Russian Mobster’s Revenge (9 page)

The man who might be Jacob scratched his belly. There was an oddly shaped red stain on his shirt that looked suspiciously like ketchup. “Just cause you know my name don’t mean I trust you,” he told her, jabbing his finger in the air to emphasize his point.

Emily pursed her lips and nodded her head. “I see. So what
would
make you trust me?” Ivan had gone to see his dealers after they had parted ways at the deli. Then he was intending to check with his supplier over some matter or another. Emily pulled out her phone. “Would you like me to call him for you?”

“Yeah!” Jacob’s scrunched-up face seemed to relax. He plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs on the other side of the desk. “You call him. I’ll just sit here and take a load off.”

Emily dialed Ivan’s number on the desk phone and waited for him to pick up. When he did, she heard lots of shouts and raucous yelling in the background. Most of it was in Russian. Ivan sounded terse. “What?”

“Jacob needs some reassurance that I’m not lying in wait to rob you blind,” Emily said shortly.

“Ah.” Ivan snorted and then gave a dark chuckle. “Of course he does. Put him on.”

Emily held out the receiver to Jacob. “It’s for you.”

Jacob eagerly accepted the phone. “Dude, you got a chick in your office. You know that?”

Emily raised a brow. Who was this guy? He was nothing like the usual men that worked for the organization. Her brother’s men were all of Russian or Ukrainian descent. Most were immigrants and all spoke Russian. She suspected Jacob didn’t fit that profile at all.

There was a lot of nodding, some frowning, and then Jacob started laughing as though he were about to pee his pants. “Yo, that’s fine, dude. I was just looking out for you, know what I’m saying?”

Jacob tossed the receiver back onto the cradle and hefted his giant-sized pack onto Emily’s desk. The thud shook the entire desk. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. He had started pulling out manila envelopes. They were each labeled with some sort of cryptic number sequence, although Emily quickly realized that each arcade on the handwritten list had a number associated with it. The packets effectively told which arcade, the date, and the total. The other number had to refer to the way in which the money had been made. Emily could see that she most certainly had her work cut out for her.

After Jacob had deposited the mountain of packets on her desk, he closed his pack and gave her a thorough once-over with his watery gaze. “Ivan says you’re okay, but you look all stuffy like those other mafia types.”

“And you’re not like them?” She had already surmised as much. “How do you know Ivan?”

“Oh, Ivan and Samantha and me went to school together, you know? Ivan’s a good guy. He knows the value of a good friend.” Jacob gave a hard nod. “Those other guys are just snobs. Ivan’s better than that. And him and me help Samantha out, feeding her good info every once in a while. Then she keeps us up on what those FBI assholes are doing.”

Emily managed not to swallow her tongue.
Samantha
was FBI? “That sounds like a good swap.”

“Oh yeah,” Jacob nodded emphatically. “Plus, CIs get paid pretty good, you know. So between what she gives me and what Ivan gives me, I’ve got a good thing going. No reason I would ever turn on them.”

“I’m sure you’re the most loyal friend they have,” Emily agreed. Although she wouldn’t say he was the brightest.

“See you tomorrow.” Jacob gave a little wave over his shoulder before disappearing from the office.

Emily sat back in her chair, swinging side to side and gazing around at the richly furnished space. It was all dark wood, ornate carvings on the furniture, posh leather and fabrics, and of course, real art on the walls. Ivan had cultivated an image here. Yet the way he actually did business didn’t fit the profile at all.

Ivan was playing both sides.

Emily pulled out a sheet of fresh paper and picked up one of her favorite pens. She quickly began listing off things she knew about Ivan’s plan for her brother. He had told Emily that he only wanted to get back at Sergei for firing him eight years ago, and for saying that Ivan wasn’t good enough for his sister. Of course, Ivan held some silly belief that Sergei thought Ivan’s heredity was the issue. That it wasn’t just because Sergei was determined to sell Emily to some mafia-approved husband in order to gain a few inches on the mafia hierarchy.

She scratched a little star next to that item. Those facts needed to be checked, which would mean asking Sergei directly. That was assuming her brother would even be willing to give an honest answer.

Then there was the notion that Ivan wasn’t going to tell the boss about Sergei’s fudging the books and pretending to do more drug sales than he actually had. Emily had assumed that destroying Sergei on a personal level was more important to Ivan than destroying Volkov Real Estate. Now after talking to Jacob, Emily wasn’t so sure about that either.

There was really only one woman Emily needed to talk to about Ivan’s real motives. Standing up, she gathered her purse and wondered how a person went about
finding
an FBI agent.

***

Ivan spotted Sergei immediately on the street outside his largest arcade. Saying that Sergei stuck out like a sore thumb would be an understatement of massive proportions. He was dressed in a custom-tailored suit when all those around him were in casual wear. Plus, he was staring at Ivan as though he didn’t think Ivan would possibly notice.

Fyodr was one of Ivan’s top guys. He’d sniffed out Sergei within seconds of the two of them stepping onto the street corner. Fyodr jerked his chin, indicating Sergei. “Is that guy a cop?”

“No.” Ivan sighed. “He’s actually a made man. One of Yuri’s guys.”

“Wow.” Fyodr shook his head and turned his attention back to the map of their territory that he’d been discussing with Ivan. “He looks less criminal than most of the police officers that hang out around here.”

“I know.” Ivan grimaced. “I’m going to go find out what he wants. You give the guys their assignments for the week. Right?”

“Yeah.” Fyoder nodded. “Same as we discussed, right?”

“Yep.” Ivan left Fyodr and jogged across the street.

It was obvious that Sergei knew he’d been spotted. Still, he didn’t make any attempts to be nonchalant, to leave, or even to seem as though he had another reason for being in the area. He simply fidgeted uncomfortably, looking even more out of place in the process, and then stood his ground with his chin lifted.

“Sergei.” Ivan forced himself to be cordial. “Can I help you with something?”

“I was just coming to see what sort of business you run.” Sergei gestured to the arcade. “It looks rather low class.”

Ivan’s first instinct was to plant his fist in Sergei’s face just to take the snob down a few pegs. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. “The thing with selling drugs is that curb appeal really doesn’t matter.”

“Excuse me?”

“The first rule of business is to find out what your buyer needs, right?” Ivan said with forced casualness. “So if I’ve got access to hundreds of teenagers, then my biggest sellers are prescription painkillers and ADD medication. Plus, teenagers have cash. Most of my clientele have rich parents. They go to posh schools and play sports. They’re obsessed with increasing performance, mitigating injuries, and getting a better grade on their ACT than their neighbor.”

Sergei looked mystified. “You’re doing that much business in prescription meds?”

“Sure.” Ivan shrugged. “You have to get with the times. Illegal narcotics are still selling. I think they always will. But the big money is in prescription meds. Honestly, if you would switch to pushing that, I think your numbers would increase drastically. You’ve got access to these kids’ parents.” Ivan gestured to the kids going in and out of the building in groups of twos and threes.

“There are federal prescription laws involved in that.” Sergei looked thoughtful.

Ivan snorted. “Drugs are drugs. It doesn’t matter if they’re prescription or not. They’re all illegal if you didn’t get them from a doctor.”

“Why would you give me advice?” Sergei asked suspiciously.

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? “Because I think the two of us could be far more lucrative if we worked together instead of wasting our time trying to sabotage each other.” Ivan almost spit out the sudden bitter taste in his mouth. What was he
thinking
?

“I cannot imagine you to be so stupid as to think that I would work with you,” Sergei said haughtily. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking belligerent. “Soon enough, Yuri is going to get fed up with you and he’ll put you back in your place where you belong. Right now you’re earning big money for the organization. You’re like a trained monkey. Soon enough someone else will catch their attention and then you’ll be out as quickly as you were in.”

Ivan gnashed his teeth together. He would have immediately argued if it weren’t for Yuri’s very hard set down just that morning. “You are so certain that I’m less than you simply because I don’t know who my father was,” Ivan began slowly. “Yet you forget that I could take my businesses and my money and leave the organization anytime I wanted. I don’t have ties to hold me back. I could keep what I earned and stop splitting it with Yuri and his friends.” Ivan glared at Sergei. “Tell me. How long do you think it would take for them to discard you and come looking for me to beg me to bring my millions in revenue back to the organization?”

Without another word, Ivan turned and walked away from Sergei. Any remaining reservations about helping the FBI take down the organization were being peeled away by the behavior of those people he was actually protecting. Why should Ivan care about Yuri, or the rest of the bosses when they—and their minions—had proven time and time again that they had almost no respect for Ivan or what he could bring to the table?

But Sergei wasn’t done. He called after Ivan. “And I don’t know what you think you’re doing with my sister, but she’s going to marry Yuri’s son in three months. After that you’ll be nothing but a memory of this one crazy thing she did when she was young and foolish.”

Young and foolish, hmm?

Ivan was going to enjoy watching Sergei squirm as the FBI closed in.

Chapter Twelve

Emily perched uncomfortably on the edge of a chair in the reception area of the local FBI field office. The receptionist kept shooting surreptitious glances at Emily every few minutes. Emily had actually been a little surprised that Samantha had agreed to see her at all. Had their situations been reversed, Emily wasn’t sure what she would have done.

The receptionist had moved away from her desk and come to stand in front of Emily while she’d been daydreaming. The woman bared her teeth in what was probably supposed to be a friendly smile. “Ms. Volkov, Agent Bristo will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Emily stood up and followed the receptionist’s lead down a long, sterile white hallway. There were closed doors on both sides, but no windows to lend the unforgiving space a more welcoming air.

They stopped at a door labeled BRISTO. The receptionist opened it and gestured Emily through. Then she was gone and Emily was left to stare at Samantha Bristo for the third time in one day.

“I’m pretty sure I did
not
expect to see you again today,” Samantha said pleasantly. “But since you’re here, you might as well go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Emily sat in one of the chairs before Samantha’s desk.

The office was filled with typical clutter. The furniture was industrial metal and cheap particleboard. There were a few photos on the walls, but really not much in the way of personal touches. It was stark white—or dingy off white, really—and the carpet was dull brown and worn.

“They obviously don’t waste federal funding on decorations,” Emily commented. Then she realized how her words might be construed. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m nervous.”

“Understandable,” Samantha murmured. “Why don’t you start with why you’re here?”

“I met Jacob today.” Emily really wasn’t sure why she picked that to start the conversation, but the expression on Samantha’s face suggested the choice had been a good one.

“Jacob has a way of letting the cat out of the bag without really intending to,” Samantha mused. She sat back in her seat and steepled her fingers together before her. “So I suppose that answers why you’ve come looking for me here.”

“Yes. He also mentioned that the three of you have known each other for many years, and that he makes a good living as one of your informants.” Emily cocked her head to one side and leaned slightly forward in her chair. “So I thought to myself, if Jacob is one of your informants, then it only makes sense that Ivan would be too.”

“And what do you intend to do with this information?” Samantha’s voice was careful. Her gray eyes were absolutely unreadable.

“I intended to ask you to please explain it to me,” Emily said earnestly. “I don’t have any intention of trying to use it against him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Samantha seemed to relax. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Ivan?”

The agent seemed to relax in her seat. “I don’t get you, Emily Volkov.”

“I’m not that big of a puzzle.” Emily looked down at her hands. She was nervously wringing them in her lap. She just wasn’t exactly sure why she felt so nervous.

“You had absolutely no reason to let Ivan convince you to become your brother’s savior, but you did.”

Emily opened her mouth to argue, but Samantha wasn’t done.

“Next you help Ivan willingly. You sleep with him. You’re obviously in love with him.” Samantha held her hands out in supplication. “I suppose I get it, but I’m not sure I’d ever take that kind of risk.”

“I don’t normally,” Emily said hastily. “And maybe that’s why I’m here. Eight years ago I took a chance on Ivan and I’m sure you know how that turned out.”

“Ivan said you were perfectly happy with your brother’s decision.”

She felt her gut tighten with tension. “Did he?”

“He said you never fought for him, or for the relationship the two of you had.” Samantha seemed honestly curious. She was resting her forearms on her desk. One eyebrow was lifted in question and Emily had the odd feeling that had they met under different circumstances, they would have been fast friends.