Hello again fanfiction . net so it's been a very long time since I posted anything so please sit back and enjoy. Speaking in russian in in italics and bold just to make it clearer and I own nothing.

Death of the Nuclear family

Chapter One - The Russian

The underused warehouse stank, the overwhelming smell that you'd only think to find in a sewer was suffocating. The smell however was radiating for the four crates in front of them. They weren't large perhaps big enough to fit five or six women in them if you packed them in like sardines. Which was exactly what was inside them,

"Open it, let's see the condition." Vankov, the leader of the prostitution ring in New York, barked at several of his lackeys in Russian. The three men that had been stood at Vankov's side headed to the first crate each with crowbars in hand. There was a series of loud cracks as the end of the crate broke open revealing four women, they all looked malnourished and the smell had increased tenfold,

"How are they?" Vankov asked his men,

"Well," Pavel, one of Vankov's closest lieutenants, replied, "They're alive."

Vankov gave the nod for the rest of the crates to be opened. When the three men broke open the next crate there was a slew of Russian curses followed by a woman running out throwing punched. The first hit caught Vankov's first lackey by surprise, the second did not. He grabbed hold of her skinny arm before throwing the girl against the side of the crate, his pressed his body against hers and sneered at her in Russian,

"I should beat you for this woman."

"The clients wanted them untouched." Pavel reminded his co-worker. The man sighed,

"Maybe another time love." He released the now weeping girl and watched her crumple to the ground. Vankov watched impassively,

"Get the other crates open." He ordered.

The remaining crated were opened without any issue and the women now stood together, some of them speaking quietly in Russian, others looking at the men before them. Before Vankov had the chance to bark more orders the doors of the warehouse slammed open and smoke filled the room before there was a shout of,

"NYPD everybody freeze!"

The women began to panic as the cops poured in, Pavel almost missed Vankov slipping out of an overlooked door in the madness. The Russian moved to go after him but before he could get very far he was slammed into a wall by a plain clothed detective,

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked sarcastically. Pavel groaned at the pain blossoming in his chest,

"I can see my police brutality suit already." Pavel told the officer, who was cuffing his hands, in broken English.

"Yeah, yeah. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law," he pulled the Russian away from the wall and started to lead him towards the door, "you have the right to an attorney, if you can not afford an attorney one will be appointed for you."

The holding cell of the NYPD SVU lockup was cold and reeked slightly of urine and body odour. It was also being shared by three Russians,

"Where the fuck is the boss?" The dark haired lackey, who's eye was beginning to swell, asked the other two in Russian,

"Someone will be here soon." The second reassured him. Pavel just sighed letting his head rest against the wall of the cell,

"You two are idiots. No one's coming for us. Boss was always careful, made sure we didn't know anything that could incriminate him. We're on our own."

"We know his name." The first one that had spoken argued,

"You really think that's his actual name?"

"What are we going to do?"

"Ask for a lawyer."

Olivia Benson watched the three men in the cell as they chatted in Russian. The two brunette men that were sitting together had been identified as Andrei and Valery Baryshev by their fingerprints. They were Russian nationals who had immigrated to the states with their now aging mother eleven years ago.

"What have we got?" Amaro asked moving to stand beside her. She passed him their files from off her desk,

"The brothers have rap sheets as long as my arm. They graduated from petty theft and solicitation to grand larceny. They also have ties to the Russian mob."

Amaro sighed thumbing through the files,

"Brilliant, what about the blonde?"

"Ran his fingerprints, got nothing. No wallet, no ID."

"Let's talk to him first then."

Amaro stared at the man across the table. His short blonde hair was neatly styled, blue eyes staring blankly at the detective and his jaw was set.

"Why don't we start with some introductions. I'm Detective Amaro and you are?"

The blonde man smirked tilting his head to study the detective,

"You don't even know my name?" He asked in broken English, "You can't be very good cops."

"We'll find out soon enough."

"I'm sure you will detective, however I doubt your intelligence. I would like to talk to the detective that arrested me."

Amaro got up from his seat heading to the door,

"You might not like that."

Cragen sighed for behind the one way mirror,

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"Might be the one in charge. That's why we got nothing on him." Fin suggested,

"It's possible but it's still odd that he's not in the system."

"Well let's find out." Fin headed towards the door.

"Wait a sec, let him sweat it out for a while. Liv and Amaro are going to talk to the brothers. Maybe they'll find something that can help us with our mysterious man."

Ten minutes later Amaro and Benson had re-entered the room where Fin was watching the Russian in the interview room,

"Any luck?"

"Nope, they both lawyered up. You going to talk to John Doe now?" Benson asked eyeing the blonde man who was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the table.

"Alright I'm going to grab Rollings."

"If it isn't my new best friend." The Russian smirked, taking his feet of the table, as Fin and Amanda entered the interview room,

"Well if we're such good friends you wouldn't mind telling us your name now would you?"

"Not a problem. I'm Pavel Chekov."

"Like from Star Trek?" Amanda laughed,

"You have no idea how often I get that."

"So, going from the other two you're in charge right?" Fin asked.

Pavel just shrugged, "What gives you that idea?"

"Well," Amanda mused, "you're the only one without a record."

"In fact you my friend don't exist." Fin added,

"Perhaps you're not looking in the right place."

"Look we've got you on trafficking and when we get an interpreter in here all those lovely ladies you had in crates are going to start talking about your sex trafficking and prostitution ring. So why don't you just hurry things along."

"Get some good faith with the ADA."

Pavel broke his staring match with Fin to look at the blonde detective,

"I believe I'm allowed one phone call."

Rollings frown deepened as she crossed her arms,

"I'll go get you that phone."

Cargen sighed as Amanda came back into the room,

"There's something off about that guy."

"Yeah he's still not asking for a lawyer." Amanda told him,

"I want to know who he calls." Cragen told her.

The archaic looking phone clunked down on to the table in front him. It was black and almost all the numbers had been worn away,

"Thank you detective."

The blonde Russian picked up the receiver hitting the buttons quickly, like he'd dialed the number a thousand times,

"I need you to come down to the station," he spoke into the phone. There was a pause as the person on the other line spoke, "Forgot it." He answered whatever the person on the other end of the line. Pavel put down the phone,

"Thank you detectives."

"You're welcome." Fin replied sarcastically.

"I will tell you this detectives: I'm not the one in charge."

"And who is?" Amanda smirked, "One of the brothers? They don't seem like the leadership type."

"Not the brothers."

"Then who?!" Fin yelled,

"That's enough detective." Barba told them entering the room. Amanda frowned,

"We didn't call you yet."

"No, he did." Barba motioned towards the Russian before pulling a police shield out of his pocket and placing it on the table, "meet detective James Carter, NYPD."