Stolen Jewel by Alexis Abbott
Stefan
It is a dark, gloomy day as the car rumbles across the striking scenic views of the Brooklyn Bridge. The city of New York gleams like dark gems in the pelting rain. The sky is gray and filled with swarming clouds. The streets are packed with people carrying umbrellas of every shade, their faces and bodies shrouded underneath. Cars pack in tightly around us, sardining on the bridge to bottleneck into the city. I look over at Jewel. She’s gazing blank-eyed out the windshield, and I can tell she’s deep in thought. We left the cabin early, early this morning before dawn so that we could make it to the city by noon. That gives us plenty of time to set up and go where we’re needed. As we roll off the bridge and into the zooming metropolis of Manhattan, I calmly captain the vehicle toward a rather nondescript hotel in Harlem.
“Are we almost to the hotel?” Jewel asks, glancing at me.
“Just another twenty minutes or so. It may not be the most luxurious stay, but it has the necessities,” I tell her.
“Hopefully I won’t be there long enough to need those necessities,” she says pointedly.
I reach over and pat her leg gently. “Hopefully we can use them together tonight, once the job is done,” I brighten. But she’s still reticent.
“What if you don’t come back?” she murmurs.
“I’ll come back for you, Jewel. Do not worry about that,” I affirm.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Run it by me one more time. Please.”
“You will wait at the hotel. I will go on foot across town to intercept the money exchange meeting between Victor Brusilov and the pakhan,” I explain.
“Where’s the meeting taking place again? Soul-something?” she tries to recall.
“Solyanka Sonya’s,” I clarify. “It’s a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.”
She frowns as we turn a corner. “How did you know about this meeting?”
“My personal contact in the brotherhood. Lev. He’s an important man to know, because he knows everyone else. He has a good reputation, too. Men respect him. He’s honest, but he understands nuance, which makes him the perfect liaison for this mission,” I assure her.
“How do you know this guy?” she presses.
I smile. She’s in true lawyer mode. “Lev and I have known each other for many years, malyshka. He’s one of the first allies I made when we moved to America from the motherland. He has a strong relationship with the owners of Solyanka’s-- Sonya and Pavel. He has done a lot of good work for them and the neighborhood, so their alliance is firm. Lev is also closely tied with the pakhan. He’s made a name for himself as a big player who knows how to lay low, and the pakhan respects that,” I go on. “Lev is the man I met up with on my supply run the other day. He’s the one who gave me much-needed information.”
Jewel whips around to look at me, both impressed and frustrated. “Well, I wish you had just told me all of this stuff back then, but at least I know now. If you trust this Lev guy, then I trust him, too. I just hope he doesn’t betray us in front of the head hauncho. Speaking of which… who is this pakhan? What does that mean?” she asks.
“It’s complicated, but there’s a rigid hierarchy within the Bratva,” I explain to her as we pull closer to the hotel. “Lev and I are avtorityet, or captains. We answer to Brusilov, who is our local chapter’s obshchak. You can think of him as a money-holder.”
“So he’s like the big bad accountant?” Jewel remarks.
I snort. “More like a bookkeeper who protects the treasury by force,” I answer. “He’s the middleman, but he’s also my superior. The pakhan is a cold, calculating, but fair man. He cares more for the big picture rather than the details. He’s too big to get caught up in the petty corruption Victor and your father are running. He has plenty of subordinates like Brusilov and the avtorityet to do his dirty work.”
“Well, if there’s a strict hierarchy, you answer to Brusilov, and he answers to the pakhan, what makes you think he will listen to you against your own superior?” Jewel questions.
I drive up into the concrete parking garage underneath the hotel and start patrolling for a place to park. “The pakhan is a fair man. He values loyalty. I have proven myself a loyal servant, driven by competence and morality-- when I can make it fit. He sees all of that. Brusilov may see me as a liability, maybe even a threat. But the pakhan knows I am an asset.”
I park the car and we step out once I make sure the coast is clear. I grab our bags and Jewel sticks close to my side as we make our way to the elevator. She clings to me while we get her checked into the room. It’s a small suite, dimly lit and sparsely furnished in a minimalist style, and it has a view of the city. You can see the Brooklyn Bridge from here. Jewel sits on the edge of the bed looking nervous. I hand her a burner phone.
“Don’t answer the phone or the door for anyone, not even room service or cleaning staff,” I tell her. “This phone should only ring one time, from this number.”
I scribble my burner’s number on the hotel notepad on the desk, then turn back to Jewel. She looks so dainty and small and helpless on the edge of the bed, biting her lip and looking downright heartbroken that I’m leaving. I walk over and grab her hand. I pull her to her feet and lead her to the big, wide window overlooking the city. I point at a drab, dark building in the distance, mixed in among the shining towers and apartment high-rises.
“You see that building? That is where I’ll be. If you get scared, if you feel alone, just remember I’m not so far away. Even when we’re apart, we’re together, malyshka,” I encourage her gently.
Jewel’s brown eyes shine with tears as she leans into me. I put an arm around her and kiss the soft crown of her head. “I’m so scared for you, Stefan,” she murmurs.
“I know, printsessa. But I can do this. Trust me, I have embarked on much more difficult missions than this,” I tell her. It’s partly true. I’ve been through a lot, but this mission definitely has a different feel to it. This time, I’m on the right side.
I flash her the thick file of printed documents gleaned from Freddie Albany’s computer, once I was able to initially crack the passcode. From there, it was too easy to steal his files and put together a stack of proof. I also carefully show her my concealed weapon, a short-range pistol. Her eyes go wide.
“Once the pakhan hears me out, he will side with me,” I insist. “And if there’s any trouble, I have my weapon ready for a fight.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jewel whimpers.
“If it does, I’ll be prepared. I can do this, Jewel. I’ll take care of this and we can move on to the next part of our plan. We won’t have to dash from shadow to shadow anymore. We’re getting closer to living in the sun, my love,” I conclude.
She stands on tiptoes to kiss me on the lips. I kiss her passionately back. I hand her the car keys and she pockets them.
“If I’m not back within twenty-four hours, you take the car and you drive as far away as you can, okay?” I tell her.
She sniffles and nods. “Please come back.”
I pat her cheek. “I will, my Jewel. Stay by the phone. Wait for my call.”
I turn to leave and she walks me to the door. “I love you, Stefan!” she cries.
I give her one more kiss as I’m stepping out the door. “And I love you, malyshka.”
Walking away from her is damn near impossible, but I force my feet to keep moving. I take the elevator down to the lobby and walk out into the drizzling rain. I put up my black hood as I walk to the bus station. My location is blocks and blocks away. I could walk, but I’d rather duck into public transportation for a little cover-- not from the rain, but from prying eyes. Like before, I know that every moment I spend in this city could be monitored. The Bratva has eyes all over New York, maybe even on these buses I ride. But unless the brotherhood is now hiring young single mothers and the elderly, it looks like today’s bus crowd is harmless. Still, I keep my eyes peeled and my hand ready to reach for my pistol every step of the way. I take a bus, then walk a few blocks, then take another bus. On the second ride, I give Lev a call.
“Zdraste, comrade. Are you en route?” he asks immediately.
“Da. Arriving shortly. All in position?” I reply.
“Wolves in the den,” Lev says. “Four deep, each pack. Hen is roosting in the back.”
“Understood. Thank you, friend,” I answer.
“Udachi,” he says, meaning ‘good luck.’ He hangs up.
The bus squeals up to the stop. I quietly deboard and walk a couple more blocks, then turn down a familiar narrow alleyway off the main thoroughfare. Instead of taking the steps down to the front entrance, I go around to the brick wall at the back. I tap lightly on a rusty-looking door, and moments later, a grumpy woman’s face pokes out. She scrutinizes my appearance for a second, then lets me in.
“Stefan,” she mutters.
“Da, Sonya,” I answer quietly.
She nods and starts shooing me through the kitchen. She brings me to the double doors that look out into the dimly-lit restaurant. I crouch down and peek through to take stock of the scene. As Lev implied, Brusilov and the pakhan are seated at the bar, with barkeep Pavel serving them drinks. There are four other men, seated at other tables in pairs. They look to the untrained eye like an unassociated group of restaurant patrons, but they’re all here together. They are the modified, reduced-down entourage for Brusilov and the pakhan, respectively. No doubt they’re all heavily armed and ready to leap into action.
There’s a tenuous balance of power in the room I can almost taste. They’re prepared for war, but they’re trying to be civil. Lev tipped off the pakhan that I would be showing up today. His men will either remain neutral or possibly even come to my aid if needed. But I know Brusilov and his men won’t take well to my intrusion. Sonya pokes my arm.
“Don’t break anything,” she hisses. “I can’t afford to replace any more chairs.”
I give the old woman a smile. “I will do my very best.”
“Da. You’d better. No more bullet holes in my tables, either,” she scolds as she hobbles off to tend the big bubbling pot of stew on the stove.
She leaves me to my own devices, and I decide it’s time to break in and make my move. I take out the thick folder of evidence in one hand, and keep my other poised on my pistol. There’s no telling how harsh the backlash will be, but I can’t turn back. With one last romantic, aching thought of my precious Jewel, I burst through the double doors with a bang.
Instantly, the dominoes start falling. The pakhan and Brusilov look over at me-- the latter doing a double take. The pakhan’s face doesn’t change at all except to give me the faintest smile and nod. Brusilov, on the other hand, looks downright apoplectic to see me here. He stands up and squares up, his hands balling into fists. His two men stand up at their table, too.
“Stefan, what are you doing here?” Brusilov demands.
“You are surprised to see me, Victor,” I growl as I stalk over to the bar. “Perhaps you did not think I would make it this far.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, brat, but you’re interrupting a very important meeting. I have business to discuss with the pakhan. My men can show you out,” Brusilov says in typical weaselly fashion.
There’s no illusion about what he means. His men would not simply ‘show me out’ but probably capture me, if not just kill me outright. To let them take me would be an act of suicide. I stand strong. The pakhan remains seated, his long fingers steepled together in front of him.
“Sit, Victor. Let us hear what our comrade has to say,” he commands in a gruff, smoky voice. He waves his hand, and Brusilov sits back down reluctantly.
Favor is tipping in my direction, and I’m going to ride it out. I pull out the thick packet of printed evidence and drop it on the counter in front of the pakhan. Brusilov is shooting daggers at me with his eyes as the pakhan flips through the papers.
“You bring me evidence. Tell me in your own words,” the pakhan instructs.
“Evidence of what?” Victor snarls.
I glare at Brusilov as he fumes on his bar stool.
“Our very own Victor Brusilov has involved himself with an ICE agent by the name of Freddie Albany to pursue corruption and destruction within our ranks,” I declare. “He and Mr. Albany conspired to embezzle funds, imprison the innocent, and kill anyone who would stand in their way.”
“How dare you speak of me like this?” Victor spits furiously.
The pakhan raises one hand to quiet him. “Go on, Stefan.”
“He put a bounty on my head in what I believe was an unsanctioned order of execution. And he further failed when he lost the captive, Freddie’s daughter,” I list off.
Brusilov bangs his fist on the counter. “I won’t listen to this slander! The girl is not lost. She’s dead. By your own bloody hands, Stefan!”
The pakhan lifts an eyebrow at me and I shake my head.
“No,” I reply with a smirk. “She’s alive.”
Victor’s face falls. He snaps his fingers. “Liar! Honorable pakhan, you must stop this man from embarrassing himself and the organization further.”
I take out my burner phone and dial a number, putting it on speaker phone as it rings. Everyone listens with rapt attention as I hold up the phone and the line clicks. The sweetest voice fills the air.
“Hello? Stefan?” Jewel says.
“I’m here, Jewel,” I answer, still holding up the phone. “Say hello to our friends.”
“Oh, um, hi there,” she says awkwardly.
“Are you alive?” I ask her, half-joking.
“Well, yeah. Of course. What’s going on, Stefan? Are you alright?” she asks.
The pakhan smiles broadly and nods.
I say into the phone, “Yes. I’m just fine. Hang tight.”
I hang up the phone, knowing Jewel is probably panicking in her hotel room trying to figure out exactly what happened. But right now, I’m more focused on the pakhan. Brusilov is sweating like a pig, his eyes bulging out of his ugly head as he realizes his evil plans are falling apart faster than he can mend them.
“Honorable friend, surely you won’t take this-- this pawn’s side over mine?” Victor appeals nervously. His two men are slowly standing to their feet. I keep an eye on them and my hand on my pistol.
“Stefan is a loyal servant and a skilled asset to the brotherhood,” the pakhan announces. “I never sanctioned his execution, nor the execution of the girl. There is enough evidence here to damn you to hell, Victor, but only the devil can take you there.”
“You two dare to turn on me?” Brusilov snarls. “I am obshchak! I have power here!”
“Go quietly or go to tell, Victor,” I growl.
He looks back and forth between us, totally stunned to be caught with his pants down. I give Pavel behind the bar a quick glance, and several things happen all at once. Pavel ducks down behind the bar counter. Victor whips out a knife big enough to decapitate a grown man and lunges for me, causing his two men to take out their guns.
Victor’s hand wraps around my throat and the other rears back, lifting the gigantic knife up in the air. I see it gleam in the brassy lighting before he brings it down, swinging right at my chest. In a split second, I knee him in the gut to break his swing, and while he’s momentarily winded, I fling my head forward to headbutt him-- hard. Victor yelps in pain and collapses to the floor while his two men pounce after me with their guns pulled. One of them takes partial cover behind the table while he closes one eye and aims his gun at me. The other runs up and tries to pistol-whip me, but I dodge out of the way fast enough. In his hurry to catch up, the guard trips over Brusilov and clatters to the floor beside his boss.
The third man fires one shot that glances over my shoulder and strikes a beer glass hanging to dry. It shatters into a thousand tiny shards. Not one to waste a weapon when it appears, I grab for the broken glass. Even as I feel a sharp edge of it slice my palm, I grip it tightly and swing my arm around just in time to smash the prickly, sharp glass into the first guard’s face as he stands up. He bellows in agony and falls to the floor, clutching his bloody face. Brusilov is struggling to get up as I push past them to go after the gunner. He looks petrified to see me coming after him, and he ducks down behind the table again.
By now, the pakhan’s entourage have leaped into action to protect him. They surround the pakhan and form a human shield, their own guns raised and pointed at the others.
Certain that he’s safe, I focus wholly on neutralizing our enemies. When the man with a bloody face staggers to his feet to inaccurately point his gun at me, I can tell he’s blinded with blood in his eyes. He tries to fire off another shot, but the gun malfunctions and slips from his wet hands. I hurriedly kick it away behind the bar counter and lunge after the guy. I quickly take care of the problem by putting my hands around the man’s throat. I throttle him until he’s blue in the face, then I cleanly twist his neck. He drops to the floor and I move on to the first gunner, hiding behind the table. He pops up again to point his gun, but his arm is shaking and the aim is way off. I grab his arm and twist it behind his back, forcing him to drop the gun. I kick it back to the bar with the other one.
“You’ll pay for this!” the man shrieks. His free hand smacks at my face. He’s feeling around, trying to gouge my eyes out. But I swiftly get control of both arms and summon all my brute strength to fling the man into the far wall. He hits the brick wall hard and falls to the ground in a still heap. I turn around just in time to see Victor, the true villain, eyeing me fiercely.
Brusilov makes another running jab at me, but I jump to block his hit. The big knife slashes my forearm and a spurt of scarlet blood sprays out. But the adrenaline won’t let me feel any pain. Instead, I grab Brusilov’s arms in mine and overpower him with my superior strength. I curl his arms back over his head until he’s screeching for mercy. I push him backward and he stumbles, only to rally and run right back at me with his knife up. In a split second, I decide there’s only one way to end it.
As he’s running at me, his beady eyes wild with fury, I shove a chair directly at him and he goes tumbling headfirst over it. He lets out a spine-chilling scream as he falls face-forward onto his own long, pointed blade. The knife juts right into his abdomen, where it sticks like a dagger. Blood gurgles from his mouth and his eyes bulge from his face as he takes his last shuddering breaths and collapses in a growing pool of his own blood.
Pavel slowly rises up from behind the bar, looking tired and pale. Sonya peeks out from the kitchen, shaking her head with disapproval at the mess. The guards around the pakhan ease up, giving me access to the older, distinguished man.
“Three kills, no gunfire,” the pakhan notes, sounding impressed but unbothered by the carnage all around us. He’s seen worse.
“Sonya said no more bullet holes,” I growl back, tucking my pistol away.
The pakhan rises and shakes my hand. “You have done good work, Stefan. I sincerely thank you for exposing Victor’s corruption. I owe you a favor.”
I nod, wipe the blood off my hands with a napkin, and growl, “You know what I want.”