Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
As Frankie and Raphael walked into the foyer of the mega mansion that was the Rubinov command center, their voices echoed across the marble walls and ceiling decorated with images of religious scenes of betrayal. Fitting.

“Eh, I’ve seen bigger,” Raphael mused, glancing around at the various artwork and luxuries featured in the entrance of the home meant to impress people as soon as they walked inside. 

“Don’t look too closely,” Frankie warned. “Ivan was clearly running out of money,” he noted as he scraped at some peeling wallpaper.

“That’s why he needed Vasiliev, was it not?” Raphael pondered. 

“Money, power,” Frankie agreed.

“Power? He’s been cowering in a sewer for months. What power?” 

Frankie chuckled. “Don’t be deceived. Sergei always has a plan. He hasn’t held his family this long by sheer luck.”

The door opened, and Accardi walked in with Palladino at his side. They spoke in a hushed tone of Italian profanities as they walked right past Frankie and Raphael like they weren’t even there. 

“Make yourselves at home then!” Frankie called, before whispering under his breath, “Dicks.”

“Alessio always gets more uptight when around him,” Raphael noted, poking a statue until it fell and crashed to the floor. 

“Careful,” Frankie mocked. “Don’t use his first name.”
The door opened again. Leo and Conor strolled in, each holding one of Asher’s bound arms. 

“Where do you want him?” Leo asked. At least one person knew who was actually in charge here.

“Uh, no fucking clue. Gloria?” Frankie looked around, but Gloria was nowhere to be seen. Had she already wandered off? 

Accardi and Palladino appeared back in the foyer. “My men are around the corner. We need to discuss the next steps,” Palladino said decisively.

“My men are forming a perimeter,” Accardi added. “So far, no signs of Sergei. Reports show he’s not even at the club. Only his cops are there. Him and his men must still be underground.”

“He probably knew it would be too late and doesn’t want to risk exposure,” Conor suggested. 

Asher scoffed, and everyone looked at him. He pursed his lips and shrugged. Frankie narrowed his eyes. The fucker was hiding something. He needed to get him somewhere contained so he could question him properly. But he didn’t know where.

“Where’s Gloria?” Frankie asked.

“Last I saw her, she was frozen in place on the driveway,” Palladino said, looking down at his phone as if having to answer a question was so far beneath him it was subterranean. 

Frankie growled and stalked toward the front door while the men began discussing next steps. He walked out on the porch and scanned the driveway. He spotted her behind her SUV, her hand placed on the taillight, her eyes on a window above his head. His brow furrowed in confusion as he walked down the stairs and crossed the pebbled driveway to get to her. Even standing directly in front of her, though, she didn’t move or even look at him. He pivoted so that he was standing beside her and glanced up at the window, trying to figure out what she was seeing. 

“Everyone’s inside, Vixen,” Frankie said, his voice low so as not to spook her.

“She’s not,” Gloria whispered.

Frankie looked back at the window. “Who?”

“My mom,” she said, the words forced through a swollen windpipe. “She would be so disappointed in me. She never wanted me to live this way. She died… for nothing.”

Frankie sighed. He knew coming back here would dredge up some ugly memories. Fuck, just going to his childhood home was rough, and he wasn’t imprisoned there, sexually assaulted, and forced to escape in the middle of the night, only for his mother to be killed violently by his father. 

“Gloria, look at me.”

She swallowed and shook her head.

He stepped in front of her, cupped her chin between his index knuckle and thumb, and brought her chin down. “Your mother wanted you to choose your own path. That’s what she wanted. You had your freewill ripped away from you at four years old. She helped you to escape those constraints to gain that back.” He shook his head. “Not to be a nurse or a stay-at-home mom, or a zookeeper. What she wanted was for you to be free. And you are. And being engaged to me?” He whistled through his teeth. “She is very proud, I assure you.”

“Frankie,” she whined, closing her eyes and allowing a few tears to slip out.

“I’m sorry, you know I can’t help it. Look,” Frankie cupped her face in his hands and widened his stance so they were eye-level. “We have something going on inside, alright? We have no idea where your father’s interrogation rooms are or the layout of the house. We need you in there. We need to finish this with Sergei. Then…”

She opened her eyes, and the desperation in the honey of her irises threatened to make him reconsider everything. He fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder, say ‘fuck it’ to this ordeal, and run for the border. Instead, he reminded himself of the life he lived, the life he’d lived for over twenty years.

“Then,” he repeated, firmer now. “We can figure everything else out. We can mourn your mother the proper way. We can burn this fucking house to the ground, roast marshmallows in the flames. We can start over, build fresh, build something your mother would be proud of. First, though, we gotta do this, Vixen. So, I’m going to need you to dry these tears,” he said, wiping the evidence away with his thumbs. “I’m going to need you to square those shoulders and pretend like the rest of us do that you know what the fuck you're doing and get in there.” He lowered his voice and looked cautiously from side to side. “Cause if you don’t, you’ll leave it in the hands of the Italians.” He gave her a look of mock horror, which made her face twitch until she smiled. 

“Okay, I can do this.”

“Atta girl.”

She sighed and ran her hands over the robe she wore. “Let’s go,” she said, walking with her shoulders squared toward the stairs. Frankie took her hand to walk beside her. She laughed, and he looked over at her quizzically. “‘Interrogation room.’” She laughed louder. “That’s a cute way to phrase it.”

“Well, considering your state, I feared using ‘Deadly torture chamber’ might push you over the edge.”

She shrugged. “Maybe so.”

Gloria shoved the door open, and all the men inside turned to stare. “Follow me,” Gloria ordered, any sense of doubt erased from her countenance. “My men should be here in a few minutes. They can group up with Accardi’s men and…” She stopped and looked back at Palladino. She pointed a finger at him. “What’s your name again?”

Frankie and Conor barked out a laugh as Palladino’s expression soured. Even Accardi’s eyes crinkled in humor. “Palladino.”

“Right, whatever,” Gloria said, resuming her walk through the house. “My men can show them the lay of the land. Most of them would have been stationed here at one point or another. Hopefully, they will have gained more of a following in the few days they’ve been back as well.” She got to a door in the hallway and paused. She took a deep breath and turned the knob, as if she knew from experience it wouldn’t be locked. A cold breeze blew the hair back away from her shoulders as it opened, making her shiver. She shook it off and continued onward, down the steps into the lower level of the house. 

“I’ve apprised Palladino on the plan,” Accardi offered. “My men will set up the perimeter while his men rig the house and prepare everyone with armaments.”

“Sergei will make his move soon,” Frankie added. “Once we hand over the evidence,” he said with a smug look at Asher, which didn’t seem to affect his demeanor at all. Hm, he needed to get him at his mercy soon.

“I’ll check in on the status of my men,” Gloria said. She stopped and flicked on a switch. A series of fluorescent lights illuminated a long, white, sterile hallway, with prison doors lining both sides, each with only a small window to peek in and a slat to push food through. She gestured forward. “Take your pick.”

Frankie sanded his hands together as he moved forward, set on picking a good room to have some fun in. He started opening doors, but these rooms were only meant for holding prisoners, not punishing them. He looked at the end of the hallway and chuckled to himself for not realizing that was the room he needed to focus on. He opened the latch and pushed inward only to be met with the foul scent of blood, infection, and the onset of death. 

“Holy fuck,” Frankie whispered as he looked in on the frail creature curled up on the floor.

“What is it?” Gloria asked. Frankie blocked the doorway with his arm, unsure if he should let her witness what was inside. “Frank?”

“It’s…” He swallowed. “I think it’s Juniper.”