“No, sir,” he said quickly. “No problem.”
Mike came to a stop beside me. He wasn’t a tall man, but he drew himself up to his full height. He somehow managed to look down his nose at Gavin, who had several inches on him.
The corners of my mouth twitched when he practically withered beneath Mike’s glower, but I quickly smothered my vindictive smile. It was an ugly emotion, but I couldn’t deny that it felt damn good to see my bully squirm for a change.
“Allie?” Mike asked, his gray eyes softening as they flicked toward me. He kept most of his imposing attention fixed on Gavin. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, Mr. Callahan,” I said quickly. “Gavin just had a question for me, but it wasn’t work-related. Everything is fine.”
Mike’s brows drew together. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” I said firmly. I didn’t want to be the reason Gavin got fired. Mike had already indicated that he’d love an excuse to get rid of my tormentor. I couldn’t allow that to happen on my account, not if I wanted to preserve the good relationship between our families.
“I was actually coming to see you,” I hastened to add, hoping to end the entire conflict before things could go any further. “I was wondering if you have time in your schedule for a meeting this week?”
His eyes narrowed on Gavin, but he nodded at me. “I have some time now. I was about to break for lunch. Mr. McCrae,” he barked. “Get back to work. No more personal conversations with Miss Fitzgerald at the office.”
A shadow ticked along Gavin’s jaw before he could stop himself from grinding his teeth. “Yes, sir,” he bit out before turning on his heel and striding away.
I breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful that the confrontation was ending.
“Come into my office.” Mike’s voice settled into the warm, encouraging tone I was familiar with.
The knots in my stomach eased. “Thank you.” I was grateful for so much more than the meeting he was offering me, but I couldn’t risk elaborating.
He shot me a half-smile as he led the way to his office, the twist of his mouth a touch regretful. “I wish you wouldn’t protect him, Allie.”
My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my head. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied.
He huffed a laugh. “You’re stubborn like your old man. All right. I’ll let you fight your own battles.” He closed the office door behind us, settled down behind his large mahogany desk, and gestured for me to sit opposite him. “What did you want to talk about?”
I sat and smoothed my skirt to keep my hands from twisting in my lap. “I have a question about the Five Families case.”
His brows rose. “You’re still looking into the old casefiles?”
I nodded, even though I hadn’t looked at the files in weeks. Not since I’d taken the evidence of the Ferraras’ crimes to Max and he’d sneered that he already knew his family was guilty.
“I was wondering if you came across any involvement with the Russian Bratva while you were working on the case.” The words left my lips too quickly, releasing the query in a rush. The question was totally baseless and seemingly random.
I held my breath, prepared for Mike’s condescension. I wasn’t looking forward to enduring it, but at least I’d be able to sleep at night. With one word, he could dispel the worst of my nightmares.
He cocked his head at me, and I waited for him to say “no.”
Instead, his brow furrowed as he considered for a long moment. “Why are you asking about the Bratva? Does something make you think they were involved?”
I fidgeted before I could still my hands in my lap. “I, ah, just went through so much evidence,” I babbled. “I thought I remembered something about Russian involvement, but maybe I’m mistaken. Sorry to have bothered you with this. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
My cheeks burned, and I shifted in my chair, about to flee from his office and this embarrassing situation.
“Wait.” I stilled at his hasty command. “I think there was something. I’m not sure if it was in the files, though. Did you look into Michael Ferrara’s gas scheme? That’s how we nailed him: defrauding the U.S. government.”
I remembered every detail about the case against Max’s grandfather, but I played dumb. Mike might be about to reveal something that hadn’t been in the files I’d perused. My stomach churned.
“I didn’t look into that aspect of the case very closely,” I lied, forcing myself to meet him squarely in the eye. “Could you refresh my memory?”
Mike offered me a small smile, pleased to relive his glory days. “Michael Ferrara—the patriarch of one of the Five Families—orchestrated a deal with a smuggler who’d managed to import gasoline without passing customs. There was no record of this commodity entering the country, and the man needed a way to profit off his ill-gotten goods. That’s where Ferrara came in. He already had a network of chop shops throughout the area. He bought the gasoline wholesale and converted one of these shops into a gas station. He sold it without any tax liability, because as far as the government was concerned, the product didn’t exist. As the operation became more lucrative, he opened dozens more stations. At the height of the scheme, he was moving enough gallons a week to pocket tens of millions of dollars.”
Mike’s face turned grim. “We know that he was involved in much more violent crime up to his eyeballs, but fraud is how we took him down. The smuggler who was providing the product tipped off your father in exchange for anonymity and immunity. I don’t think your dad even make an official record of his identity as part of their deal.
“Because of this man’s assistance, we were able to get a foothold with the Ferrara crime family and identify their key players: bigger fish than the foot soldiers, who never would’ve given up their bosses when they were brought in by the cops. Our entire case against the Mafia started with this smuggler’s help. Your dad did the right thing in keeping his identity secret. He probably saved his informant’s life.”
I nodded along with everything Mike said, drinking in each word. I’d known all about the gas scheme and its vital importance in building the Five Families case. But I hadn’t known anything about this anonymous informant. I’d been under the impression that the authorities got wind of the illegal gasoline sales and started to investigate.
“So, this has something to do with the Bratva?” I prompted when he paused for a few seconds.
Mike shook his head. “No, but I’m thinking that might be where you got the idea that the Bratva was involved. If I’m remembering correctly, the informant was Russian. I assume your dad must’ve mentioned something to you when you were doing your research. That’s all I know about the man—your dad dealt with him exclusively to ensure he was completely protected by anonymity. But even if the man was Russian, he didn’t have anything to do with the Bratva. Your father would’ve have let that slide, no matter how helpful the informant was. He would’ve kept some kind of record.”
Mike beamed at me, oblivious to the fact that something was crumbling inside my chest. “Can you imagine if we’d been able to eliminate two criminal syndicates back then?” He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. “But I think we did a lot of good taking down the Mafia.”