Page 15 of The Mafia King's Baby

Islip from Celia’s bed at 4:30 a.m., moving in silence. She lies curled on her side, hair spread across the pillow like dark silk, with one hand reaching toward the space where I’d been sleeping.

The sight stops me for a moment. In sleep, she looks younger and unguarded in a way that makes my chest tighten with something I can’t afford to name. The candlelight has long since burned out, but dawn is beginning to creep through her bedroom windows, painting everything in soft gray light that makes the previous night feel like a fever dream.

What happened between us was monumentally stupid.

I dress quickly in the clothes I left scattered on her bedroom floor, each piece of fabric a reminder of how thoroughly I lost control. The notebook containing enough evidence to destroy dozens of lives sits in my jacket pocket, but for six hours, I forgot it existed. For six hours, I forgot about Marcus Lang and federalinvestigations and the network of corruption that’s kept me alive this long.

For six hours, I was just a man lying beside a woman who made me remember what it felt like to want something other than survival.

I find paper and pen on her kitchen counter and write a brief note.“Thank you for everything. Had to leave early for business. Will be in touch.—A.”Inadequate doesn’t begin to cover it, but anything more detailed would be both dangerous and dishonest. I can’t tell her the truth about who I am or why I’m really here, and she deserves better than elaborate lies.

I leave the note beside the coffee maker, where she’ll find it when she wakes, along with enough cash to cover several more nights than I actually stayed. The money feels like payment for services rendered, which makes me hate myself a little more, but it’s practical help she clearly needs.

The morning air is sharp and clean as I load my bag into the rental car, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering moisture from last night’s storm. Behind me, Celia sleeps peacefully in the house where I’ve left traces of my presence that could put her in danger if the wrong people come looking.

I should feel nothing but relief to be moving again, returning to the familiar patterns of evasion and survival that have kept me alive for eight months. Instead, I feel like I’m leaving something essential behind, some part of myself that I’d forgotten existed until she smiled at me over homemade muffins and coffee that tasted like home.

I drive to the meeting point Leonid and I established through encrypted channels, a rest stop fifteen miles outside Lake Tahoe,where long-haul truckers grab coffee and gas before tackling mountain passes. It’s the kind of anonymous public space where two men can have a conversation without attracting attention, provided they keep their voices low and their body language casual.

Leonid’s already there when I arrive, leaning against his own rental car with a paper cup of what’s probably terrible coffee and a newspaper he’s not actually reading. He looks exactly like what he is—a successful businessman taking a break from a long drive. The casual disguise hides scars from knife fights and bullet wounds and covers the tattoos that mark him as someone not to be crossed in certain circles.

“You look like shit,” he says as I approach.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Rough night?” His English carries traces of the accent we both work to minimize in public, but Russian consonants emerge when he’s worried or tired.

“Complicated night.” I accept the coffee he offers, though it tastes like it was brewed sometime last week, making me nostalgic for yesterday morning’s amazing cup and more amazing company. “What’s the situation?”

“Lang’s people hit two more of our safe houses yesterday in Sacramento and Stockton. Both were cleaned out, but they’d already been scrubbed of anything incriminating weeks ago. I’ve been systemically ensuring all our safe houses are completely clean. There are just a couple left to address, but they’re in the Midwest and not a priority right now.” He folds the newspaper with movements that look casual but allow him to scan theparking lot for potential threats. “Either he’s getting very lucky, or someone’s feeding him information.”

The confirmation of what I’ve suspected for weeks settles in my stomach like poison. “How close?”

“Close enough that we need to move the ledger today. I’ve arranged a new location at an off-grid facility in Nevada that no one else knows about. I finalized the purchase last week with a shell corporation a dozen steps removed from the…regular business.” He glances at my jacket pocket, where the notebook rests. “Still have our insurance policy?”

I touch the leather cover through the fabric. “Everything’s intact. Transaction records, payment schedules, and account numbers. We have enough evidence to bring down everyone from federal judges to city councilmen.”

“Good…and bad, because if Lang gets his hands on that information, and we’re all dead within a week. The business is gone too.”

“If he gets his hands on it, chaos follows either way.” I take another sip of terrible coffee, thinking about the encrypted pages that document six years of carefully cultivated corruption. “He could use it to clean house within the FBI and eliminate the agents who’ve been taking our money while positioning himself as the hero who exposed the rot. Or…”

“Or?”

“He could leverage it for his own purposes, blackmail the same officials we’ve been paying to ensure they serve his interests instead of ours.” I watch a family loading camping gear into their minivan, the father checking straps twice while the mother herds sleepy children toward the restroom. Normal people withnormal problems. “Judging from the way he’s been conducting himself, I think he’ll try to push us out and take over after putting us in the ground. He’s anything but by the book.”

Leonid nods grimly. “Either scenario ends with us dead and him in control of our entire West Coast operation.”

“Which is why we need to identify our leak before we lose any more ground.” I lean against my car, matching his casual posture while we discuss matters that could get us both killed. “Who has access to safe house locations?”

“Inner circle only. You, me, Viktor, and Dmitri’s old crew.” He ticks off names on his fingers, each one representing years of shared history and supposedly unbreakable loyalty. “Maybe eight people total who know enough to compromise our security—and none of them know about the place I’m sending you now.”

I nod in acknowledgement. “Viktor’s been with us since the beginning. He saved my life twice in the early days.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be bought or threatened into cooperation. Lang’s good at finding pressure points.” Leonid crushes his empty coffee cup with more force than necessary. “What about Dmitri’s crew? Some of them never fully accepted your leadership after he died.”

The reminder of my brother’s death and its aftermath stings more than it should after six years. Dmitri had been the charismatic one, the natural leader who inspired fierce loyalty through charm rather than fear. His death left a power vacuum that I filled through necessity rather than ambition, and some of his closest associates never forgave me for surviving when he didn’t. “Possible, but they’ve had six years to betray us if that was their intention. Why wait until now?”

“Maybe Lang only recently figured out how to approach them. Maybe he’s offering something they couldn’t resist.” Leonid straightens as a state trooper pulls into the rest stop, both of us automatically noting his presence without changing our conversation. “Money, protection, or revenge against you for taking what they think should have been theirs could entice some.”

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