Ledger’s arms tighten around me. “You’ve got this. Almost there.”
I push again, pouring everything I have into it. Every ounce of strength left in my body after days of captivity, terror, and pain.
And then?—
A cry.
Small. Weak. But unmistakably a baby’s cry.
“He’s here,” Sarah says, holding up a tiny, blood-covered baby. “Your baby is here.”
38
LEDGER
2 Months Later
Dante’s nurseryis quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing through the baby monitor.
I stand at the window of my office, looking down at the city I burned trying to find them. The scars are still visible—twelve properties reduced to ash, vacant lots where thriving businesses used to be. The news stopped covering it after the first week, but everyone in Vegas knows what happened.
Ledger Volkov went to war.
And now I’m paying the price.
“They’re here,” Silas says from the doorway. “Conference room. Your lawyers are already inside.”
I check my watch. 10:00 AM. Right on time.
“How do I look?” I ask, adjusting my tie.
“Like a man about to negotiate his way into federal prison.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I am.”
The conference room is full when I enter. My legal team—four attorneys from the most expensive firm in the city—sits on one side of the table. On the other side, federal prosecutors. FBI agents. An assistant US attorney who looks young enough to be fresh out of law school but has the eyes of someone who’s seen too much.
“Mr. Volkov.” The lead prosecutor stands. Margaret Sullivan—fifties, gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, a reputation for never losing a case. “Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“No.” She gestures to a chair. “Please. Sit.”
I sit. My lawyers flank me on either side—Gerald Rothstein, lead counsel, and his team. The best money can buy.
Sullivan opens a folder thick with documents. “Let me be direct, Mr. Volkov. We’ve been investigating you for the past two months. Grand jury convened six weeks ago. We have testimony from over forty witnesses. Surveillance footage. Financial records. Phone logs. Physical evidence from twelve crime scenes.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you aware that we have enough evidence to charge you with fifty-three counts of murder? Twelve counts of arson? Racketeering, conspiracy, weapons trafficking, and about two dozen other federal charges?”
“I assumed as much.”
“If we prosecute you on all counts, you’re looking at multiple life sentences. No possibility of parole. You’ll die in federal prison.”
Gerald clears his throat. “Ms. Sullivan, if you’ve brought us here just to threaten my client?—”
“I’m not threatening. I’m stating facts.” Sullivan closes the folder. “Mr. Volkov went on a rampage that made national news. Fifty-three people dead in three days. The city looked like a war zone. We have him on camera at six different crime scenes. We have ballistics matching his weapons. We have witnesses who watched him personally kill seven people.”
