Chapter 6 - The Russian's Ring
The air in the hospital room turned to ice.
Human trafficking ring.
I stared at Rafael, the words echoing in my mind until they lost all meaning. I turned slowly to look at my little sister.
Emma was pressed against the wall, her face drained of all color, her eyes wide with a terror that finally made sense. She hadn't just been afraid of Andrew finding out she stole the ring. She had been terrified of the man she gave it to.
“Emma,” I whispered, stepping toward her. “Who did you borrow money from?”
Emma shook her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn't know, Hannah! I swear I didn't know! My boyfriend, Leo... he owed them money from underground poker games. He told me Viktor was just a loan shark. He said if I gave Viktor collateral, he would give us three months to pay it back.”
Rafael took a slow, deliberate step toward my sister. The gentle savior from five minutes ago was gone. He was a warlord interrogating a witness.
“When did you give Viktor the ring, Emma?” Rafael asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble.
“Eight months ago,” Emma sobbed, hugging her knees.
“And when did the three months expire?”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut. “Five months ago.”
Rafael’s jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked beneath his ink-stained neck. “If Viktor Volkov held a debt past ninety days, he wouldn't just sit on it. He collects. Always.”
He looked at Emma with a piercing intensity. “Why hasn't he come for you or your father?”
Emma opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden, violent realization hit me like a physical blow.
Andrew.
“Because Andrew paid him,” I breathed, the horrific truth dawning on me.
Rafael turned to look at me, his eyes narrowing.
“Andrew found out Emma pawned the ring eight months ago,” I reasoned, my mind racing through the timeline. “That’s when the money started disappearing from our flower shop account. Andrew didn't just steal the business funds to enrich himself. He used the flower shop’s money to pay off the Russian Syndicate to keep them away from Emma.”
Emma gasped, covering her mouth. “He... he protected me?”
“He didn't protect you, Emma,” Rafael corrected coldly. “He bought leverage. He paid off your debt so he could own you. And once he owned you, he used you as the perfect scapegoat to forge a three-million-dollar commercial loan in Hannah’s name.”
The sheer, sociopathic brilliance of Andrew’s plan left me nauseous. He had played all of us. He had used Emma’s mistake to fund his extortion, and when the well ran dry, he had orchestrated a massive fraud to cash out.
And we had just let him walk away.
“Marco,” Rafael barked into his radio earpiece.
“Yeah, boss. Prescott is heading west on I-290. We’re tailing him.”
“Pull him over,” Rafael ordered, his voice laced with venom. “Bring him to the warehouse.”
“Copy that.”
Rafael lowered his hand. He looked at the pawn receipt, his dark eyes scanning the address.
“Viktor still has your mother’s ring,” Rafael said quietly.
I looked down at my hands. “It doesn't matter. We’re alive. We’ll figure it out.”
“It matters,” Rafael said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Viktor Volkov doesn't hold onto collateral for sentimental reasons. If Andrew paid off the debt, Viktor should have returned the ring.”
He looked at Emma. “Did Andrew ever give the ring back to you?”
Emma shook her head. “No. He said he was keeping it in a safe deposit box until I ‘earned’ it back.”
Rafael’s eyes darkened. “Andrew lied. Viktor kept the ring. Which means Andrew didn't pay the debt in cash.”
I frowned, confusion cutting through my panic. “Then how did he pay it?”
“With information,” Rafael murmured, almost to himself. He looked at the federal loan document sitting on the hospital table.
Suddenly, the pieces connected in Rafael’s mind, and the Mafia Boss actually took a step backward, genuine alarm flashing across his face.
“The shell company,” Rafael breathed. “The commercial development company Andrew registered in your name.”
“What about it?” I asked, my heart starting to pound again.
Rafael looked at me, a profound, terrifying urgency in his eyes. “Hannah, when Andrew set up the federal loan, what was the stated purpose of the funds?”
“To buy the properties on our block,” I said, repeating what he had told me earlier. “To develop them.”
“Exactly,” Rafael said, moving toward the door. “But Andrew never intended to develop them. He needed the three million dollars to disappear. And he needed a scapegoat. You.”
He stopped at the door, turning back to face me.
“But Viktor Volkov doesn't deal in real estate,” Rafael said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He deals in illicit shipping routes. And the properties on your block sit directly over the old prohibition-era smuggling tunnels that connect to the Chicago River.”
The air left my lungs.
“Andrew didn't just forge a loan to steal money,” Rafael realized, his fists clenching. “He sold the deed to your flower shop—and the tunnels beneath it—to the Russian Syndicate. That was how he paid off Emma’s debt.”
I stumbled back, hitting the edge of my father’s bed.
“If Viktor owns the deed,” I choked out, “he owns the shop.”
“Worse,” Rafael said grimly. “If Viktor is using those tunnels for his trafficking ring, and the property is legally registered in your name...”
“I’m the registered owner of a human trafficking hub,” I whispered, the full, apocalyptic horror of Andrew’s setup crashing down on me.
If the feds raided the flower shop, they wouldn't just find a defaulted loan. They would find a trafficking ring. And my name was on the deed. I wouldn't just go to prison for fraud. I would go to federal prison for human trafficking.
Andrew had built a trap so perfect, so deeply layered, that even if I escaped the financial ruin, the criminal liability would destroy me forever.
Rafael’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket.
He pulled it out, answering it on the first ring. “Marco. Tell me you have him.”
A heavy, static-laced voice answered on the other end of the line. It wasn't Marco.
“Mr. DeLuca,” the voice said, thick with a heavy Russian accent. “Your security chief is currently unconscious in the trunk of my car.”
Rafael froze. The temperature in the room plummeted.
“Viktor,” Rafael said softly, his voice a lethal promise.
“Andrew Prescott came to me in a panic ten minutes ago,” Viktor chuckled darkly. “He told me you intercepted his little wire transfer. He also told me you had the IP logs proving he forged the mortgage.”
“Let my man go, Viktor,” Rafael commanded. “This is between me and Prescott.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Prescott is no longer useful to me,” Viktor said. A muffled gunshot echoed through the phone line.
I screamed, covering my mouth. Emma dropped to the floor, sobbing.
“The loose end is tied,” Viktor said casually. “But we have a problem, Rafael. I currently hold the deed to a very lucrative piece of real estate. And I understand the registered owner is sitting right next to you.”
Rafael’s eyes locked onto mine. “If you touch her, I will burn your syndicate to the ground.”
“I don't want to touch her,” Viktor laughed. “I just want the three million dollars that was supposed to clear my accounts at midnight. The three million dollars your little waitress friend routed to your holding company.”
Rafael’s jaw tightened.
“You have one hour, Rafael,” Viktor threatened. “Transfer the three million to my offshore account, or I send an anonymous tip to the FBI about the trafficking tunnels beneath the Walker & Daughters Flower Shop. And the lovely Hannah Walker goes to federal prison for the rest of her life.”
The line went dead.
Rafael slowly lowered the phone.
He looked at me. He looked at my sleeping father.
May you like
Then he looked at the brass bell sitting on the floor.
“Pack a bag,” Rafael said quietly, his dark eyes turning entirely pitch black. “We’re going to war.”
