Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I shake it off and focus on the task at hand.
I take mental notes and go over my plan again.
I went to Viktor and tipped him off. My brother would beat the living shit out of me before he murdered me with his own hands, but if he ever finds out, it will be too late for him. If my plan goes well, anyway.
That’s one of several reasons he needs to go. I’ll see to that.
They’re all coming—Mikhail, the eldest and one of the most dangerous. He took over when his father died and now rules the entirety of The Cove, the area between Coney Island and Manhattan. Next in command is Aleksandr, the computer geek, followed by Nikko, the group assassin. He’s got the eye of a sniper and a perfect shot, but I won’t give him a target.
Viktor will be here, too. The largest one of all, heavily covered in tattoos and scars, Viktor is the group heavy—their loyal pit bull in human form. Ollie, the silent, quiet one who works for international relations, is home from Moscow, thanks to me. He pulled a stint in Columbia, my sources say, and I have it on good authority that son of a bitch is a lot more fucked up than he lets on.
The youngest brother, Lev, will be here, too, but I don’t worry about him. According to my intel, he’s practically a kid. Javier has it out for Lev, but I’m not entirely sure why, and I’m not sure it matters. Javier hates everyone he sees as a personal threat.
I take out my goggles again and scan below. There’s a table with detailed maps and documents. Huh. Interesting. I’d like to take a closer look at those but don’t dare risk moving out of my hiding spot.
I stifle a scream when an ear-piercing screech cuts through the night. I hold myself as steady as possible. Human?
No… no. A bobcat, I’d guess, or whatever the hell wild predators they have here. When my breathing steadies again, I go back over what I know of the Romanovs.
The most challenging part of all this is that the Romanovs are so damn loyal. Any one of those brothers would lay down their lives for the others, including their wives, children, sister, and mother. It makes it nearly impossible to plot against a family so dedicated to each other. There's no weak link to exploit.
My family? Ha. Luckily for me, we're power-hungry animals eager to kill for a meaty bone. It's only a matter of knowing whose hunger to stoke and stepping out of the way for the kill… and making sure you don’t end up the one devoured.
I didn’t learn my skills for nothing, though.
I lean back in the loft, hidden in the shadows. The rain beats down harder on the tin roof, the relentless sound drowning out anything I’d hear going on outside. It doesn’t matter. They’ll show. I close my eyes, just for a little rest. I can’t risk falling asleep and someone finding out I’m here, but it feels good to take a bit of a breather.
I wrap the oversized hoodie tighter around myself. It’s fucking ice-cold in here. The chill in the air and the drumming rain lull me and I must fight to keep my eyes open. It was a long day, and the night is just beginning.
My focus wavers when a memory surfaces unbidden.
I’m a child, only ten years old, standing in front of my father in his study. I’m swallowing back tears because of what I’ve seen and heard: another fight between my father and mother. He won. He always won, and even then, I knew it was only because he was stronger and more powerful.
I made a vow then—that would never be me. I would never let a man walk all over me, no matter how much money he had, no matter how powerful he was, no matter what he tried to hold against me.
“No crying,” my father snapped, his black eyes merciless and unblinking. He scowled at me as he sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. "Las emociones son para los débiles, Isabella. Serán tu perdición si las dejas."
Emotions are for the weak, Isabella. They will be your downfall if you allow them.
I felt a chill at his words even as I made a solemn vow to rebel against him. One of the first steps toward adulthood is realizing that adults aren’t always right. It wasn’t true. Emotions are not for the weak.
Cowardice is for the weak.
Emotions are human.
My resolve hardens.
I am not my father, and he has no power over me anymore.
I set my jaw and reaffirm why I’m here: I will not let my father’s legacy of hatred and cold detachment define me or the people of Colombia.