Chapter 7 - Blood in the Water
The public humiliation at the Drake Hotel shattered Derek’s facade, but a cornered animal is at its most lethal when it knows it has nothing left to lose.
Three days later, the financial chokehold Alexander and I placed on Derek bore fruit. Federal agents raided the offices of Carter Logistics, seizing five million dollars' worth of illicit contraband belonging to the Bratva. Derek’s personal assets were frozen. The city councilmen who had supported him publicly disavowed any knowledge of his affairs.
He was a ruined man facing twenty years in federal prison.
And Nikolai Volkov wanted his money.
I was sitting in Alexander’s private study, reviewing the recovered deeds to my family’s estate with a team of corporate attorneys Alexander had provided, when the door was thrown open.
Marco stood in the doorway, his face pale, holding a radio. "Alexander. We have a situation."
Alexander looked up from his desk, his eyes immediately hardening. "Speak."
"Derek and Volkov struck our secondary safehouse in Pilsen. They didn't take the money, boss. They took Father Thomas."
Alexander’s pen snapped in half between his fingers.
Father Thomas was Alexander’s uncle—a retired Catholic priest who ran an orphanage on the West Side and the only living family Alexander had left.
"They left a phone," Marco added, stepping forward and placing a burner device on the blotter.
Before Alexander could reach for it, the phone began to vibrate, its harsh buzz cutting through the tense room like a knife.
Alexander hit the speaker button. "Speak."
"Hello, Alexander," Derek’s voice came through the speaker. It was manic, unhinged, vibrating with the manic energy of a man on the edge of a cliff. "Did you like my little surprise? The old man didn't put up much of a fight. Soft. Just like you."
Alexander didn't shout. He leaned forward, his voice a lethal, deadly whisper. "If you harm one hair on his head, Derek, I will skin you alive while your Russian friends watch."
"Shut up!" Derek screamed into the receiver. "You don't give the orders anymore! You ruined my life! Emily ruined my life! But I’m going to fix it. Here are my terms: Emily brings the release papers for the trust assets to the abandoned rail yard at the south docks. Alone. Unarmed. At midnight."
"Derek, listen to me—" I began, leaning toward the phone.
"Shut your mouth, you ungrateful whore!" Derek barked. "You bring the papers, Emily, or I put a bullet through this priest’s skull on live video. If I see Moretti, if I see his guards, if I see a single police cruiser within two miles of the rail yard, the old man dies. You have four hours."
The line went dead.
The study fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. The attorneys gathered their papers in terror and quickly excused themselves, leaving only Alexander, Marco, and me.
Alexander stood up, walking toward the window. His back was stiff, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The sheer, radiating fury coming from him was palpable, filling the room with an unbearable pressure.
"He wants an ambush," Alexander said coldly. "He knows I won't let you go alone. He expects me to bring an army, and when I do, Volkov’s snipers will execute Thomas and try to take you in the crossfire."
"Then I go," I said firmly.
Alexander spun around, his gray eyes flashing with raw, untamed anger. "You will not. You are not stepping foot near that rail yard."
"He has your uncle, Alexander!" I stepped closer, refusing to shrink from his glare. "This is because of me. Derek is doing this because I took his money and his pride. He wants to hurt me. If I don't show up, Father Thomas dies."
"And if you do show up, you die!" Alexander roared, closing the distance between us, his hands coming down to grip my shoulders. "Do you think I kept you safe, brought you into my home, tore this city apart just to hand you back to that monster? I would burn Chicago to ash before I let him put his hands on you again!"
The raw, unguarded confession hung in the air between us, vibrating with unspoken truth.
I looked into his eyes—the ruthless mafia boss who terrified the underworld—and saw not cruelty, but a fierce, desperate protectiveness that left me breathless.
"I’m not going back to him, Alexander," I said softly, reaching up and resting my hand gently against his jaw, feeling the tension in his clenched muscles. "I am going to end this. But we don't play by his rules. We play by yours."
Alexander searched my eyes, his breathing slowing. "What are you suggesting?"
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"You said Derek is an amateur playing chess," I replied, a cold, calculating smile touching my lips. "So let’s use his arrogance against him. He thinks I am still the terrified girl who hid under your desk. Let’s make him pay for that mistake."
***
