Chapter 12 - The Sins of the Father
Z
The basement beneath the Callaway shipping warehouses was a place where light went to die. The air tasted of salt, rust, and copper. It had been forty-eight hours since the attack at the museum, and the city was in a state of martial law. The mayor had spun the event as a terrorist attack, buying us time and police cover while our syndicate hunted down every last Volkov operative in Chicago. But the real answers were chained to a steel chair in the center of the damp, echoing room.
The Russian enforcer, whose name we learned was Grigori, was a tough bastard. Reed's best interrogators had spent a day and a half breaking his fingers, extracting his teeth, and applying electrical currents to his wounds, but the man had only spat blood and laughed. He was a zealot, utterly devoted to Alexei Volkov.
I stood behind the two-way glass in an observation room, wearing a dark turtleneck and slacks, my arms crossed, watching the brutal scene unfold. Reed stood beside me, his jaw clenched tightly.
"He won't break," Reed said quietly, exhaustion etched deep into the lines of his face. "These old-guard Russians are conditioned for this. We are wasting time. Alexei knows she's alive. We need to move you and Ava out of the country."
"Running only delays the inevitable, Reed," I replied, my eyes fixed on the bloody man in the chair. "Dante ran, and it didn't save him. If Alexei wants his granddaughter, he will hunt her to the ends of the earth. The only way to stop this is to cut the head off the snake in Moscow. But we need to know how they breached the museum. We had a six-tier security perimeter. Someone gave them the blueprints. Someone on the inside opened the door."
I didn't wait for Reed to argue. I pushed open the heavy steel door and walked into the interrogation room. The scent of blood was overpowering. Grigori lifted his swollen, battered head, a grotesque smile stretching across his ruined face when he saw me.
"Ah," Grigori croaked, blood bubbling on his lips. "The little bird comes to play. Your men have no imagination, Sarah. They do not know how to inflict true pain."
I pulled a steel folding chair out and sat down directly in front of him, close enough to feel his ragged breath. I didn't bring any weapons. I didn't bring pliers or car batteries. I brought a sleek, silver tablet.
"You're right, Grigori," I said softly, my voice conversational. "Physical pain is limited by biology. The body eventually shuts down. It goes into shock. But psychological pain? That is infinite."
I tapped the screen of the tablet and turned it toward him. The video feed was live. It showed a small, modest apartment in St. Petersburg, Russia. A young woman was sitting at a kitchen table, helping a little boy with his homework.
Grigori’s eyes widened, the manic defiance instantly draining from his face. He strained against the chains, a low, guttural noise escaping his throat.
"Her name is Yelena," I said smoothly, watching his devastation. "Your daughter. And the boy is your grandson, Misha. Beautiful boy. Looks just like you before my men ruined your face."
"Do not touch them," Grigori snarled, panic finally breaking his resolve. "They have nothing to do with this!"
"Neither did my daughter," I replied, my voice turning to ice. "But you put a knife to her throat anyway. You think because you serve Alexei Volkov you are untouchable? I am Sarah Callaway. I control the ledger. I spent five million dollars this morning to purchase the building your daughter lives in. I own the local police captain. In exactly two minutes, heavily armed men are going to kick that door down. If you want them to live, you will tell me exactly who sold us out at the museum."
Tears cut through the blood and grime on Grigori’s face. The fanaticism was gone, replaced by the universal terror of a parent. He looked at the screen, then up at me, realizing with absolute certainty that I was not bluffing. I had become the monster I needed to be to protect my child.
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"It was Marcus," Grigori choked out, sobbing brokenly. "Marcus gave us the codes. He hates you. He thinks a woman has no place running the syndicate. He made a deal with Alexei. The child for the city."
I tapped the screen, freezing the feed, and stood up, smoothing the front of my shirt. I looked at Reed, who was standing in the doorway, his face a mask of cold fury. The inner circle had a traitor. And the punishment for treason was absolute.
