Page 7 of Tracking Shadows
The man shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes dart toward the darkened corners of the bar as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows.
“I don’t know who he is, exactly,” he mutters. More like whispers. “But I’ve heard things. They say he’s more than just some crime lord. He’s got influence—real power. Rumor has it, he’s got the government in his back pocket, strings he can pull without anyone even noticing.”
There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words settling over the table like a heavy fog. I exchange a glance with Alexei, my mind already working through the implications. This isn’t just another name on a list; this is someone who could complicate everything.
The man swallows hard, his gaze flicking back to me, desperation creeping into his tone. “Sergei’s not the same man he used to be. He’s got resources now, the kind you can’t even imagine. You two . . . you can’t get to him, not with the kind of protection he has now. You’re walking into a death trap.”
I feel a sharp jolt of anger at the fear in his voice, but I keep it under control, masking it with a cold, calculating smile. “A man who climbs that high,” I say, leaning in just enough to make him flinch, “has a much longer way to fall. And when he falls, it’s going to be hard.Veryhard.”
The man swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. Then, with a resigned sigh, he reaches into his jacket pocket. His fingers fumble for a moment before pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He hesitates, clearly torn between self-preservation and the fear of what might happen if he doesn’t cooperate.
“This . . ..” He slides the paper across the table toward Alexei, his hand shaking. “This is the last address I have for Sergei. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. Just . . . just be careful. You don’t know the kind of people you’re dealing with.”
Alexei takes the paper, his movements slow and deliberate, as if to avoid spooking the man any further. He unfolds it, glancing at the scrawled address before slipping it into his pocket. His eyes meet the contact’s, and for a moment, the easygoing charm fades, replaced by something harder, more dangerous.
“You’ve done the right thing,” he says, his tone carrying a weight of unspoken promises and threats. “But if I were you, I’d find somewhere far away to be for a while.”
The contact just nods, his face pale, clearly eager to be done with this conversation. He drains the rest of his drink in one gulp, his hands still trembling as he sets the glass down. I watch him for a moment, feeling a mix of pity and disdain. He’s a small-time player in a much larger game, and he knows it.
“Let’s go,” I say, standing up and casting a final glance at the man. “We’ve got what we need.”
Alexei nods, rising to his feet and giving the contact a final nod. “Thanks for the help. Stay safe.”
We turn to leave.
The Broker. A name that brings with it more questions than answers and a reminder that Sergei Marakov isn’t just another target. He’s a man who’s woven himself into something much larger, something that will take every ounce of skill and cunning we have to dismantle.
But that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Because no matter how high Sergei has climbed, no matter who he’s aligned himself with, he’s still the man who destroyed my life. And I’ll be damned if I let him slip through my fingers now.
“See?” Alexei says as we step outside, the night air cool against my skin. “Sometimes talking works.”
I don’t respond, just pull out another cigarette and light it, watching the smoke curl into the air. He’s right, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“You did good,” I finally admit, the words grudging.
He grins, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Thanks. But we’re just getting started.”
I nod, flicking the cigarette into the gutter. “Let’s keep moving. We’ve got work to do.”
As we walk down the street, side by side, I can feel the shift between us. We’re still not friends, not by a long shot, but there’s a grudging respect forming. I don’t trust him, not yet, but maybe, just maybe, we can make this work.
For now, that’s enough. We’ve got a common enemy, and that’s all the motivation I need. Sergei Marakov is going down, and nothing—not even my distrust of Alexei—is going to get in the way of that.
Chapter 3 – Alexei
The neon lights of the nightclub flicker like a heartbeat, pulsing in time with the deep bass that vibrates through the ground beneath my feet. It’s the kind of place that’s alive with a certain kind of energy—glamorous on the surface but with an undercurrent of something darker, something dangerous. Exactly the kind of place where Sergei Marakov’s men would feel right at home.
I lean against the wall outside, taking in the scene as I wait for Irina to finish her reconnaissance. The address the contact gave us led straight here, to a club owned by one of Sergei’s lieutenants. We’re looking for any sign of Sergei, any whisper of where he might be hiding. It’s a long shot, but in our world, long shots are often the best we’ve got.
The doors swing open, and Irina strides out, her expression as unreadable as ever. She’s been inside for the past hour, scoping out the place, getting a feel for the layout and the people inside. As she approaches, I push off the wall and fall into step beside her.
“So,” I say, keeping my tone light, “how’s the party?”
She doesn’t answer right away, just glances at me with those cold, calculating eyes. “It’s a start. The staff is tight-lipped, though. We’ll have to dig deeper.”
“Good thing I’m here, then.” I flash her a grin, trying to coax even a hint of a smile from her. Nothing. Just the same stony expression. “Relax, Irina. We’ve got this.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re too confident for your own good.”