Page 45 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“Fine, thank you,” I am so nervous, tension cuts through my muscles as I work overtime to keep a straight face and a calm demeanor. I can’t let this man see that I’m afraid. “Can I get in my car, please?”

Smith chuckles dryly. “You know that’s not how this goes.”

“How does it go then?”

“I have a few follow-up questions, Miss Phelps. It’s in your best interest to answer them, believe me.” He pauses and glances around. There are plenty of people out at this hour, most on their way home from work. Tired and weary. He seems tired and weary, too. “You paid Ivan Sokolov’s bail. Why? I thought you had no idea who the Sokolov’s were.”

“I’d rather not answer that question.”

“I could take you in for an official interview, Miss Phelps, yet here I am, being nice and discreet about it. Please, do not test my patience. It’s already wearing thin.”

I take a deep breath, my synapses firing rapidly as I try to find the right thing to say. I can’t incriminate myself. “We met after your first visit, under completely separate circumstances. They paid me for IT services I provided for them. And then, last week, they called to explain the rather delicate situation in which you and the Department of Justice put them in, asking if I would kindly use the money they paid me with to bail Mr. Sokolov out.”

“What did they pay you for, exactly?” He narrows his eyes at me. I’m sure he doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of my mouth, but everything is purely circumstantial at this point.

“Like I said, IT services.”

“What kind of IT services?”

I can’t help but scoff. “I’m sorry, but I don’t disclose the delicate type of work that I provide for my high-paying clients.”

“Fair enough, but they paid you four-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars for a so-called IT job? I’m curious.”

“If you really want to know, the work I did for them is adjacent to the project I’m currently developing for my doctorate thesis. I can send you the introductory chapter of my dissertation if you want. Anything more might be too complicated for you.”

Smith raises an eyebrow. “Are you calling me stupid?”

“It’s an algorithm designed with specific parameters and computations, meant to analyze an existing scenario, based on detailed information which it then translates, runs through an AI interface, and ultimately outputs in the form of predictive scenarios. It has distinctive applications across different fields, including business and finance-related industries. Which is what the Sokolov’s were interested in.”

I hope I’ve hurled enough technical jargon at Smith to befuddle him and stop him from digging deeper. If I have to slap him with my entire thesis, I absolutely will.

Smith nods slowly. “And you just decided to give them their money back.”

“Agent, I understood the situation they were in. And they promised they would transfer the same amount back to me once their accounts were in the clear. Including a bonus, for the inconvenience. I did what any person would do in this situation, especially since I would like to retain them as clients.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, processing and rejecting every layer of this lie with the condescension of a man who knows the truth, and the frustration of a man who can’t prove it.

“Miss Phelps, I will only say this once. Whatever it is that you’re doing with these people, you should stop. Your father’s career will be negatively affected. Not to mention your own career, your future, your entire life, for that matter.”

“Are you threatening me, Agent Smith?”

“Not at all. But you clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with. I warned you before. The Sokolov’s are dangerous Russian mobsters. They will kill anyone who stands in their way. They build their empires on the bones of innocent people. Corruption. Trafficking. Most of Chicago’s high crime rates occur because of them and the other mafia families. You have no business aligning with them.”

“As far as I’m concerned, all my work with Mr. Sokolov is legal and fully certified,” I reply. “It pertains to the financial sector. I have nothing to do with whatever it is that you’re accusing them of.”

“You keep telling those lies, Miss Phelps. Maybe somebody else will believe you.”

“Agent, I would appreciate it if you’d stop harassing me. Bringing my father into the conversation won’t yield the results you desire. He and I have nothing to do with each other when it comes to business. He’s in the political field, I’m in academics. I’m just a doctorate student trying to do my best with what I know.”

Smith curses under his breath and straightens himself, moving away from my car and coming closer toward me. Instantly, my muscles tighten and my temperature rises as I try to keep my composure.

“I know you know more than what you’re saying. One way or another, I’m going to take down those fuckers. Let’s get that clear right now, so there’s no misunderstanding later,” he says, giving me a hard, mean look. “Anyone who gets in my way will understand why it’s the worst fucking idea to mess with me. And I’m not a Supervisory Special Agent, anymore, Miss Phelps. You will address me as Director Smith from now on. I lead the Bureau’s field office in Chicago, and I’ve got my sights set on the Sokolov’s. They’re going to burn. You should be careful so you don’t end up burning with them.”

“That definitely sounded like a threat.”

“It isn’t. It’s a promise. Don’t fuck with me, Miss Phelps. Don’t get in my crosshairs, because not even your daddy will be able to save you if you do.” With that, Smith walks off, leaving me a quivering mess.

“Son of a…” I mumble, barely catching my breath as the adrenalin begins to wear off. My muscles turn to jelly. I’m sweating through every pore as I fumble through my coat pocket for the damned car keys.

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