Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
With the muscled weight she’s gained, her body is stronger and faster than ever, her figure both delicate and resilient.
She’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, and that beauty comes from within.
I love to run with her just to spend time with her, to stare at her like a love-sick fool. But I also appreciate the shared silence, the rhythm of our breaths syncing with the beat of our feet on the earth.
Ten minutes into the run, we round the corner of the dense forest, approaching the quiet side of the shoreline. The ocean waves murmur in the distance. It’s a moment of peace, a rare oasis in the turmoil of our lives.
Before we reach the shore, something breaks the silence. A whirring mechanical sound that quickens my pulse.
“Do you hear that?” I slow my gait, reaching for her arm.
“What is it?” Her eyes widen as she looks around.
“It sounds like—”
The noise grows louder, more insistent, coming from above.
“Take cover!” Stanley shouts.
The guards leap into motion as I lunge, crashing into her and taking her to the ground. We roll off the path into the dense trees, landing with my frame covering her protectively.
The guards rush in, forming a wall around us as the buzzing object falls from the sky and slams onto the trail.
I brace for an explosion that doesn’t come.
“Stay down.” My heart thunders in my chest.
“What is it?” Her breath heats my neck, her body trembling beneath me.
“I don’t know. Just stay still.”
An agonizing minute ticks, ticks, ticks.
“It’s a drone,” Stanley says. “There’s a box attached to it.”
My stomach sinks as I stare down at her, at the wetness blurring her eyes.
“Open it.” I hold her devastated gaze.
The sound of ripping cardboard rings like a death knell.
“Dry ice,” Stanley announces. “And something in a plastic bag.”
Her face crumples.
“Take it to the house. No police.” Turning back to her, I cradle her head and hug her to me. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah.”
The guards carry the box back to the house. We follow them into the kitchen, where Oliver prepares dinner.
His expression empties when he sees the box. “Another one?”
“Delivered by a drone.” I don gloves, my fingers steady despite the dread fisting in my gut.
Then I open the box.
Sickening vapors of déjà vu rise from the dry ice. I pull out a frost-covered plastic bag, set it on the counter, and cut it open.
Not a heart.
Not a hand.
Blue irises stare up at me from a severed pair of eyes.
Frankie makes a strangled sound.
Nausea surges, and saliva fills my mouth as the image of Wolfson’s blue eyes flash in my mind. Eyes that match my own.
I must’ve said his name, because she grips my arm, shaking her head, her voice a whisper of horror. “Sirena.”
Sirena had blue eyes, too.
“There’s a note.” Oliver nods at the box.
Everything inside me recoils. I can’t stomach another photo of my dead son.
Steeling my spine, I reach for it and read the handwritten words aloud. “But whom to love? To trust and treasure? Who won’t betray us in the end? And who’ll be kind enough to measure our words and deeds as we intend? This is for us, Frankie. It’s all for you and me.”
“Pushkin?” She hugs her waist, looking so scared and alone.
“Yeah.” I remove the gloves and wrap her in my arms, meeting Oliver’s cryptic gaze across the room.
Sometimes direct action is more effective than lawful action.
“No more police.” I square my shoulders. “We’re doing this the Strakh way.”
46
Monty
—
That night, I sit at my desk, the walls in my office closing in on me. Shelves and drawers overflow with paperwork, the detritus of a life spent in pursuit of power and control.
A life deliberately crafted to separate me from my father’s crimes, to ensure I would never follow in his blood-soaked footsteps.
I followed my own path. University. Business degrees. Building a global consulting firm from the ground up. I’ve ensured every contract, deal, and interaction was aboveboard.
My reputation as the wealthiest man in Alaska rests on the foundation of lawful conduct and ethical business practices.
Yet none of it will protect the woman I love.
Frankie’s face flashes in my mind—her wild red hair, green eyes that puncture my soul, and a heart of liquid fucking magic. She has so much love in her. The purest form of love in existence.
I can’t rely on the slow gears of justice to save her. I must act decisively and ruthlessly.
Turning to my father’s legacy goes against everything I’ve worked for, everything I believe in. Yet, as body parts continue to show up, I have no choice. I must tap into the very darkness I’ve spent my life avoiding.
Drawing a deep breath, I stand and walk to the hidden safe behind the Ivan Aivazovsky painting. My hands are steady as I input the combination.
The safe opens with a soft click, revealing a small black ledger, the one I took from my childhood home after my parents’ deaths.