I know how this story will go. The fact that it was accidental won’t matter. I’ve seen how easily prosecutors can twist a story. They won’t just convince a jury that I’m a remorseless cold-blooded killer who planned to go to the same nightclub Jeffrey mentioned in the trial and followed him out to the back of the club—they’ll spin the story to the media and the city will eat it up.
It’d be nice to believe the justice system will treat me fairly, but I saw today that the law isn’t based on facts—it’s based on who can tell the best story.
And the best, most sensational story will be that the police chief’s daughter is a vigilante that took justice too far.
It will stain my father’s career and the city government will force him to step down in order to save face. Even if it’s proven to be accidental, the fact that I killed a man will always haunt both of our lives.
Jeffrey is silent, facedown on the asphalt. His hands that were clenched into fists slowly unfurl. I crouch down next to him again. He doesn’t try to hit me. I touch his arm. Nothing.
Shit.
I push him onto his back and start to do chest compressions.
He’s not dead yet and I can’t let him die.
This isn’t justice. This isn’t what I wanted at all.
4
Lev
The parking lot of Black Glacier is nearly empty.
When Daniil Trofimov approaches me, his size looks like an illusion. He’s large enough to make the few cars he passes resemble those toy cars that kids use.
“Hey, boss.” Daniil stops a couple of feet in front of me, cracking each one of his knuckles. His eyes sweep the parking lot. He’s a great lieutenant, but it’s mostly because his size intimidates everyone and he can lead soldiers to do what I need, which is invaluable. “Sorry to bother you, but I figured you’d wanna know.
No kidding, I’d ‘wanna know.’ The phone call brought me halfway across the city immediately, as few things can that aren’t directly business related.
“You’re certain it’s the chief’s daughter?” I ask. He nods. The song from the nightclub changes to something louder, the bass pulsing like a heartbeat.
“What has she been doing since you called?”
“She danced with her friend and then sat at the bar. When I walked out here, she was still at the bar.”
“Her father must have sent her.” I rub my hand over my throat.
I can only guess at the game that the police chief is playing with me here. Sending his own daughter in to scout me? There’s a certain kind of twisted logic in it, I suppose. She’s young enough that she could fit in and he wouldn’t know that we’ve researched him enough to know what she looks like.
It’s a fucking fishing expedition. They’re hoping to find a connection between my nightclub and the Bratva to nail my ass to the wall.
“Do you want me to handle it?” Daniil asks.
“It’s an insult,” I say.
“I’m sorry, sir—”
“Not you,” I cut him off. “The police. They think that they can just send a young woman to act as a lure and we’ll make a mistake just because she’s got tits. The cops in this city are turning to shit if they thought that would work.”
“Do you want me to deal with her?” he asks.
“No.”
“Sir, I know the pigs are shit.” He starts cracking his knuckles again. “But you know that you’ve grown your business large enough that it hides everything else. You’ve done better for us than any other boss. The police wouldn’t be suspicious of you at all if it weren’t for what your mother did.”
I stare at Daniil. He exhales hard enough that it sounds like he’s choking before he takes a half-step back, eyes wide with something akin to fear.
“I mean—I didn’t mean it like that all. I don’t think your mother did anything wrong. Your mother was a wonderful woman. I only meant that if it … I meant that it’s not your fault that the police are suspicious. If everything had started with you, they wouldn’t be suspicious at all. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything by that. Please, sir.”
I roll my wrist. There’s nobody around. He’s a large man, but he has a weak left knee and limited fighting experience. He’s used to fighting with a gun. I know he keeps his gun in a holster on his right side, but even if he made the poor decision to try to kill me, I’m close enough to disarm him and use the gun against him. I could claim self-defense. I could just walk away and the rest of the Bratva would clean up the mess for me. The police would never know. Not even Allison Harrington would know about it.
“Leave,” I order.
He moves faster than I’ve ever seen any full-grown man move. I head toward the nightclub.
The police chief’s daughter is waiting.
* * *
Jonathan sets the whiskey down in front of me. I hand him a twenty-dollar tip. He murmurs his gratitude before walking away. I’ve only seen him a few times, since I rarely come into Black Glacier, but he’s good enough at his job and he has the common sense to not draw attention toward me, which makes him preferable to most of the other bartenders.
Allison Harrington is about twenty feet away. She’s directly in my line of view when I look straight ahead. She’s different from the photo we got from one of the soldiers. In the photo, she was nearly five years younger and she was heading somewhere with a layer of makeup that made her look like an echo of every other teenager. She was pretty, but in a way that anyone else could be pretty.
Now, she’s not wearing any makeup
