Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
It’s been way too long since I’ve had a woman warm my bed. I’ll have to do something about that before I make a decision I fucking regret.
I glance at the image of Taara one more time as I answer my phone.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Nicolai. He never calls me this late. He should be at home with his expectant wife. I scowl at the screen.
“Nicolai.” My gut instinct tells me this is the call that brings the cadence of Bratva life back into full swing. “What is it?”
“Tonight, Marissa went shopping with Laina. The plan was for them to stay at a local hotel, as we’re several hours away from home.”
I wait for the other shoe to drop.
“They were attacked in the parking lot.”
“Jesus.” I’m on my feet, willing myself to be patient, to hear the rest of the story before I act. “Are they alright?”
“Yes. They had three men on them, and what their assailant didn’t realize was that I was one of them.”
Of course. He’s training one of our youngest new recruits. I wait to hear more details.
“I insisted we take the man back to our compound. I’ve got him in the car with me now, and I’ll take him to the interrogation room, but I don’t need a fucking interrogation room for me to tell you who he is.”
His voice is hard, the tone he gets before he’s about to make a ruthless, irrevocable decision. I hear a muffled voice in the background, a hard thump, then silence.
“You know who he is then.”
I watch Taara spin and swirl on the screen in front of me in rhythmic circles. So pretty. So innocent. In such contrast to the violent world outside her door.
“I do. He’s one of the fucking traitors that worked with Myron.”
“Christ.” Myron, Marissa’s father, would have been Nicolai’s father-in-law. Several years back, he sold his daughter into slavery to pay off a debt. Nicolai systematically tracked down every fucking traitor who worked with Myron and eliminated them so none would pose a possible threat to his wife. Or so he thought.
“I was under the impression you got all of them.”
“So did I. I wouldn’t have settled until I did. But he’s said enough that it’s obvious. He’s said way too much.”
“Are Marissa and Laina taken care of?”
“Yeah. I secured Marissa and Laina. Now I’m heading home with this motherfucker.”
Home. That’s here.
I swallow hard. I don’t want another man’s blood on my son’s hand. Not again. “I’ll be waiting. I’ll deal with him for you.”
Taara puts the broom away, then comes back to the kitchen with a rag, wiping down the counters and appliances. I didn’t know she did this at night, but it makes sense. She keeps my home impeccable.
I don’t like having this conversation with Nicolai while Taara is right there. Though she can’t hear me, and isn’t privy to our conversation, it feels wrong. I want to keep her safe, and well insulated against any threat that could harm her.
“No. I know why you’re offering, but I can’t allow it. If I’m to take over as pakhan, you need to allow me to do this.” He takes in a deep breath, and I feel a sense of pride rise in me at my son’s words, despite my desire to keep his hands clean of this. “And anyway, this is my battle to fight.”
When the time comes, he’ll be ready to assume the role of pakhan.
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Where are you?”
“On the road, and I’ll be home in a few hours, but once I arrive, I’d like you to give me time with him before you join me.”
I automatically nod again. He wants to be sure no one else is implicated before he kills him.
Neither of us will sleep tonight.
“Let me know.”
I hang up the phone, staring unseeingly at the dancing girl on the monitor. I don’t want her to suspect anything’s awry. I’ll go back to my home and spend the next hour doing what I normally do, my evening ritual. I’ll let her think I’ve gone to bed.
Then I’ll join my son and witness the execution.
Chapter 2
Taara
I wait for Stefan until the wee hours of the morning. I’ve cleaned every room, and left the fire burning in the hearth. Though it’s warm in Atlanta in springtime, the evenings sometimes get a little cold, and Stefan likes to relax by the fire.
I always wait up for him.
He works hard, often staying up until late in the night to make sure that the men under his care are well taken care of. That whatever job or task of the day well finished. Like a father, he looks out for his brood of men of the brotherhood with steadfast care and concern until everyone’s settled for the night. And when all has finally been put to rest, he pours himself a shot of vodka, sits in front of his fireplace, and drinks it in silence before bed. He never wavers in this ritual.