Page 82 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

Istare at the quarterly reports spread across my desk, the numbers blurring together after three hours of review. The Antonov Holdings portfolio continues to grow from legitimate businesses that serve as both cover and actual income. The restaurant chain is up seventeen percent from last quarter. The tech investment firm shows promising returns on the medical device startups we backed. The real estate holdings have appreciated significantly.

The door to my office swings open without warning. I reach for my gun but marginally relax when Anton strides in, his usual casual demeanor replaced by something harder and more urgent. No knock. No call ahead. I remain tense, knowing he wouldn’t barge in without a good reason.

“We have a problem,” he says, placing a sealed manila envelope on my desk.

I set aside the financial reports and pick up the envelope. It’s substantial. “This couldn’t wait?”

“No.” Anton remains standing. “It’s about Casey.”

The name alone makes my jaw tighten. Elena’s ex. The man I should have killed months ago. He’s slowly being destroyed from my efforts, but a bullet would be much faster and more decisive. If only I hadn’t promised Elena…

With a long exhalation, I open the envelope and slide out a stack of high-resolution photographs. The first shows Casey standing outside a run-down bar in North Philly, talking to one of Nikolai’s men. The second shows him entering a warehouse known to be used by Nikolai’s organization for processing product.

“When were these taken?” I ask, flipping through more images.

“Over the past three weeks. Our surveillance team has been tracking him since the incident at the hospital.” He smiles slightly. “I should say, more intensely. We’ve had someone keeping tabs on him since the day you and Mrs. Antonova got married.”

“Good.” I continue through the stack, each photo more damning than the last. Casey entering various establishments owned by Nikolai or Casey meeting with different members of Nikolai’s crew. I stop at one particular image. Casey stands outside a storage facility in South Philadelphia, accepting an envelope from a tall, lean man with a distinctive scar running from his left eye to his jaw. Yuri Orlov, Nikolai’s head of enforcement operations. His personal executioner.

“This is recent?” I ask, tapping the photo.

“Four days ago.”

I continue through the stack. Casey at First National Bank, accessing a safety deposit box. Casey at three different banking locations, making cash deposits. The final photo shows Casey in Camden, purchasing a handgun from a dealer I know sells exclusively to the criminal element—no questions asked as long as one has cash, and no serial numbers to trace.

“Tell me everything,” I say, setting down the photos and looking up at Anton.

Anton takes a seat across from me, leaning forward. “We turned one of Nikolai’s lower-level guys. Kid named Svetozar. Works in their distribution network, but he’s got ears. He confirmed Casey’s been working for Nikolai for years.”

“Years?” The word comes out sharp, cutting.

“Started small with moving money and some enforcement work when they needed extra muscle. Nothing major. Nikolai recruited him through his gambling debts by offering to clear what he owed in exchange for services.”

I process this information. “His relationship with Elena?”

“Initially unconnected. Just another of his fraud schemes targeting women with money. He’s done it before as you know.”

“But after Elena married me...”

“Nikolai recognized the potential connection and elevated Casey’s role. Gave him more responsibility, more access. This is what we’ve theorized.”

That confirms what we’ve suspected, but having a working theory is different from verified proof. “This Svetozar is solid?” I ask, needing to be certain before I act on this information.

Anton settles back in his chair, resting his tattooed forearms on my desk. “Seems to be. He’s just trying to take care of his sick mother and four siblings. He doesn’t have strong ties to Nikolai.”

“Or to us if he’s for sale,” I counter, my voice hardening.

Anton shrugs. “True, but he’ll give objective information as long as we meet his price. I talked to him and believe him.” He pauses, letting his judgment hang in the air. Anton doesn’t trust easily, which is a trait we both share.

“Hmm.” I stand and walk to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass. Philadelphia sprawls below, a maze of streets and buildings. Somewhere in that urban landscape, Nikolai is plotting his next move, and he’s using Casey as his pawn. The thought in unnerving.

“There’s more,” he says.

I turn back to face him. “Tell me.”

“Phone records show Casey placed seven calls to a burner phone linked to Nikolai’s organization the day after the kidnapping attempt.”

The failed attempt to take Elena that nearly succeeded. The one that led her to finally tell me about our child.

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