A quick push of the button in the kitchen and I filled a mug with steaming coffee. Making my way out of the apartment, I stilled as a new thought came to mind. Back in my home office, I found a small pad of paper and wrote Maddie a note. It was a new sentiment to be accountable to someone I loved.
Maddie,
I couldn’t wake you. You are too beautiful and perfect asleep in our bed. I’m on 2, the floor below, and will be back up to see if you want to join the others in the penthouse for breakfast.
I love you,
Patrick
Quietly placing the note on the bedside stand near Madeline, I found myself again staring at the sleeping woman, mesmerized by not only her presence but her calm. After all she’d been through, that was my goal, for her to know she’s loved and finally feel safe.
Those weren’t different goals than I’d had when we first wed.
Again, I went down the hallway, made my way out of the apartment, and into the entryway. It was a little after four in the morning, and I didn’t know who I’d find on 2, only that I had my women safe and now it was time for war.
The mug warmed my fingers as I took the elevator down a floor. My palm hovered near the sensor as the steel door opened. Reid looked up at the sound of the door.
“Didn’t expect you to be the first one here,” he said with a grin.
“I’m creating a list.”
“A list?”
“Of who I plan to kill,” I replied. “Andros Ivanov is the first. Let’s get this war settled. Chicago is ours.”
Reid nodded. “And opening up Detroit to the vultures will benefit us how?”
I set my coffee down on a worktable. Pulling out a chair, I spun it around. Straddling the back, I sat. “Don’t fucking suggest a truce. This goes beyond Ivanov’s declaration.”
“I get that.”
I ran my hand over the top of my head. “Fill me in on what you know about what Madeline told us.” Even though Reid wasn’t listening as she spoke, he’d been fully briefed concerning McFadden and the mission.
“McFadden is sitting in a federal penitentiary. I’m not saying we don’t have people on the inside if you’re determined to kill him. I’m saying that doing so will create a new set of issues and honestly, in my opinion, death is too good for the scum. I’d be happier knowing he’s someone’s bitch.”
“But he’s not,” I replied. “From our intel, he’s gaining power even within the system. He and Wendell Hillman are working alliances inside and out.”
“Listen to yourself, Patrick. They’re gaining power through…alliances. You did that in Denver with the cartel. Detroit and Chicago, working together—”
I stood, my momentum sending my chair rolling into the desk. “No.”
“I’ve been looking into the bratva,” Reid said. “Usually when Ivanov travels he has one of these two men with him.”
The pictures of two men appeared on the screen above. One I recognized from Club Regal the night of the final round.
“I want to talk to Madeline,” Reid said, “and learn more about their roles.”
“Are you asking me?”
“Did she or didn’t she offer Sparrow any information that would help?”
“She did, but…”
“I know their names,” Reid went on. “The one on the right is Sasha Bykov. Sasha is short for Alexander. He’s listed as an employee at Ivanov Construction. The one on the left is Nikita Gorky. He’s listed as one of the top shareholders in the Michigan casino on the river across from Windsor.
“He was the one with Ivanov at the tournament. I want to know what I can’t learn on a search, their importance in Ivanov’s chain of command.”
“I hate making her relive—”
“I get it,” he said. “I understand your hesitation, but damn. I know she’s your wife. I know she’s been through a lot, but there’s no way she lived seventeen years with Ivanov and doesn’t have pertinent information.”
I thought back since our reunion. “She mentioned something,” I said, “about dissension within the ranks. She said we were different.”
Reid scoffed as his smile grew. “I’m satisfied with where I am and where Sparrow is.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
The steel door moved and wearing similar casual attire, Mason entered. Within his hands was the standard middle-of-the-night cup of coffee. His colorful arms were exposed below the short sleeves of his t-shirt and his legs sported the same colors between his basketball shorts and his canvas loafers. It was one of the only times of day he didn’t wear his cowboy boots.
“What are you satisfied about?” Mason asked.
“Not being the king,” I replied. “Backing Sparrow instead of fighting him for position.”
Mason nodded as he sat, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Fill me in.”
“Reid thinks,” I said, still pacing, “that if Madeline is correct about dissension in the Ivanov ranks, now that he’s lost Hillman’s support—which wasn’t really there—there may be someone from within looking to take over the bratva. If we can identify that person and offer our help, we could work out a truce between Chicago and Detroit.”
Mason leaned back and stared my direction. “Reid thinks that. What do you think?”
“I want Ivanov’s head on a fucking platter to lie at Madeline’s feet.”
“A little John-the-Baptist action, I get that. But what about Elliott?” Mason asked.
“Sparrow met with the CFO of the facility renting space from Elliott,” Reid said. “The company wants the tax breaks. They’re not loyal to Elliott. Sparrow plans to visit the queen regent today and learn where the aldermen fall on this. The loss of jobs would reflect on Chicago and if he can work to sabotage Elliott while keeping the employment numbers from tanking, it’s a win-win.”
My steps stilled. “I want more than Elliott losing one fucking building. He thought he had the right to purchase my wife.”
“And,” Mason said, “she’s upstairs, I assume, sleeping in your bed. That’s already a win.”
“He told the world she’s delusional.”
“Because Elliott doesn’t want the world to know he partakes in human trafficking.”
“We need to expose him,” I said, “without exposing Madeline’s role.” I retook my seat and spun it to a desk with keyboards and began typing.
“What are you searching?” Reid asked.
“The Charitable Heart Mission in Englewood.” A picture appeared on the screen. An old school turned mission, now a dilapidated structure with boarded windows. “There it is.”
“When did it close?” Mason asked.
“According to this article, it lost funding five and a half years ago after sheltering hundreds of runaways.”
The room was collectively silent.
“That’s nearly three years after Allister was gone,” Reid finally said. “How did we miss this?”
“The seemingly benign ones are the toughest to weed out,” I replied. “I haven’t thought of this place in years.”