Page 71 of The Mafia King's Baby

“I killed Lang in self-defense when he broke into Celia’s home and tried to murder her.” The correction comes out sharp with controlled anger. “He was looking for evidence he could use to incriminate me.”

Patricia processes this information, glancing between Yefrem and me as if trying to reconcile the criminal she’s been told about with the man sitting calmly at her table. Whatever she expected, it probably wasn’t this level of candor about illegal activities. “What evidence?”

“I’m not giving you evidence against me,” says Yefrem with a hint of dryness. “However, we have evidence to support everything we’re claiming.”

Leonid opens his laptop and turns it toward Patricia before she can ask. “We have financial records, photographs, and communication intercepts. We’ve spent months investigating Bureau corruption with the plan to expose them to ensure our safety, and it’s all documented and cross-referenced.”

Patricia leans forward to study the screen, her expression shifting as she recognizes names and faces. “Some of these agents are in my office.”

“Torres, Sullivan, and Kim.” Yefrem lists the names we’ve confirmed through surveillance. “They’re all taking regular payments from criminal organizations in exchange for case information and evidence tampering.”

“David Kim is dead.” Patricia looks up from the laptop. “Shot yesterday during what was reported as a gang-related incident.”

I snort before I can stop myself. “A gang-related incident in a national forest in Washington state? Yeah, right.”

She frowns at me, but Yefrem speaks before she does. “Kim tried to kill Celia during a meeting with one of our sources. We defended ourselves.”

The admission hovers between us. Patricia stares at Yefrem for several long moments, clearly processing what he’s just confessed. By any legal standard, he’s admitted to murder, regardless of the circumstances. “You realize I’m supposed to arrest you?”

“Yes, but you also realize that arresting me won’t solve the problem of corrupt agents planning to murder you?” Yefrem leans back in his chair. “The question is whether you want to be morally pure or whether you want to be alive.”

Patricia’s phone buzzes with an incoming message. She checks it quickly, then looks toward the door. “I asked someone to join us. A federal prosecutor I trust completely.”

“Who?”

“Rufus Lipsey. He’s been investigating Bureau corruption from the prosecutor’s side, trying to understand why so many federal cases have been falling apart.” She moves toward the door. “If anyone can help us navigate the legal aspects of this situation, it’s him.”

Something about her movement toward the door triggers alarm bells in my mind. The timing feels wrong. My instincts are screaming, though I can’t tell what they’re saying.

“Wait.” I stand up from my chair. “How did he know where to find us?”

“I called him after I got home from the studio.” Patricia’s hand is already on the door handle. “He’s been waiting for a break in his investigation.”

“Patricia, don’t.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but the feeling that something is wrong intensifies with each second.

Yefrem rises from his chair, his hand moving toward his concealed weapon. “Step away from the door.”

“What are you talking about? This is Rufus Lipsey, someone I’ve worked with for years.” She’s eyeing him warily now.

The doorbell rings, followed by a voice calling through the door. “Patricia, it’s Rufus. Open up.”

She frowns, looking uncertain. “He sounds… off.”

“Patricia, step back from the door.” Yefrem’s voice carries the kind of authority that comes from years of life-or-death decision making.

She hesitates, hand still on the door handle, clearly torn between trusting her longtime colleague and listening to warnings from people she barely knows. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Maybe, but paranoid people live longer.” Yefrem moves toward her. “Please, just step away from the door.”

I watch her face as she weighs the decision. Years of federal training telling her to trust established relationships and procedures against instinct that something feels wrong about this entire situation. The decision gets made for her when bullets tear through the door.

Wood splinters explode inward as automatic weapon fire shreds the door and frame. Patricia stumbles backward, pieces of debris cutting her face and arms. If she had opened that door, she would be dead now.

Yefrem tackles her to the floor, covering her body with his own as more rounds punch through the walls above us. Plaster dust fills the air, and I hear shouting from outside the apartment.

“Stay down!” Leonid has his weapon drawn, positioning himself to cover the destroyed doorway. “There are multiple shooters with automatic weapons.”

I crawl toward the kitchen area, looking for cover behind the refrigerator while struggling to extract the Glock on my hip. Thiswas a trap, but not the kind we expected. Someone knew about this meeting and sent killers instead of prosecutors.

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