not,” I replied. “From our intel, he’s gaining power even within the system. He and Wendell Hillman are working alliances inside and out.”
“Listen to yourself, Patrick. They’re gaining power through…alliances. You did that in Denver with the cartel. Detroit and Chicago, working together—”
I stood, my momentum sending my chair rolling into the desk. “No.”
“I’ve been looking into the bratva,” Reid said. “Usually when Ivanov travels he has one of these two men with him.”
The pictures of two men appeared on the screen above. One I recognized from Club Regal the night of the final round.
“I want to talk to Madeline,” Reid said, “and learn more about their roles.”
“Are you asking me?”
“Did she or didn’t she offer Sparrow any information that would help?”
“She did, but…”
“I know their names,” Reid went on. “The one on the right is Sasha Bykov. Sasha is short for Alexander. He’s listed as an employee at Ivanov Construction. The one on the left is Nikita Gorky. He’s listed as one of the top shareholders in the Michigan casino on the river across from Windsor.
“He was the one with Ivanov at the tournament. I want to know what I can’t learn on a search, their importance in Ivanov’s chain of command.”
“I hate making her relive—”
“I get it,” he said. “I understand your hesitation, but damn. I know she’s your wife. I know she’s been through a lot, but there’s no way she lived seventeen years with Ivanov and doesn’t have pertinent information.”
I thought back since our reunion. “She mentioned something,” I said, “about dissension within the ranks. She said we were different.”
Reid scoffed as his smile grew. “I’m satisfied with where I am and where Sparrow is.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
The steel door moved and wearing similar casual attire, Mason entered. Within his hands was the standard middle-of-the-night cup of coffee. His colorful arms were exposed below the short sleeves of his t-shirt and his legs sported the same colors between his basketball shorts and his canvas loafers. It was one of the only times of day he didn’t wear his cowboy boots.
“What are you satisfied about?” Mason asked.
“Not being the king,” I replied. “Backing Sparrow instead of fighting him for position.”
Mason nodded as he sat, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Fill me in.”
“Reid thinks,” I said, still pacing, “that if Madeline is correct about dissension in the Ivanov ranks, now that he’s lost Hillman’s support—which wasn’t really there—there may be someone from within looking to take over the bratva. If we can identify that person and offer our help, we could work out a truce between Chicago and Detroit.”
Mason leaned back and stared my direction. “Reid thinks that. What do you think?”
“I want Ivanov’s head on a fucking platter to lie at Madeline’s feet.”
“A little John-the-Baptist action, I get that. But what about Elliott?” Mason asked.
“Sparrow met with the CFO of the facility renting space from Elliott,” Reid said. “The company wants the tax breaks. They’re not loyal to Elliott. Sparrow plans to visit the queen regent today and learn where the aldermen fall on this. The loss of jobs would reflect on Chicago and if he can work to sabotage Elliott while keeping the employment numbers from tanking, it’s a win-win.”
My steps stilled. “I want more than Elliott losing one fucking building. He thought he had the right to purchase my wife.”
“And,” Mason said, “she’s upstairs, I assume, sleeping in your bed. That’s already a win.”
“He told the world she’s delusional.”
“Because Elliott doesn’t want the world to know he partakes in human trafficking.”
“We need to expose him,” I said, “without exposing Madeline’s role.” I retook my seat and spun it to a desk with keyboards and began typing.
“What are you searching?” Reid asked.
“The Charitable Heart Mission in Englewood.” A picture appeared on the screen. An old school turned mission, now a dilapidated structure with boarded windows. “There it is.”
“When did it close?” Mason asked.
“According to this article, it lost funding five and a half years ago after sheltering hundreds of runaways.”
The room was collectively silent.
“That’s nearly three years after Allister was gone,” Reid finally said. “How did we miss this?”
“The seemingly benign ones are the toughest to weed out,” I replied. “I haven’t thought of this place in years.”
“Okay, Allister was out of the picture as well as the Sparrow outfit’s interest in purchasing what this setup was selling. But McFadden was still going strong. Why cut funding?” Mason asked.
“Madeline is positive it was McFadden at the top of what she endured,” I said, the words