Page 72 of The Mafia King's Baby

“Torres is among them,” Yefrem shouts over the gunfire. “I can hear his voice outside.”

Agent Torres, the corrupt FBI agent we’ve been tracking for weeks. Somehow, he knew about this meeting, knew Patricia would be here, and decided to eliminate all of us at once. He’s probably been surveilling her just to cover his bases.

More gunfire erupts from outside the building, but they’re different weapons now. Single shots, precisely placed, suggesting disciplined marksmen rather than spray-and-pray tactics. They must be Yefrem’s backup team of three engaging the corrupt agents. The shots fall silent too quickly, making me fear for the men’s safety.

After a cessation in firing, I stiffen as someone shouts, “Federal agents! Drop your weapons!” The voice comes from the hallway outside the apartment and is different from Torres’ but carries the same authoritative tone.

But which federal agents? Clean ones responding to reports of gunfire, or more corrupt ones sent to finish what Torres started?

Patricia raises her head from the floor, trickling blood from cuts on her face. “That’s Lipsey. The real Lipsey.”

“How can you be sure?” asks Yefrem

She sounds confident. “Because I’ve known him for eight years, and that’s his voice.”

The gunfire outside intensifies then gradually diminishes. The hallway fills with shouts of orders being given, accompanied by the sounds of people moving with tactical precision. Eitherclean agents have arrived, or we’re about to be overrun by more corrupt ones.

“Patricia, are you alive?” The voice in the hallway is clearer now, and her face shows recognition.

“In here,” she calls back. “I have three civilians with me. They’re armed but not hostile.”

“Coming in. Don’t shoot.”

The remains of the door swing open, and a tall man in a dark suit steps through with his hands visible. Behind him, tactical agents in FBI gear sweep the apartment for additional threats. “Jesus, Patricia. What happened here?”

“Someone tried to kill me. These people saved my life.” She struggles to her feet with Yefrem’s assistance, still shaking from the adrenaline of nearly being murdered.

More agents enter the apartment, and I count at least six in tactical gear plus the prosecutor. Some move toward Yefrem and Leonid with weapons drawn, while others secure the perimeter and document the scene.

“Ma’am, we need you to step away from the suspects.” One of the tactical agents addresses Patricia while keeping his weapon trained on Yefrem.

“They’re not suspects, they’re witnesses, and they saved my life.”

The chaos of the scene makes everything happen too fast. Agents swarm through the apartment, some checking for additional threats while others begin securing anyone who was present during the shooting. In the confusion of multiple people shouting orders and the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air,I watch in horror as they move to handcuff both Yefrem and the surviving corrupt agents who came with Torres.

“Wait.” I lunge forward, but Leonid’s hand catches my arm, pulling me back with surprising gentleness.

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You’ll only make it worse for him.”

“They’re treating him like he’s one of them.” I struggle against his grip, watching as they zip-tie Yefrem’s hands behind his back alongside Agent Torres, who’s bleeding from a shoulder wound but still alive. “He saved her life.”

“Ma’am, we need you to step back.” One of the tactical agents addresses me while keeping his weapon ready. “This is an active crime scene.”

“Crime scene? These men risked their lives to warn Assistant Director Hendricks about threats to her safety.” My voice cracks with frustration as Leonid maintains his hold on my arm. “You’re arresting the wrong people.”

Yefrem doesn’t resist as they secure him but meets my gaze across the chaotic room. There’s something in his expression that tells me to stay calm and trust that this will work out, but I can’t feel anything except the crushing weight of injustice.

“Let me go.” I try again to break free from Leonid’s grip. “Patricia, tell them what really happened.”

But Patricia is being treated for her injuries, and the tactical team is more focused on securing potential threats than listening to witness testimony. She looks between me and the agents securing Yefrem, her face showing the kind of confusion that comes from processing traumatic events. Blood still tricklesfrom cuts on her cheek, and she keeps touching her ribs where Yefrem’s body weight pressed against her when he shielded her from the gunfire. “Rufus, we need to talk. There’s more to this situation than it appears.”

“After we secure all subjects and process the scene.” Lipsey’s response is automatic and clearly procedural. “We have multiple fatalities and weapons discharges involving federal personnel.”

“These people saved my life.” Patricia’s voice lacks the conviction I need to hear. She sounds uncertain, like someone trying to make sense of events that happened too quickly to fully process.

“Ma’am, with respect, you’ve just survived a traumatic incident. Your perceptions might not be entirely reliable right now.”

I watch her face as the agents’ dismissal of her account seems to plant seeds of doubt. Did she really see what she thinks she saw? Was Yefrem protecting her, or was he part of the threat?

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