Page 77 of The Mafia King's Baby

The conversation continues for another two hours, covering details about evidence locations, witness testimony, and the logistics of dismantling a corruption network that spans multiple states. Lipsey asks sharp questions designed to test the credibility of my information, while Patricia focuses on operational details about how the network functioned.

By the time we finish, the coffee smell has given way to the staleness that comes from spending too long in closed spaces. I can see in their faces they understand the value of what I’m offering.

“We’ll need time to review everything and coordinate with appropriate authorities.” Lipsey closes his legal pad and gathers his files. “A preliminary agreement is possible if the evidence checks out.”

“How much time?”

He shrugs. “Seventy-two hours for initial verification. If everything you’ve shown us is legitimate, we can begin formal arrangements for immunity and protection.”

I look at Patricia. “And until then?”

“Conditional release with monitoring.” Patricia produces an ankle bracelet from her briefcase. “You’ll be under house arrest at a secure federal facility, where your associates are being held. You’ll be reunited with them while we process the agreement.”

I nod my agreement. The ankle monitor feels heavier than expected as they fasten it around my leg, but it’s infinitely better than remaining in federal detention while they verify information I know is accurate. The important thing is getting back to Celia and making sure she’s safe while we wait for bureaucracy to catch up with necessity.

“One more thing.” I stand as they prepare to leave. “The corruption network knows about tonight’s events. They’ll be moving to protect themselves and eliminate evidence. If you wait too long to act on what I’ve given you, the opportunity will disappear.”

“We understand the urgency.” Lipsey pauses at the door. “But we also understand the consequences of moving too fast on allegations this serious.”

I incline my head. “Just remember that while you’re being careful, people might be dying.”

27

Celia

The quarters we’re assigned in a federal building feel more like a prison cell than a place of protection. Generic furniture sits arranged in sterile rooms, reinforced windows refuse to open, and the constant awareness that armed guards monitor our every movement from positions I can’t see wears on me. The building directory I glimpsed during our arrival listed it as the “Federal Witness Security Operations Center,” which sounds impressive but does nothing to calm the anxiety clawing at my chest.

I pace from the living room to the kitchen and back again, counting steps to keep my mind occupied. Forty-three steps each way, and I’ve made this circuit at least fifty times since they took Yefrem away eight hours ago. My feet ache, my back protests, and the morning sickness that I thought was improving has returned with a vengeance, probably triggered by stress hormones that can’t be good for the baby.

Leonid sits at the dining table with a book he took from the shelf. He’s ostensibly reading but is actually watching me with the kind of careful attention that suggests he’s more worried than he’s letting on. Every few minutes, he glances toward the reinforced door, and I catch him checking his phone even though he knows the agents confiscated our regular devices and gave us monitored ones instead.

“You should sit down.” He closes the book and turns to face me fully. “Pacing won’t bring him back faster, and you need to conserve your energy. He won’t be happy if I let you wear yourself out while waiting.”

“I can’t sit still.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend because frustration bleeds through despite my attempt to stay calm. “Every minute that passes is another minute they can use to build a case against him.”

“Yefrem is smart. He’s smarter than any prosecutor they can put in a room with him.” His voice carries the kind of confidence that comes from years of partnership, but I catch the uncertainty underneath. “If anyone can talk their way out of an impossible situation, it’s him.”

“What if they don’t want to listen? What if they’ve already decided he’s guilty and this whole immunity discussion is just a way to extract information before they throw him in prison for life?”

The question hangs in the air between us, giving voice to the fear that’s been growing since they led him away in handcuffs. I’ve seen enough crime dramas to know how federal prosecutors operate when they want convictions. They make deals, extract everything useful, and then find reasons to break those deals when it’s politically convenient.

“That won’t happen.” But Leonid doesn’t sound as certain as his words suggest.

“How do you know?”

“Because the evidence we have is too valuable for them to ignore, and because prosecuting Yefrem would mean protecting the same corrupt agents who tried to kill Assistant Director Hendricks.”

I want to believe him, but doubt gnaws at me like hunger. Federal bureaucracy doesn’t always follow logical patterns, and justice doesn’t always align with what makes sense. Sometimes, good people get destroyed by systems that are supposed to protect them. How many times did Gemma and I watch TV cop shows together and note that same issue? TV isn’t real life, but it’s hard to separate out facts and fears right now.

A sound outside makes me freeze mid-step. Vehicle engines, multiple ones, grow louder as they approach the building. I rush to the window despite knowing the reinforced glass will only show me shadows and general shapes.

“Leonid?” My voice comes out as a whisper.

He joins me at the window while both of us try to make out details through glass designed to prevent exactly what we’re attempting. “Could be shift change. Could be supply delivery.”

“Or it could be more agents coming to arrest us for additional charges we haven’t thought of yet.” My stomach dips at the thought. Until they secured us in this apartment, I wasn’t entirely sure we weren’t going to be charged too.

The vehicles stop, and I count at least three sets of headlights. The number seems too many for routine facility operations butnot enough for a full tactical response. It’s the kind of convoy that suggests official business but not immediate danger.

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