Crossfire Chapter 4 - Necessary Evil
Author's Note: This one's a long chapter. Mostly arcs to set up the chapters ahead. A lot of this chapter will focus on Felicity and the Bratva, which unfortunately features less Oliver. I promise the next one has lots of Oliver and Felicity interaction. You'll know why by the end of this chapter.
Again, many thanks to those who took the time out to write me messages, re-blogged this story and sent kudos my way, the response via Tumblr and Archive of Our Own for this story has been overwhelming.
My warmest gratitude too to my twitter friends who shared the link I post for every chapter. You know who you are.
I said this before, and I'm saying this again. I seem to write best when I'm at a Starbucks and nursing a cup of coffee or tea, it depends on the time of day.
Oh and it might be weird, but I tried to do away with the bulk of the dialogue in the russian language so the story maintains its fluidity.
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Chapter 4 – Necessary Evil
He was breathing hard, pushing himself.
He needed to be in the best shape of his life if he was going against one of the biggest draws of the underground fight club in a couple of days.
He was half distracted already. Hadn't had a full night of sleep and by full night he meant a full three hours during the past week, his mind still on the mysterious Felicity.
Dammit! He had thought he was past it, had been in full control of himself in every possible way. But then Felicity happened.
During the last few nights he had woken up in a sweat, his cock hard and overly sensitive. He had to result to stroking himself more than once because it had become totally impossible not to.
Somewhere out there, she was somewhere out there.
All he had was a name and a face and the hard reality of not knowing if she was alive.
Despite his own hard and fast rule of keeping to himself and staying away of other peoples business, he had knowingly and intentionally broken his own rule.
It was impossible not to even if she obviously did not want nor need his help.
Even if he barely registered with her, she had resonated on him.
She was in his thoughts even if they were unwanted. Then again maybe he was just deluding himself believing they were unwanted because damn it, she was there. She occupied a quiet corner of his mind that had become hers and hers alone.
So yeah, he was doing reverse pull-ups way over the hundreds because of her, Felicity.
The woman he wanted to see again and at the same time hoped to forget.
The later sentiment was a lot better, for him. If only so he could get back into the rhythm he had set for himself, a solitary life, a party of one.
But against his better judgment, he had agreed to a fight for the sole purpose of hopefully encountering her again, Felicity.
It was logical, he argued with himself for probably the hundredth time. She was somehow mixed up with the people behind this fight club. Her being there, being brought into a backroom, ending up injured but not exactly life threatening.
Her taking everything-him, her injures, what was happening inside the club, all in stride as if this wasn't new to her, as if it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last time.
This was her world somehow.
The darkness. The backrooms. The occasional beat down.
Maybe he did need to have his head checked.
It was one thing to voluntarily put yourself out there as a fighter. But it was another thing all together to deliberately put ones self directly in the line of fire of the mob who he knew was behind this underground fight club.
Just one of the many, many money-making schemes of the mob, the Russian mob.
"Иди сюда, один маленький" (Come here, little one.)
Felicity nimbly walked toward the big man who had always reminded her of Tom Selleck, mustache and all.
He was a kind, old man. Not quite a Captain as she learned in mob lingo was equal to the rank of a general, but more of an administrator. He wasn't a muscle man but he was the one she had almost always dealt with since she was flown to the country a few months ago.
He had crude knowledge of the modern world, preferring a two-way radio over a cellular phone but despite his preference, she knew he had one stowed away if only because it was the means of contact he had with her and the others.
As was promised her after her beat up over a week ago, she was allowed three days of rest as had been the standard practice after each 'session' then she would return to work on the fourth day.
Today, they were tasked to monitor a shipment of guns that was en route to London and another shipment of drugs that was scheduled to arrive at North America in a fortnight.
As usual, her task was to erase all traces of the shipments and the money trail creating a jigsaw of alternate cyber footprints in their wake just to confound whomever was monitoring them.
Oh, she wasn't only good. She was the best.
Ever since they had gotten her on board, anything she touched ha remained undiscovered.
She was so good that others like her had become dispensable even for oh so minor mistakes.
She had become the mobs secret weapon of sorts, untouchable, except for the occasion minor beat up that resulted from her sporadic impulses to test her so called employers.
Yuri, her Tom Selleck look-a-like sort of boss had given her instructions.
There would be some kind of mob convention in in a few days where all Captains would be in attendance. It was to serve as the moment for each Captain to one-up each other to their Commandant, the Russian pakhan, supreme underground leader, vying for security of tenure among other things because the mob was not exactly high on hazard pay.
It was going to take place in Kazan, a progressive city in Russia.
Their division, if that was what hey even were called, was not pulling any punches at all. Around her the room, which had served like a satellite office of sorts, had been buzzing with activity.
From what she gathered, Yuri and the other senior foot soldiers were making final preparations for reports on all mob related activities which they apparently would be reporting on.
In that oh so secret mob convention.
Yuri, with a 6-man team, her and an accountant would make the journey to Kazan.
She had been warned about what to do and what not do as well as how she should conduct herself.
The mob did not employ a lot of women especially not in sensitive positions save for a few with specialized skills like her.
Apparently she occupied a certain rank in the mob, duh.
Felicity gave herself one last once over in the mirror before she nodded to her two mob guards that she was ready to go.
Apparently black was the color of the day or was it the year in the mob and will she had fair warning on proper mob conduct, nothing was said about attire for a mob convention, hence her splash of yellow was in complete contrast with the rest of the convention attendees.
Except it wasn't your typical convention, nope.
The usual convention staples like the buffet, an array of snacks and drinks were nowhere in sight in their place was vodka, lots of it. Some whiskey. Cuban cigars. A variety of high-powered guns and an army of foot soldiers most of who were occupied with playing a game of cards strategically positioned outside completed the ensemble.
It was a set-up similar to the movies.
A very long table was located in the middle of the room with twenty seats on each side. Yuri had told her each seat belonged to a Captain. And at the head of the table was the seat of honor. It was the place of the Commandant, the leader of the mob himself. The pakhan. Anatoli Kynazev.
His lieutenants would occupy both of his sides. They were a place of honor, vied for by the Captains.
The Captains themselves were not necessarily locals, some of them held territories for the mob outside of Russia like Europe and the Americas.
Yuri was presently seated against the wall, right behind the chair designated for the Moscow Captain who had to still show his face. Right beside Yuri was where Felicity was seated and to her right was the mild-mannered accountant of the Moscow contingent.
Maybe because she was the one splash of color against the predominantly black-attired group she had been somewhat stared at by the men and a few women present in the gathering.
The absentee Moscow Captain had finally made his appearance gesturing for Yuri to come forward completely ignoring both the accountant and Felicity, which suited her just fine.
The Moscow Captain turned out to be quite an old and weathered man, barely able to stand in attention for more than a few minutes. It was more than apparent that the days of her Captain were numbered and judging by the calculated glances of some of the younger men, they knew it.
She wouldn't put it past them to be eyeing the position. Even seasoned Captains would probably welcome the spot given that Moscow was the center of the mob operations.
Finally all of the Captains and their delegations had arrived and all that was missing was the pakhan himself.
If Felicity was expecting a grand entrance by the supreme leader of the mob she would have found his arrival wanting.
He had waved all formalities aside and had taken his assigned seat without any ceremony.
What followed during the next three hours was just like what she imagined would happen in any corporate environment with Captains reporting on bottom-lines and territories as well as various interests, most if not all of them illegal or nefarious from drugs, to prostitution, to illegal logging, to arms dealing, to supporting banana republics, corrupt politicians and more of the like.
Yeah there was big money in the underground economy. Trillions if the figures were to be believed and she was 100% sure that was true since more a third of the money trail passed through her given who she was in the organization.
At some point in the largely boring meeting, at least to her, the pakhan had called for a break welcomed by Felicity because she was sure she was developing a cramp from sitting down too long.
She however had to curb her enthusiasm for the welcome break when one of the lieutenants had gone over to Ivan Lenkov the Moscow Captain with a message from the pakhan.
Which was how Felicity found herself just a few feet away from the pakhan in a heavily guarded private room that screamed clock and dagger complete with the stale smoke smell.
The pakhan was seated opposite Ivan who was flanked by Yuri and Russo, the accountant on either side of him, that left her seated between Yuri and the pakhan himself.
The four men who were talking numbers, big numbers, which was perfectly fine with her because she was content drinking her cup Turkish coffee, an indulgent recent discovery until, "Felicity Smoak, Yuri had told me you have been quite a miracle worker," the pakhan said in a very heavy accent as a way of introduction turning to her.
She choked. Almost but not quite spitting out the content of her loved coffee, which had her flushing as she turned round eyes at the supreme leader. She would have dropped her cup had it not been for the very quick reflexes of the pakhan.
Her cup however still was a third full which meant the pakhan had been splashed in his arm with some of her coffee which was a bad, bad thing judging from the multiple gasps coming from not only the people around the table but the guards surrounding them.
Yeah, she was making quite a first impression or maybe it was a last impression because did people get shot to death for splattering the pakhan with coffee?
"Oh God, sorry. I'm sorry." She started to reach out as if to wipe away the splatter but then pulled her hands back the next second. There was some kind of protocol about touching the pakhan she recalled.
There was a moment of silence. A long minute or at least that was what it felt like before the pakhan finally laughed. It started low and slow and then it picked up steam leading up to a booming laughed that had the other men in the room joining in.
Whether the other men were actually sincere or not, she couldn't tell as she continued to be frozen in place barely moving, her eyes still on the supreme leader.
"Ah, you have made quite a first impression умница, one that would be hard for me to forget." The pakhan said slapping his hand on top of the table for emphasis.
And okaaay, whatever умница meant, it must be not bad, because she was still alive and kicking rather than dead, which was always much better. The image of a bullet in between her eyes momentarily hit her sending a chill down her spine, or maybe she just watched too many spy movies.
The way old man Ivan however was looking at her was a little too direct for her liking, like she was some kind of museum piece that had caught his eye. Because Ivan was quite old he was squinting at her, which made her even more uncomfortable.
"Юрий говорит мне эта женщина хорошо, очень хорошо . И ценность для организации (Yuri tells me this woman is good, very good. And valuable to the organization)," Ivan turned to the pakhan as if making a point his voice barely a whisper given his age but the pakhan seemed to agree with what the old captain was saying since he had nodded his head in agreement. So did Yuri, whose name Felicity was sure she had heard as part of the conversation.
She really, really should learn the language if she was to remain in the employ of the mob for a long time.
"I am quite old. I have been remising in my duties as Captain. I have not had the privilege of working with this young woman who has done wonders for us even if it is mostly against her will." Ivan continued in an even weaker voice, his hand noticeably shaking as he lifted it to make a point, "it is time my old friend."
Felicity belatedly realized what this special meeting was about.
They were retiring a Captain, one who by her estimation had been with the mob for a very long time, a loyal and dedicated officer in the mob, and a good friend to the pakhan. Judging by the age difference between the Captain and the pakhan, it seemed like the Captain had been in the organization long before Anatoli Kynazev had been appointed supreme leader.
"May I have the list, my friend?" Anatoli lifted a hand. Upon Ivan's nod, Yuri removed a carefully folded white sheet of paper from inside his jacket and handed it to the pakhan.
The pakhan studied the list carefully. It only contained one name.
She knew that because Anatoli had lowered the paper on the table, a single name was typed on the sheet of paper, Nigel Hoff.
From what Felicity had gathered earlier, because she had been listening at least during the introductions of the Captains, Nigel Hoff was the Captain of Irkutsk, a small town in Russia with a population of only a few thousands, hardly in the league of Moscow, Saint Petersberg or even Novosibirsk.
But there was no doubt in her mind the man was ambitious, he was clearly not lacking in confidence with the way he was grandstanding earlier. From what she gathered he was born to a Russian father and a German mother and from Anatoli's reaction, or lack of it, old man Ivan's recommendation wasn't exactly something the pakhan seemed to be agreeable to.
"Yuri, why do you choose to disregard what is inevitable?" Anatoli questioned the man beyond her gently.
The rebuke was very clear but Yuri just shrugged, "I am humble enough to accept I may not be the best man for the job, specially not for Moscow where our interests are plenty. My skills have always been suited for other aspects of our operations, one that requires more diplomacy and less brutality."
"It has not escaped my attention that you have been managing the Moscow operations for a sufficient number of months now Yuri, despite your reluctance our operations in Moscow have flourished and it was done as you say with more diplomacy and less bloodshed. As I had said times are changing, the business is evolving. The era for diplomacy is here. I say we embrace it."
"You give me very little choice Anatoli," Yuri answered him grudgingly.
The pakhan smiled, "I give you no choice. Nigel is good, but he is not you, Yuri. Even Ivan will agree with me. As we agreed, Ivan will officially stay on until the end of the month. From there you will assume the Captain position from him, which leaves us with a vacancy for your position, one that needs to be filled sooner than later."
Anatoli glanced at Felicity again before he glanced back at both Ivan and Yuri, "now that things are clearer for our Moscow operations, I just have one more personal matter to deal with, if you will gentlemen."
Without wasting another second, "Ivan, Yuri and Russo the accountant all stood up. Thinking that this was her cue too, Felicity hastily stood up and almost jumped the next second as the pakhan held her arm, "not you my dear. You are the last matter I have to deal with."
"Oh," she said confusion marring her face as she took guidance from Yuri who gave her a father-like nod.
She slowly sat down again left with no choice as the other men exited leaving her with the supreme leader and just one lieutenant in the dimly lit room. Her expression might have given her away because once again her mind had wandered back to those spy movies where many had been killed in similar settings, but then Analoli spoke again as if reading her mind.
"You have nothing to fear from me, умница. My intentions are pure, at least as pure as can be given what we do. I will be very honest with you, I do not usually do things like this, talk to underlings. I leave it to my Captains to run their operations. That is the way I have always been, trust is a cornerstone of organization and my Captains have earned my trust. You are a special case. What you bring to us, for the Bratva has been invaluable. Even I am not adverse to admit that, though I am aware you are not with us of your own free will. I apologize for the circumstances of the hows and whys that have brought you all the way here in our neck of the woods, so to speak. There are situations that make it imperative that people with skills like yours to be part of our world, of your own free will or not. Of course, we prefer it be freewill."
Anatoli paused, as if to gauge her reaction. She however just continued to stare at him as if absorbing his words.
"The world is evolving and like any other we need to keep up. I am an old world man, much of the modern world I do not understand. This new technology you young people have embraced to easily, this I-Phone," he held his hand up to show her his phone, "умница, our survival depends a lot on being able to use this new technology to our advantage. Gone are the days where all you needed was brut force."
She nodded her head in agreement, because what he had been saying made sense. It was accurate, his assessment.
Beyond that she didn't know how to react, what he expected of her. He was correct after all. It was against her will to be where she was. Granted she had accepted her fate months back and had built a new life based on what was accorded her, she was paid for her services after all. At least enough that she had food to eat, clothes to wear and a place to sleep, nothing extravagant of course she didn't need it with the lifestyle she currently led. The main luxury she enjoyed were clothes, not even her drab working conditions could alter her need for color.
"With Yuri moving up as Captain, there will necessarily be shake-up in several arenas." Anatoli continued startling Felicity who was deep in thought.
If she thought Anatoli was generally amiable based on what she witness earlier, now she was seeing a flipside to the Bratva's supreme leader because now that her complete attention was back on the man, she couldn't help but notice the piercing calculation of the man's gaze on her.
She swallowed because the man just continued to gawp.
She had to replay the last part of the pakhan's message in her mind to determine if he was waiting for her to say something back, if she needed to say anything.
"умница, when I leave here tomorrow, you will be coming with me. You will be reassigned."
"Yes reassigned. Working directly under me."
The undercard fights had begun already. Based on what was on his card, he was the main event fight.
He and the man known only as The Giant, a legend in the underground given that the man had not yet lost a fight.
It was Oliver's true test, A test of his abilities to be up against the Giant.
Oliver's name was whispered across the fight club enthusiasts as the new generation star. He had never lost a fight himself.
But going up against a great, the greatest, the Giant. It was suicide.
The Giant had never lost a fight yet. And he had been fighting for years. Much, much longer than Oliver.
Oliver really couldn't blame anyone else but himself. He had walked into this with eyes open.
He had walked into this because of a ridiculous reason.
It was with the hope that he would once again catch a glimpse of the woman who he couldn't get out of his mind. Felicity.
Whatever happened after that talk with Anatoli had floated past Felicity.
The day had dragged on as the mob convention continued.
It was almost nine in the evening when finally the convention was determined over and a complete success. As part of the planned capping activities, everyone was ushered into the lower section of the building, a lower basement that was the setting of featured heavyweight fight club matches.
Unknown the Felicity, one of the matches would feature the man who had nursed her a week ago, the man who introduced himself as Oliver.
