I hear the car door open behind me as Constance steps out and walks up beside me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to her.
“I couldn’t hear what was being said,” she replies.
“Ah, you must be Ms. Monroe. In order to make amends,” Sergei continues, “we have already authorized a deposit of five hundred thousand dollars into your father’s checking account. Think of it as part of a settlement to aid in rebuilding not just his restaurant, but also some goodwill.”
I glance at Constance, knowing before she speaks how she’ll respond. Her voice shakes with fury.
“You can keep your blood money,” she spits. “You think you can pay me to forget that your men burned my father alive? You think I’m going to forgive everything you destroyed? I want justice. Not compensation.”
In the silence that follows I can hear Salvatore clicking out a message on his phone. “That’s only part of their offer,” he explains as a horn beeps just outside the gate to the junkyard. “The other is just being delivered, now.”
I wave to the yard supervisor, who slides the gate open and lets in a small, unassuming little blue Kia. It pulls to a stop nearby, and two heavyset, well-dressed men step out of the front seats. They open the rear door and drag out Kirill Volkov, whose hands are bound behind his back. They shove him forward, hard enough that he staggers and falls to his knees.
“Kirill not only ordered and led the botched ordeal at Monroe’s, but he also ordered attacks on you and your family, Mr. Luciani,” Sergei explains. “After his blundering, your police crackdown has caused us significant losses in investments we’ve made in your city. We hope that by turning him over to you for judgement, we can attempt to reset our relationship.”
Constance stands beside me, jaw locked tight, breathing sharp enough to cut. I place a hand on her arm to make sure she doesn’t bolt the short distance to Kirill and try to strangle him with her bare hands yet.
“You sent Alexei and Kirill into my city and used them to set up a distribution network right under my nose. You never thought to speak to me first, to try to come to some agreement before unleashing these animals in my city?”
It’s Alexei Volkov who responds this time, his voice thin and tinny through the laptop speaker. “It was my mistake. I tried to instruct Kirill on your ways of doing business. He was supposedto schedule meetings with you and pay proper tribute to your family. Instead, he kept what would have been yours for himself and attempted to cover up his embezzling by having you removed as the head of the family. His blundering and greed have caused us significant losses, as Sergei mentioned, and now?—”
“Now his life is forfeited,” Sergei interrupts, his thick accent grim. “The Bratva would have dealt with him personally for his crimes against our family, but we hope that turning him over to you for judgement can begin to repair some of the damage that has been done. A street war serves none of our interests, and with this offer, we want to put this unpleasantness behind us.”
Before I can offer any reply, the chirp of a siren draws all of our eyes to the junkyard gate, which had been left wide open. With their bubble lights flashing, six black SUV’s pull into the lot and quickly surround our group.
The man on the computer, Frank, starts to close the laptop before Salvatore throws a hand up to stall him. “Maximo, what is this? Why would you bring the authorities into our mediation?”
As the trucks skid to a stop and the fake officers begin pouring out of the vehicles, I hold up a hand to my men to hold them back. “Wait!” I bark at Spicy, who’s wearing a “Police” windbreaker over a suit of body armor.
I then turn my attention to Salvatore and the Bratva who I can still see on the computer screen. “I brought the police to prove to you something you haven’t seemed to completely grasp. This is my town. These are my police, and they enforce my will.”
“Why would you involve them?” Alexei Volkov demands from the computer. “Arresting Kirill can only hurt both of us if they cut a deal to make him talk!”
“You still don’t understand,” I practically growl the words. “Constance, here is the man who killed your father, just as I promised you. Retrieve your gun from the truck and finish him if that’s what you still want.”
I hear the door to the Escalade open and then slam behind me, but I keep my eyes on Kirill Volkov. His hands are bound behind him with zip-ties, and he has a gag in his mouth. He’s on his knees until he sees Constance storm past me racking the slide on her pistol. He stares at her in wide-eyed horror before falling backwards, desperately trying to push himself away across the gravel lot. The two men who dragged him out of the Kia and threw him to the ground wisely back away as she stalks him down and stands above him, leveling her gun at his chest.
She doesn’t pause to say anything, and her hand is steady as she stares down at the man who ordered the murder of her father. The crack of her first shot snaps through the yard. Then a second. A third as Kirill’s body jumps and spasms, then shudders limply at her feet.
Salvatore Bianchi, his men, and the Bratva elders on the computer all stare at us in shock as I raise my hand again to the gathered officers and make a spinning motion in the air, then point back out the gate.
Spicy understands immediately and barks out, “Load up! We’re leaving,” to his men, who immediately pile back into their trucks and begin backing out of the junkyard.
Constance turns her back on Kirill’s corpse, and as she walks back over to me, I can see the trembling in her hands. Her determination has been unwavering, and now, I can only imagine the rush of emotions she must be feeling. “Are you okay?” I whisper to her as she draws even with me.
“I will be,” she answers with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Max. For keeping your promise. For helping me get through allthis…” Her voice trails off, and I can see in her eyes she’s struggling to hold back tears.
“Why don’t you wait in the truck while I finish things up here,” I tell her as I reach over and give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You did perfect, Constance. Your father would be proud of you. I know I am.”
She nods at me and then walks over to the Escalade, opening the rear door and climbing into the back seat. I turn my attention back to Salvatore and the Bratva, who are speaking to each other on the computer.
I call out to Enzo’s crew who are still watching impassively nearby. “Take the body over to the crusher. There’s a car already loaded. Throw him inside and get rid of him.”
All six of the men immediately walk over and after a brief conversation, four of them pick up Kirill Volkov’s corpse and carry it across the yard. The other two come back to stand guard near me as I walk over to Salvatore. Only one face is still on the computer, Sergei Ivankov. The others have apparently disconnected when my police surprise arrived.
“I did not understand, at first, why the police were here,” Sergei said. “Now I do. You wanted us to see who is in charge in New York City.”
