Page 50 of Sexting the Silverfox

“I haven’t seen you look this serious in a long time. Tell me what’s going on?”

The music is loud, so I carefully look around and then lean across the table. “I’ve got some Russian mob issues, Paddy. You’re the only one I can trust to help me.”

“Holy shit,” he mutters, his eyes wide with shock. “They’ve been dropping a lot of bodies since yesterday. You have anything to do with that?”

“No.”

Indeed, the news outlets have been flooded with reports of suspicious deaths sprinkled all over the city. Various Russian-mob-related individuals keep popping up dead, either poisoned or hanged, each of them tied back to the Abramovic family. There have also been a couple of Fedorov-linked deaths, as well.

“There’s a silent war happening between the Fedorov and the Abramovic Bratvas,” I tell Paddy. “And it all tracks back to Audrey, Fedorov’s daughter.”

“How are you connected, though? I thought you were a straight arrow, man.”

“I still am. But Audrey and I—”

“Oh, no,” Paddy instantly puts two and two together and starts shaking his head. “No, man, that’s the worst thing you could become involved in. And your daughter … oh, man, no, get as far away from them as possible.”

“Not an option, Paddy,” I insist. “I love her, and she loves me. She ran away from her family. Moved out here a couple of years ago. She wants nothing to do with the Bratva but somebody in Chicago recognized her. They told Arkady Abramovic about her and that maniac has tried to kill her—twice. And now, her father has come to Chicago and taken her away.”

Paddy pinches the bridge of his nose. “And he’s letting Arkady know that he won’t tolerate any attacks on his family.”

“From what I’m told, Arkady is trying to muscle his way back into New York. He wanted to use Audrey as leverage,” I say.

“Dumb move. Grigori is a weathered wolf, Jace. He will burn this whole city down before he lets a single Abramovic set foot in New York.”

“Either way, the gauntlet has already been thrown,” I sigh. “And Audrey and I got caught in the middle.” I go on to tell him about how we met, about the secrets and lies that nearly tore us apart, about the attempts on her life, and Grigori’s visit to my apartment.

Paddy listens quietly while the waitress brings our food and drinks over, but I can’t eat or drink anything. I’m too wired, too anxious, too eager to resolve this before it’s too late. “I need to know everything there is to know about the Bratva, Paddy.”

He thinks about it for a moment, then takes a long sip of his beer, quietly looking around. Contemplating. Likely wondering whether he should play the neutral part or help me. I get it—the Maguires don’t want to deal with the Russians. The Irish and the Russians steer clear of each other, in general. It’s the same in New York, from what Audrey told me. Sort of an unspoken pact dating back decades.

“Here’s the thing, Jace,” Paddy finally says. “I can’t do anything to help your girl out. Lord knows I’d send some guys over to the Aspinall in a second.”

“The Aspinall?”

“That’s where the Fedorovs are staying. The whole underbelly of Chicago knows about it,” he says.

“You’ve already told me something new,” I mutter. “I’ve been trying to find her since yesterday.”

Paddy chuckles dryly. “I can imagine. But if Grigori doesn’t want you to find her, you won’t. Listen to me, Jace, and listen carefully; I can’t get involved.”

“I’m not asking you to—”

“As soon as you leave this table, I won’t know you anymore, you hear me?”

I give him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever it is you’re going to do with the information I provide, I can’t be linked to it in any way. So, for safety’s sake, let’s consider ourselves strangers once this conversation is over. It’s the price you got to pay for what I’m about to tell you.”

It pains me to hear him say such things, but I get it. He’s next in line to take over the Maguire empire. That’s a lot of men, plenty of businesses, and billions of dollars. Dark money that ultimately feeds into the city. He cannot be perceived as a rat or a snitch. The old-school mob game is still on, and snitches still get stitches. They still put cement shoes on people in Chicago, and I don’t want Paddy to take the fall for anything pertaining to my mission.

I nod slowly. “I understand. Okay.”

He takes a deep breath before he begins. “Back in the early 1900s, the Fedorovs and the Abramovics ran New York together. There were the occasional skirmishes, but they got along for the most part. The cops couldn’t do anything about them, so they just let the Russkys do their thing, provided they paid a little tax under the table if you catch my drift.”

I nod again. “I see. What happened?”

“Prohibition. That brought out the worst in everybody, including the Bratva. They didn’t get along anymore. The Fedorovs wanted to try different avenues, but the Abramovics were keen on smuggling booze. The latter declared war, and the former gave it to them a little too hard. What was left of the Abramovic family took off and sought refuge in Chicago,” Paddy says. “Not long afterward, Hitler rose to power. The war left the city ripe for plucking, and the Abramovic Bratva were there to fill in for the Irish and the Italians. By the end of the 1950s, they were just as big and as influential.”

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