Dark Mafia Kings by Penelope Wylde
Chapter Twelve
Two hours later Sevastyan descended into the bowels of Haven. Matteo behind him.
Roman wouldn’t be far behind.
Finally out of sight from the club’s patrons, the tension carried between his shoulder blades eased. He rolled his shoulder, the soreness more evident tonight than most. The bullet he’d taken when some dumb ass tried to take out his father years ago and missed left permanent nerve damage.
He glanced at the clock over another bank of computer monitors to his right. By now Seraphina was probably rounding out her shift and getting ready to head home.
Matteo went straight for a chair backed up against the wall with clear visuals to both entrances. The man was paranoid as the day was long. Nothing would change there any time soon.
Positioned along the left wall was a set of computers. The closed-circuit feed gave them a bird’s eye view of the entire three floors like the monitors in his office. No room except his office and this room were left unmonitored.
Except tonight the monitors were busy running the facial recognition software while more images filled the others—death records, business statements, names, and associates of people who were members of their club.
Lucian sat manning the monitors, shoulders hunched over and nose buried in data that filled his screen. Their resident hacker might come off as nerdy but the man could bury a blade in flesh and not flinch.
He’d witnessed it. Now Lucian wore his hair cut short, but when he’d met him years ago he’d kept it long. After a fucker grabbed it one night and tried to put a blade through his skull for nothing more than being associated with Sevastyan, Lucian had cut it.
Dressed in slacks similar to his own, Lucian had discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves to his shirt. Judging by the creases, that appeared to have been hours ago.
“Missed you out on the floor tonight.” Sevastyan knew the man hated all the show-boating and preferred pouring over the data at his fingertips. While Matteo liked to mingle with the people to gather intel, Lucian preferred his own form of digging. According to him with the amount of tech in the world, he could find any piece of information on anyone given enough time.
“Good, you’re here,” Lucian answered, swiveling around in his chair. “Heard about the little scene in your office last night. What the fuck?”
Grey eyes met his.
When Sevastyan didn’t offer a reply Lucian pushed on. “Some of the male members are commenting. Word on the floor is that the coldhearted boss finally gave in to temptation. Again. What the fuck, man? I thought we agreed... together or nothing.”
“The floor seems to talk a lot.” A thin thread of irritation wound through his tone.
Lucian turned to Matteo giving him the same deathly stare.
Matteo spread his hands in front of him, not caring. “We were just talking.”
“With her sucking you off. Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too, bro.”
“No fucking honor,” Lucian muttered.
Matteo gave a cocky grin.
Sevastyan cranked a single brow at Lucian. Their in-house hacker worked hard to stay out of people’s business for the most part, but Sevastyan knew it wouldn’t be that way where Seraphina was concerned. He expected the push back.
“It wasn’t planned. She surprised us.”
Lucian nodded, turning back to monitors. “Sure. That’s what it looked like.”
Sevastyan smiled. His friend’s sharp eyes never missed a detail and he hadn’t expected him to miss the little show they put on with Seraphina last night to go unnoticed. The cameras were an extension of Lucian and he knew the bastard watched the whole thing go down.
He almost felt sorry for the man.
Raised in an orphanage and bounced around from family to family, like many men, Lucian turned to the first thing he found that offered a stable income—arms dealing.
Lucian had been the east coast's youngest arms dealer for a time and made a damn nice chunk of money doing it—a legit multi-millionaire by the age of twenty-three. He’d offered everyone in on the deal, but he’d let the men fly without him. By that time Sevastyan had his hands full with a dying mother and too much rage to be of use to anyone back then.
Six years in, the men grew tired of the death their deals brought around and they stepped out of the life. For nearly seven years they all lived in peace. He shed the mafia life, opting to run a small bar out west and the men joined him. They were at peace.
Then Mikhail died and he pulled them back into the darkness like a selfish bastard.
And here they sat. Men they swore to never be. Digging into the filthy darkness of the mafia life looking for a killer.
“What did she use to get past the third-level locks?” Lucian popped a piece of candy into his mouth from a bag in the middle of the table.
“She swiped a keycard. Monitor it. See where else it is used in the building for a while. I’m not sure if she played her angles right or if the guard gave it to her, but Seraphina had no problem getting her hands on the card. Watch where the guard goes and if there’s any suspicious activity and pull his file. Maddox’s too. I want to refresh my memory.”
Lucian looked up with doubt written all over him. “We don’t exactly employ legit people with paper trails. We’re not in that kind of business.”
“I know.” Sevastyan cut him off abruptly. “Just keep an eye on them.”
“I’ll pull records and anything else I can find. Or we could just fire them and move on. Less risk if you think they’re catching on to what we’re really doing here.”
In went another gumdrop.
Sevastyan considered Lucian. “I’m not ready to step off that ledge yet, but it doesn’t hurt to cover our asses.”
Lucian angled his head to the side. “Maddox’s been a good asset to have on the ground. He keeps the clients in their place. It would definitely be a shame to lose him. I’ll look into amping up our security so we don’t have any more surprises. Maybe we should consider some closed feed cameras here and upstairs.” Lucian scribbled something in a notebook, not really wanting an answer. “I’ll speak to Roman.”
Roman was the people person of the group and handled security with Lucian and the last man that rounded out their motley crew of misfits.
“Speaking of, how long do we have to wait? Anyone heard from Roman or is he still on the floor?” Matteo swiped a candy and received a growl from Lucian. Like kids at times, he swore.
Of all four of them, Matteo was the more tactical. Always making sure everyone was where they belonged. He’d been that way since childhood.
He could split a stray hair off a drug lord’s head five hundred yards out in the middle of a hurricane and in the same breath convince an informant that sharing confidential information to the Volkov family was in their best interest.
Sevastyan sidestepped the full pot of coffee Lucian had the foresight to put on and angled for the fresh bottle of Moskovskaya. With a fresh tumbler in hand, he poured a couple of fingers’ worth and shot it back.
The smooth burn hit the back of his throat and he let the welcomed sizzle find its way south to work over the knots of tension that had taken root since he spread Seraphina over his secretary’s desk.
Seeing the mountain of files in the middle of the conference table Lucian printed out for tonight’s meeting, he poured another.
Sevastyan settled in a chair. “Second order of business.”
“Don’t we need to wait for the last man?” Matteo asked.
“No. I need this checked out.” Sevastyan slipped out the matchbook from his shirt pocket and slid it down the length of the table to Lucian.
He snatched it and turned the cardboard between his fingers.
“Open it.” Sevastyan waited, tossing back the rest of his drink.
Lucian whistled low as he considered the worn material, absentmindedly rubbing at his thigh. “Any reason why I am looking at your tattoo on a matchbook? I mean it’s not exact but pretty damn close if you ask me.”
He wondered too. Only he and Mikhail shared the same neck tattoos.
Not many people knew that fact. If he had to guess, either Seraphina was really good with details from the very few times he’d changed his shirt in the office and she’d caught a glimpse through the window, or she knew more about him than he did her. Either way didn’t settle well with him.
Sevastyan shook his head. “Seraphina had it on her last night. It slipped from somewhere in that uniform of hers and she didn’t notice.” The more he chewed on the details, the more bitter they became.
“Forget about the drawing for now. It’s the number along the bottom that has me intrigued.” Sevastyan reclined his full weight against the soft leather back of his chair.
Lucian flicked the stiff cardboard with the back of his middle finger. “Interesting indeed. Any particular reason why she needed access to the office? Why she went through so much trouble to get in there?”
Sevastyan inhaled. “Good question. Her answer: deliver a note but she can’t lie worth shit.”
Lucian slipped the half-used pack of matches in the stack of files. “Before we signed her on, I did a background check. She looked clean even if overqualified for the job. We might have missed something.”
He pulled his laptop in front of him and after a few seconds of keystrokes he looked up. “Nothing out of the ordinary on the résumé and it’s as I remember it. Nothing in the criminal system and no known affiliations with the crowds we target.” Over the laptop screen, Lucian looked up and shrugged. “I’ll do some more digging, see what comes up. One thing is for certain, not one soul can be this squeaky clean. She doesn’t even have an unpaid library stub. To me, something is off about our girl.”
“Find a way to fire her. Get her out of here. There’s no way she can stay here. It’s fucking with all of our heads.”
Lucian nodded. “You might as well put a bulls-eye on her back and send her out as target practice.”
Sevastyan tilted his empty tumbler toward the stack of files. “You texted. Said you had something for us? Give us a preliminary while we wait for Roman.”
“Right, down to the third item of business then.” Lucian rolled to the bank of computers to his right and with a few swipes across the keyboard, switched the monitors to their private feed that linked to their secure database.
“We have a lead and it smells putrid down to the last period on the last fucking slip of paper in the file. Something about this one, I don’t know.” Lucian’s face pulled into a grim frown. “Something doesn’t sit right. I can feel it here.” He patted his chest.
Sevastyan agreed. “When does it ever feel right, man?”
In the last five months he’d learned just how deep his father’s connection went and how far he would go to turn a profit. Human trafficking. Sex slaves. Gun running and arms dealing. They were the most profitable. Casinos and restaurants were just a way to keep the money clean.
From there the list went on.
What burned most. His father dragged his brother into the middle of it.
Roman, their interrogator, stalked in from the opposite side of the room through a narrow panel that swung out from behind the monitors, Thick black hair in a cross between a ponytail and a bun hung from the back of his head and swayed with each step. He didn’t know how the guy suffered through having all that hair.
At six-five and with light eyes, he also had strong-boned features that resembled a Norse god of modern times. He’d never met a man that Roman couldn’t break. The few times the man walked the main floor of the club, he played the part of a playboy with an irresistible charm. While he was good at getting CIs to spill intel, he had a soft side for the ladies.
Lucian tossed a thumb drive across the table to Roman, who slipped it into a computer console. With a couple of clicks, he pulled up several images. Photo after photo of various colored shipping containers at different angles filled the main screen.
Sevastyan stood, taking Roman’s place at the head of the table. “Five months ago several containers went missing from The Crowne Global Shipping. I’ve tracked down a few people who owe me. From what they’ve shared, Crowne Global is dirty and deserves a deeper look.”
He opened another file loaded with several crime scene photos, adding a macabre tone to the night. “A few days after your brother’s death, the body of Alfredo Crowne turned up nailed to one of his own containers. Crucified is more like it. It didn’t hit our radar because we couldn’t find ties back to your brother or father.”
“Until your friend spoke up.”
Lucian nodded, opening another shot, this one showing the depth of depravity inflicted on the victim.
Roman continued. “In case you’ve had your head in the sand for any length of time, this gentleman was the billionaire and owner of Crowne Global.”
Matteo whistled low. “Poor fucker. I mean, I know you don’t get to be in his position without making a few enemies but, that’s a special kind of hate to do that level of harm to a body.”
“Looks personal.” Everyone nodded in agreement to Sevastyan’s gruff observation.
Sevastyan watched Lucian who shook his head in disagreement. “Nah. The motive behind this crime has money and power written all over it. Hate had nothing to do with it. It was all business. I’ve seen it before. The cartel families in Mexico and farther south operate the same. I’ve gone up against them a time or two.”
Ghosts flitted across Lucian’s expression, but Sevastyan didn’t press. They all had their own shit to deal with. Their own demons to kill.
“My most recent encounter had me pinned down in a town so small you could spit from one side to the other. It wasn’t even on the map, but it was pivotal all the same. My point, you’d be surprised what people kill over.”
Lucian scrubbed a hand over his head, and for a second Sevastyan could see the wear of far more years that the man should carry on him for his age.
Lucian pointed at the screen that displayed the crime scene. “Only money, power, or vengeance earns a man a death like that.”
He was right.
“What else?”
Lucian pushed up from his chair and took over, a small limp evident in his left leg.
“There were five containers that went missing. You should know local badges are working their angles. We can look but not push too hard unless we want them looking into shit they have no business seeing.”
Sevastyan knew what his friend meant.
Matteo propped himself on the table. “I told you something doesn’t make sense about all this. I remember hearing something in the media about the missing containers, but it was barely a blip. Why haven’t we heard about Crowne’s death before now?”
“I had the same question. My source says the local police captain kept his death out of the papers with the pull of a few strings.”
Roman spoke up. “Do we know what was in the containers? I know we’re all thinking it, but is there any confirmation?”
“Yes and no.”
“What do you have?”
“We found after some late-night digging that all the containers were bound for Russia. They were transported to this shipping yard for no more than three hours before they completely disappeared literally within hours of arriving in his shipping yard.”
By late-night digging the man meant he’d worked overtime slipping through the company’s digital back door and combed through the contents of the company’s servers. Shipping manifests, client names, the whole digital footprint of the five-decade-old company. One thing Lucian did in spades was his due diligence.
“Tell us about the shipping company,” he turned his attention to Lucian.
“Owner: Alfredo Crowne. Home bases are here and in New York City. As you can see in the file Crowne Global Shipping is an elite company known to handle some of the world’s most challenging shipping needs with a prestigious reputation of always delivering. Around since the mid-’70s Crowne and all three sons have helped build an empire that expands the globe. UK, Russia, South Africa, China, and here in our backyard. There aren’t many countries this company hasn’t done business with in one form or another.”
“Is this a case of robbery?”
Sevastyan shook his head. “We’re not so lucky, I don’t think,” he countered. “I’m thinking it’s something more sinister. The local police department received an anonymous tip two hours before the containers went missing, saying there were humans inside. The FEDs get called in, by the time they arrive the containers are nowhere to be found. Even Houdini couldn’t have pulled something off like that.”
“By now those containers are probably at the bottom of the Atlantic where no one will find them,” Matteo voiced the chilly thoughts they were all thinking.
The pit of his stomach burned with disgust. He couldn’t prove it yet, nor could the authorities by the looks of it, but this had the Volkov name written all over it.
They all stood ready for the long ass night to end but Lucian held up a hand.
“You’re gonna want to stay a few minutes because that’s not all.” He pointed at the middle of the table where a stack of pictures were placed.
“That’s the only picture of the Crowne family. Three sons. I mentioned them earlier. They work for the company now. One brother was in the Marines for eight years. The other two worked for their father straight out of college.”
“And?” This was starting to bore him.
“And if all that isn’t interesting enough, take a look.” Lucian pulled a folder from the bottom of the pile and flipped it open to reveal several more photos. These were of a beautiful college-aged brunette. The kind of girl statistics loved, unfortunately.
“The police chief’s daughter has gone missing after visiting our city on college break. When his feathers are ruffled you know he’s going to start poking around.”
Sevastyan understood.
“Last known location was a club a few miles from here. From the reports, her best friend said she came back from the bathroom only to find their table empty. At first, she didn’t think anything of it. Thought she was out on the dance floor with a couple of guys they hooked up with. By the time she suspected foul play and called her father, it was too late. My source says it’s been two weeks and the authorities have run into wall after wall.”
Had it been anyone else, the girl would have fallen through the cracks. She was lucky to come from a family with connections and political reach to buy some answers.
Matteo palmed his phone and snapped a picture of the missing girl’s close-up. “I’ll do some digging, ask around with a few people I know. Might as well add her to the pile. Find some answers and he’ll owe us.”
Sevastyan nodded. “Good idea. We’ll go from there. We all know kidnappings have risen in the last two months. Haven has come under scrutiny. We need to tighten our belts, get our focus, and keep it. The local detectives have been here once already and I know you can all agree that we can’t afford the police sniffing around in our business. And we sure as hell don’t want them back. I know I’m not the only one connecting the dots here.”
From beside him, Matteo’s phone rang. He leaned in. “I have to take this. One of my contacts may have a lead on Mikhail.”
Sevastyan’s gaze connected with his. “Keep me informed.”
“Always do.”
