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.”
“Okay, Allister was out of the picture as well as the Sparrow outfit’s interest in purchasing what this setup was selling. But McFadden was still going strong. Why cut funding?” Mason asked.
“Madeline is positive it was McFadden at the top of what she endured,” I said, the words causing the coffee I drank to turn against me.
“McFadden sold her to Ivanov,” Mason said, “after the lady from the mission sold her to Dr. Miller.”
“I’ve been looking into that,” Reid said. “As far as the Dr. Miller connection goes, it appears that he was an equal-opportunity dealer. He secured merchandise for both McFadden and Sparrow before Allister’s demise. Maybe after the Sparrow side of the business ceased to exist, McFadden couldn’t support the mission too.”
“Did he support it?” I asked, still hitting keys. “Look. A bulk of the funding came from grants approved in the city budget. Five years ago, the grant was denied and the mission shut its doors.”
“McFadden didn’t orchestrate city funding at that time. He represented Illinois at the federal level of government,” Mason added.
The door opened again. This time Sparrow entered. “Having a party without me?”
“You’re going to see your mother?” I asked.
His dark eyes rolled. “Don’t remind me. I think she might know more about the block that’s been placed on Elliott’s tax breaks. A few questions, in and out.”
“I want to go with you,” I said.
His brow lifted. “There isn’t enough shit happening in your life, you want to put up with my mother for an hour?”
I didn’t, but I would.
I tilted my head toward the screen. “That’s the mission where Madeline and I lived. We can assume it was connected to Dr. Miller’s entry point since the pastor’s wife, Kristine, knew to take Madeline to Dr. Miller. Who knows how many others she delivered?
“The mission lost funding a few years after Allister died.” We all knew died wasn’t completely accurate. Yes, Allister Sparrow was deceased, but he had help from the man who had just entered the room, the man wearing the family crest on a gold ring. “The funding they lost was city, not state. Maybe Mrs. Sparrow knows something about it.”
“Maybe she knows if McFadden influenced the decision,” Reid said. “Because it wasn’t you. This never came up on our radar before.”
Sparrow’s gaze narrowed as he looked up at the boarded building. “No, if this place was still selling women and children after I took power, it was doing so out of our sphere. That leaves McFadden.” He shook his head and turned to me. “It’s fine by me if you want to join me. I’ll welcome ambushing her with more questions.” He looked at the watch on his wrist. “Genevieve Sparrow doesn’t entertain visitors before ten. I’d appreciate the company. Let’s kill two birds or one old one.” He took a seat. “Do we know more about Bykov and Gorky?”
“Are you seriously entertaining this alliance angle?” I asked.
“Entertaining, yes,” Sparrow responded. “While it goes without saying that the final decision is up to me, I think there’s merit to this course of action. We need to utilize our resources. We’ve already caused damage to Detroit and the bratva to us. Chicago is my responsibility. Is it in the city’s best interest to fuel this war or to come to an agreement? Killing Hillman was a crucial blow to Ivanov, even if none of us realized it at first. Say we eliminate Ivanov too; do we want to supply the manpower to take and keep control of Detroit? In reality, the manpower is already there. If we align ourselves with the right side of the equation and Ivanov’s men deal with him, then our hands are clean and we have a new ally in Detroit.”
I fucking hated that it was a good plan. “In your plan, Ivanov is ousted. I want him dead. Madeline and Ruby need to know that he’s no longer ever going to be a threat to them. Ruby is young. She’ll need to leave this tower, go to high school and college. They both deserve to know they’re safe, not only here but everywhere.”
Sparrow nodded. “Alliance would be with the city, not Andros Ivanov. Like the other women, their connection to you—to us—will never allow them that blanket sense of security. You knew that when you brought them here. That said, we will make them as safe as possible. Thus another reason for an alliance.”
I lifted my mug and took a drink of the lukewarm liquid. “Damn, I let this get cold.”
“Have you found the identity of Dr. Miller?” Sparrow asked. “I recall there being too many fires happening when we took over and closed shop to the Sparrow part of trafficking in Chicago. There was too much happening to track down the arsonist of each one.”
Reid spoke, “When Allister died, we spent months scanning all the documents we uncovered in his inner sanctum. I know that’s where the information is. I’m pissed I can’t recall the location. With all that’s happened, I haven’t had the chance to search.”
It was ridiculous to think that Reid could recall folder and page of each bit of information, but that was what he could do. Usually.
I turned back to the computer keyboard. “I’ll star
t looking.” The clock in the corner of the screen read 5:15 a.m. “We have a few hours before breakfast and before Mrs. Sparrow will be ready to talk.”
“I can’t promise she’ll talk at all,” Sparrow said, “but we’ll pay her a visit.”
Mason stood. “I already have reports coming in from capos on 1. I’ll see you when Lorna rings.”
I accessed the various electronic files of scanned documents. There were literally hundreds of thousands of pages in PDF. We had the information; I just needed to find it.
Reid stood and walked my direction. Placing a small cell phone on the counter by the keyboard, he said, “Here.”
“What?”
“It’s for Madeline. We can’t have her stuck in the apartment with no way to contact others. I’ve disabled her real phone except for her pictures and phonebook, which I’ve copied. With this phone she can reach you, Ruby—Araneae gave Ruby a similar phone last night—and everyone else who lives here.”
Picking it up, I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Hey, we’re better at this than we were when Araneae arrived.”
“Practice makes perfect, right?”
Madeline
Over sixteen years ago
I woke with a groan as a shooting pain radiated from my lower back and my midsection grew painfully hard.
This couldn’t be a real contraction.
Maybe it was what the doctor had referred to as Braxton-Hicks, fake contractions that help the body prepare for birth.
My baby wasn’t due for four and a half weeks.
I rolled upon the soft bed, piling pillows beneath my enlarged stomach and praying to any being who would listen to keep my baby inside of me, safe and secure, until it was the right time. It was easy to believe that no one listened to prayers of people like me. After all, I’d spent four months in hell praying every day to be delivered. Then again, I survived and was no longer there. My baby also survived, so maybe it wasn’t that prayers went unheard but were just answered on a timetable beyond our understanding.
“This timetable isn’t negotiable,” I said aloud. “Please don’t let my baby come too early.”
Sleep came and went in waves. Each time, waking was precipitated by either pain or a combination of nausea with an excruciating pressure to use the bathroom.
It had been over a week since Andros had visited my room, and I hadn’t seen him since. Irina mentioned that he was out of town and even Tadeas let that information slip. Usually my tutor was tight-lipped when it came to Andros or the workings around us. He usually stayed on task, talking only about my studies. Of course, I didn’t tell either of them what had occurred the night Andros came to my suite.
What could I say? The man who purchased me came to collect.
The night Andros entered, I’d mistakenly assumed I was prepared for whatever he had planned. While it wasn’t the most horrific night of my life—I had too many to choose from—it wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d thought it would be the two of us, building up his positives in my head before his arrival. I never imagined he wouldn’t be the one to have sex with me. The man who bought me was apparently both manipulative and a voyeur.
Before Andros arrived, I’d heard him in the garden with another man. Since we weren’t formally introduced, I still didn’t know the other man’s name, but I assumed that the second man to arrive was the one from the garden. I didn’t recognize him and couldn’t understand most of what he said.
Instead of introduced, I was reminded.
“Is there anything you won’t do to stay with your child?”
Andros’s question brought back my pledge before the evening began.
My answer remained steadfast, and to that end, so did my compliance.
The realization that there was no bottom to the pit of my depravity had eaten away at me over the last week. While at the same time, I reminded myself that it was nearly a week ago and it hadn’t happened again. This wasn’t Miss Warner’s cell. There weren’t men upstairs selecting me from a menu of available pussy. This was Andros’s doing, and I had verbally agreed to be at his mercy—no matter what that meant.
“Oh…” I cried out as the pain increased.
It was still the early morning, the sky outside black with the summer night. Irina wouldn’t be at my suite for another two hours. With the increased pain, perspiration formed upon my flesh, adhering my nightshirt to my skin.
Pulling myself from the bed, I forced my steps, crouching and standing, standing and crouching, until I reached the bathroom. To my horror, as I lowered my underwear, the crotch was bright red, saturated with blood. I hadn’t bled at the cell or even after the man with Andros.
As I sat upon the toilet, the pressure built.
Tears came to my eyes as pain radiated from my groin. I wasn’t certain how long I stayed seated, but finally, I fell to my knees upon the tile floor.
What would happen if my baby was born?
This was the end of July and according to Dr. Kotov, my little one wasn’t supposed to arrive until late August.
“No,” I called out, summoning my child to listen.
The cool tile below me was a welcome contrast to my heated skin. With my knees drawn up as high as possible and me on my side, I closed my eyes and exhaled, allowing the pain to lessen. When I awoke, a pool of watery blood surrounded me.
It was too much to be spotting.
Was this what it meant to have your water break?
I didn’t know.
There were too many questions that I was unprepared to answer.
Since I’d arrived at Andros’s, I’d asked Irina for books about childbirth and child-rearing. She’d brought me all my requests without question. For the last six weeks, I’d done everything I could to provide for my child. I’d eaten the right foods and consumed the recommended quantity of water. I’d exercised in the sunshine, walking around the courtyard.
Dr. Kotov never mentioned sex, and I was afraid to ask. Yet the books did. Each one said it was safe up until labor.
I moved to my hands and knees, again crying out as the pain returned.
My mind knew what my body had difficulty processing. I needed help. I needed to contact Irina.
Like many of Andros’s employees, she lived within the complex. I’d never seen her room, but I knew she was near.
I didn’t know how close Andros was, or if he were even in the city. After our last meeting, he wasn’t who I sought. When the pain subsided, I crawled across the tile into the bedroom.
Upon my arrival, I’d been given a phone with limited calling ability.
My eyes closed as the pain returned. Dropping my head to the carpet, I braced myself for another contraction. The pain built, never fully having subsided, growing each time in intensity. Similar to a roller-coaster ride and a cart going up and down, the pain ebbed and flowed. Up and up, such as the ticks of the coaster over the tracks, the difference was in the descent. It wasn’t as abrupt. There was no throwing my hands into the air or free falling. It was simply a moment before the pain moved back up, each peak erupting higher than the last.
The pressure was unreal, unlike anything I even imagined.
Eventually, I made it to the bedside stand. Peering back, I felt a twinge of shame that I’d left a crimson trail upon the carpet. Reaching for the phone, I flipped it open and pushed the directory. Irina Molchalin was the second name.
She answered on the second ring. “Madeline?” she sounded sleepy.
“I-I need…” My words disappeared as I cried out again and dropped the phone to the carpet.
The call had been the right one.
Though I was in no position to judge time, in what seemed like minutes, my suite filled with people. Some I knew, such as Irina and the doctor. Others I didn’t.
With the tension high, the conversation around me was for the most part beyond my comprehension. In a language I’d learned was Russian, the doctor and Irina shouted orders and people obeyed. Clean bedding was brought in, monitors
attached to my stomach with audible noises sounding like tapping, and an IV was inserted in my arm, allowing medicines to be administered. Every now and then, Irina would wipe my forehead with a cool cloth and speak soothing words in English.
Within the room, my attendants paced.
Beyond the windows, the sun rose and the sky grew bright.
The only offered relief for the desert dryness within my mouth and upon my lips came from slivers of ice chips.
“You must rest. The baby isn’t ready,” Irina soothed, as another woman injected something else into the IV.
“Andros?” I managed to ask during one fit of lucidity.
“Is on his way, sweet girl,” Irina said. “He wasn’t expecting this so soon. None of us were.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated to Irina and my child.
I was sorry.
I was sorry I hadn’t taken better care of my baby.
I was sorry I’d gone with Kristine.
I was sorry I was surrounded by strangers I barely understood.
I was sorry that this was the world I was bringing my child into.
Whatever the woman injected into the IV worked. Warming me from the inside, the medication calmed and lulled me to sleep. When I woke, Andros was sitting in a chair beside the bed. His dark eyes stared at me with the venom of a snake. Silently, his gaze scrutinized and judged.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” My head shook as more tears filled my eyes.
“When I left, Dr. Katov said you were fine.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Sir, this happens,” the doctor said.
“The child,” Andros said, standing. “Save the child.” With a brief, dismissive glance, he walked away.
What was he saying?
He’s promised I could stay with my baby.
Before I could speak, Irina did.
“And the mother.” She smiled reassuringly as she laid another damp cloth upon my forehead. Though Andros was out of my range of vision, I knew her next sentence was meant for him. “A baby needs his mother.”
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