my wallet (slightly scorched at the edges) and a silver pendant with an amber stone encased in white gold.
“You have this?” Abandoning the photo, I snatch up the necklace.
“Is it important?”
I nod and my fingers tremble and ache as I fight with the clasp. “My mom gave this to me for my eighteenth birthday. I thought I’d lost it in the crash! I can’t believe—” I falter as Ruslan’s warm, bruised hands close over mine.
Taking the necklace from me, he swiftly undoes the clasp and then loops the necklace around my neck. He leans so close that my lungs flood with that spicy warmth once again and my throat runs dry. Ruslan secures the clasp at the back of my neck and leans away from me.
“We got your personal effects from the hospital,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure I could trust you before I gave them to you.”
Picking up my phone, the screen lights up to show it’s fully charged and I’ve missed an eyewatering amount of calls from my best friend, Moira. And more calls from unknown numbers than I care to count.
“Aren’t you worried I’ll use this to report what you told me to the world?” My eyes meet his. “About the Mafia and your little secret group?”
“The fact that you call it a secret group tells me I don’t need to worry.” Ruslan snorts. “But I know you won’t say a thing.”
“How do you know?”
He stands and saunters toward the ensuite. “Because you want to find who did this to your parents. And that kind of determination secures my secret.”
“Are you leaving?” That question rises up like a surge of panic as if it’s the most important thing I should be asking right now.
“Showering,” he says as he removes his T-shirt. “I’ll be right through this door.”
I have no words. Miles of tightly packed muscle sweep and wrap around Ruslan’s body in a mouthwateringly flattering way. His large chest sits atop a narrow waist where his abs are so defined, I want to sink my teeth into them.
My cheeks warm at the thought.
But Ruslan’s injured.
His body is covered in cuts and lacerations, smears of blood, and dark bruises. They really hurt him. All this time he was sitting here, tending to me and answering my questions while bleeding, and not once did he complain.
How can someone be so wounded and not even complain?