Chapter 22 Roman
ROMAN
“Iswear. I didn’t say anything! I don’t even know any FBI agents!”
Junie sits in the chair, tears struggling to escape his swollen eyelid. His bottom lip hangs fat and bleeding from his mouth and one side of his head is starting to turn purple from my repeated punches.
I stand before him, rubbing my sore knuckles as I look down on him. When the adrenaline wears off, my arm is going to feel like it’s on fire. I don’t imagine I’ll get the chance to rest and repair anytime soon. There’s still a lot of things left to do and heads left to bang together.
We’ve been in this basement for the better part of the morning and Junie’s been here all night.
After we stashed the guns, I had both Ares and Ivan root out the mole.
It didn’t take them long to settle on Junie, who was the only one taken into custody and released after only a couple of hours.
It was either a sign that they had nothing to hold him or that he’d struck a deal with them.
Either way, he’s the best candidate at the moment.
For all I know, they got to him before and now they just wanted the whole thing to look good, so they arrested him.
Either way, we’re about to find out what’s what. I have to hand it to the guy. Despite his sniveling, Junie’s taken this beating like a man so far. Most guys would have passed out by now.
I hear Ivan sighing behind me. In Russian, he says, “I think he’s pissed himself.”
I look down at his jeans and see a growing wet stain in the crouch. “You scared?” I ask him. “Worried I’m going to beat you to death?”
His entire body starts to shake and he nods. “Please,” he says, saliva dripping from his bloody mouth. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. I didn’t talk. I wouldn’t talk.”
“Tell me again what you saw,” I say as I walk over to the table behind him. Ivan brought several implements of torture just for this occasion—pliers, pruning shears, a ballpeen hammer… and a rag. I grab the rag and wipe the blood from my knuckles.
“I was standing at the door,” he says. “Just like every night. I was checking IDs and watching for trouble.”
“And then?”
“Then I saw all the lights, and… and I ran. I just ran.”
“Hmm.” I walk back around to him and lean into his face. “They arrested you and then they let you go. Any reason why your turnaround time was so much faster than everybody else’s?”
“They didn’t have nothing,” he says, his voice cracking into sobs. “I didn’t rat, Mr. Orlov. You have to believe me.”
“Convince me. I would love to hear—” I hear Ivan’s phone go off. I sigh and look over my shoulder at him. He’s got the phone to his ear and talking in a low tone while he looks at me apologetically. How many times have I told him not to keep his phone on him when we’re working?
Now I’m distracted. Ugh. Problems and more problems. “Hold that thought,” I tell Junie. I walk over to Ivan as he hangs up the phone. “That had better have been God himself.”
“It was important,” he says. “Ares has asked Boris to take Sasha to school.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Your… manager has taken off, apparently. He’s gone after her.”
That throws me. Taken off? What does that even mean? “She left?”
“Apparently so.”
That doesn’t make sense. Ember was on board with moving in. She understood that I wanted her protected at all times. What is she doing?
“Call him back.” He goes to reach for his phone, and I grab his wrist. “Go back upstairs and call him back. Tell him to find out exactly where she’s going.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leaves and I turn back to Junie. “Where were we?”
An hour more of beating on Junie until he finally passes out… and still nothing. I wipe my hands as I look at him, leaning forward, his mouth half open as blood drips onto the concrete at his feet. His face looks like hamburger, but he’ll live.
He’s not the mole. I look at the other tools on the metal table that I could have used on him, but it seems less than necessary. In the end, he just wept as I pummeled him, dissolving into a useless bowl of pudding.
A lot of guys can take beatings like that… but they’re usually not begging me to stop the whole time. They are usually the ones spitting in my face and swearing that once they get free, they’ll destroy me.
I look at his lifeless body with a little bit of regret. Sorry, Junie. Sometimes, you gotta break some eggs to find a mole.
Up the stairs and into the house I go. The basement door leads directly into my kitchen where I find Ivan sitting at the counter island, having a cup of coffee. He sits up when he sees me, motioning to his cup. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s been an early morning.”
I glance over at the half-full coffee pot. At least he left some for me. “It’s fine,” I say, walking over to the cabinets to get my cup. “Any word back from Ares, yet?”
“No. Last thing he said was that she was headed west on Main.”
West on Main. That leads all the way through the city and out of town. I know she didn’t just decide to bolt on me. I can’t believe that. I pour my coffee, mulling it over silently.
“Junie’s not the mole, is he?” Ivan asks.
“No, he’s not.”
“Anything left of him down there?”
I sip from the cup and grimace. It’s strong as fuck. “Yeah,” I tell him. “He’ll live. He’s going to need a medic, though, so—”
“I’ll have it taken care of,” he says. He sips his coffee in silence for a moment, then he says, “Roman, I don’t want to ask you this, but have you considered every outsider at the club?”
“Of course I have,” I say with a little bit of indignance. “I’ve made arrangements for everyone sitting in jail to be bailed out as soon as their bond is set. Once they’re out, we’ll start making the rounds.”
“Right. What about your manager?”
“What about her?”
He tilts his head knowingly at me.
A flame of anger shoots up within me. “No.”
“You haven’t even considered it? With all due respect, Roman, we’ve all seen what happens when a Pakhan lets his khuy make decisions. You are smarter than that. To not consider her—”
“She’s not the mole,” I say firmly. “And I won’t entertain any notions that she is.”
He stiffens and sets his cup down on the counter.
“I understand that you might have strong feelings for her. But let’s approach this tactically.
If we were at war with another Bratva and you wanted to infiltrate them, would this not be the best method?
Of all the ways you could get close to another Pakhan, a woman has got to be at the top of the list. It’s a universal weakness for us all, right? ”
I hear what he’s saying, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “She is not a weakness,” I tell him, trying to keep my tone level.
“She’s not? Part of the reason we’re sitting here in the middle of a lockdown is because of the raid, is it not? This is an insult to what it means to be Bratva for us to be hiding. Because of the FBI? Since when are we afraid of the law?”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I growl at him. “Back off, okay?”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m just asking you to think critically, that’s all. In this life, you can’t be too careful. Sometimes, our enemies have the faces of friends… or even lovers. I don’t want to see you fall because of the deeds of an outsider.”
I glare at him. “I’ve got it handled. Don’t you worry about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Handle the mess downstairs, please. I’ll be in my study.” I leave the kitchen without another word to him.
I get to the study and sit down on my couch, sipping the coffee.
As much as I would like to dismiss Ivan’s concerns, he has a point.
A really good fucking point. What he’s just said to me is something that I would have easily said to someone else if I were in his position.
Women are the best at infiltrating a Bratva because they always catch us with our pants down.
It’s the greatest trap in the world, really.
If we avoid women, then we run the risk of our manhood being questioned.
There have to be a dozen words in Russian and Fenya for that kind of weakness and none of them are good.
A Pakhan that doesn’t fuck is worse than a Pakhan who can’t defend himself.
It’s worse than a man without arms or legs.
So, we let these women in our lives, forever running the risk that they could sell us out to the wrong people. The question isn’t whether or not I should believe a woman would string me up, but rather whether or not Ember would do such a thing to me.
I think I know her. She’s noble to a fault and on paper, the very wrong type of woman for me and this life I live.
But the longer we’re together, it’s like our moral compasses have started to merge.
I’m a little grayer than I used to be and she’s just a hair darker.
We’re both becoming some new thing together.
Something that can’t be defined by the air of our world.
I’m waxing poetic, but it’s true, nonetheless.
At least, that’s been my perception. I don’t like the idea that I could be wrong about all of that. After all, she’s not here. And she’s been gone at least an hour.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn it on. Ares knew I was busy, so he called Ivan. I should text him to let him know my phone’s back on.
Hey, I text. Call me when you locate her. I pause. There could still be a million reasons she’s gone. I should make it clear that I don’t want her hurt.
When you do find her, I add, keep an eye on her and be sure she makes it back here in one piece.
I send the text and set the phone down on the coffee table.
An hour she’s been gone. She was last seen going west on Main. There are restaurants, stores, lots of places she should be right now. A million possibilities.
My phone buzzes. It’s Ares calling me. A sickening filling swirls inside me as I answer.
“Hey,” he says. “Just got your text. Junie?”
“Not our guy.” I almost don’t want to ask. “You find her?”
“I did. I’m looking at her right now. She’s sitting in a diner about a mile from the city line with Michelle Rastelli.”
Rastelli… ? No. That can’t be right. “Agent Rastelli? FBI?”
“One in the same.”
I’m speechless. We’ve known about Michelle Rastelli and her fucking task force for the better part of a year.
She’d been responsible for at least three arrests from my crew in that time period.
It used to be said that every Bratva eventually has a demon circling them if they’re doing things right.
That demon usually comes in the form of the FBI.
Ember is meeting with an FBI agent. Ivan was right. I’ve been blindsided. Fuck. I never even saw it. I should have known better than to think I could bring such a straight arrow into the fold. Fuck me for not catching on quicker.
“How do you want it handled?” Ares asks.
The simplest question with at least a dozen answers.
Ares is a well trained enforcer and one of the best assassins I’ve ever known.
If I told him to take the both of them out, he’d not only do it without question, but he could do it fast and easy in a crowded diner before anyone would even know what was happening.
As Pakhan, I have a duty to give that order. I have a duty to protect the brotherhood.
I can’t. Even when it’s so fucking obvious.
Maybe I’m still in disbelief, clinging onto the hope that Ares needs his eyes checked.
Or maybe I need Ember to look me in the eye and tell me that these last couple of months together meant absolutely nothing in the end. It won’t be real until that happens.
“Bring her back here,” I tell him and hang up. I need her to tell me to my face. I need to hear her say the words.
And then… I’ll have to rip my own heart out of my chest.