“You have no proof,” he said, and I chuckled.
“Proof?” My gaze locked onto his. “Do I look like a man who needs proof?” He shifted in his chair, his eyes moving from the files to me and back. “Looks like they haven’t called you yet. Should we call them together? Carlos, Ernesto, or Manuel, perhaps.” I took another sip. “Or maybe they’re against you now.”
He shook his head. “They wouldn’t dare.” The sweat had started now. Small beads of sweat had gathered around his temples. “You were supposed to be dead.”
The anger finally surfaced through the fear. It was the anger a man shows after realizing the plan he carefully built was collapsing before him.
“Interesting. Tell me more.” I said, and he stayed quiet. “Looks like your plan didn’t work out the way you expected. The last time I checked, I still had access to Cuba. In fact, while we’re having this conversation, one of my business desks is operating less than twenty minutes from where you’re sitting.”
His face tightened. “This isn’t possible.”
I sighed and placed the glass back on the desk. “I will not kill you. That would be too fast.” I slid another file toward him.“There’s something else you’ll do first. Before I’m finished with you, you’ll understand exactly what it means to make an enemy of a Konstantinov.” I leaned closer. “There are people above you. You should have known who I was before you planted a fucking bomb in my car.”
I tossed a pen across the desk. It spun once and stopped beside the paperwork.
“Drink,” I said. “As you sign.”
People misunderstood what power is. They thought power meant influence, access, or having the right names saved in their phones and invitations to the right tables. They thought it was private meetings, expensive suits, and handshakes behind closed doors. That wasn’t power. That was access, and someone else granted access. Something you applied for. Something that could be revoked the moment the wrong person decided you no longer belonged.
Real power was different. It was you who were the reason the door existed in the first place.
As Zachary started signing, he did not know that the destruction had already begun. News was already moving from three separate leaks with no connection to me. By tomorrow morning, rumors would become headlines, and in a week, headlines would become investigations.
Zachary spent years building a public image in charity events, orphan programs, and community projects. He designed public appearances to present him as a man who cared deeply about other people’s suffering. Now he would watch that image collapse piece by piece until there was nothing left but the man underneath.
When he signed the last page, I stood and gathered the files.
Zachary rose so quickly that his chair nearly tipped backward. “Take everything.” His voice cracked. “The businesses, the properties. Take whatever you want. Just keep it away from mypolitical career. That’s all I’m asking.”
I looked at him for a moment. “Look at that.” A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth. “You are negotiating now?”
I picked up the remote from the desk and turned toward the television mounted on the wall.
“You know, the gold operation had real potential.” I switched the television on. “If you weren’t so greedy, it could have actually made you powerful. But you can’t be greedy and stupid at the same time. You have to pick one.” I moved around the desk. “Enjoy the news.”
The anchor’s voice echoed through the room. I turned to the screen. Right on cue, Carlos Hernandez’s arrest was making headlines. Which meant Zachary’s name would be spoken on national television by morning.
I moved to the door and stopped with my hand on the handle. “One more thing.” I turned back and found him staring at the screen. “Watch who you call. I have eyes everywhere, even in the numbers you dial.”
I left the office while lighting a cigar. Zachary had built his secret life carefully, layer upon layer, believing it was untouchable. Now he would stand inside the collapse and watch every piece come apart. By the time this was over, there would be nothing left.
When I stepped outside, Akim had already arrived. I slid into the back seat of the car and shut the door.
I needed to be home in less than two hours. Inna might have ended our marriage, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going home to her. After her father visited her three days ago, something about her changed. She seemed lighter, as if a weight she had been carrying for years had finally eased. We weren’t talking, but we were sharing a bed. I monitored her recovery, made sure she was eating, sleeping, and taking her medication. Most of the time, simply seeing her every day was enough.
She was right about one thing. Our marriage had started as a fake one. What she wasn’t allowed to do was call what we had between us fake.
Fake.
The word irritated me every time it crossed my mind.
We crossed so many boundaries to be fake. She occupied my thoughts to the point that I didn’t know what else was interesting to think of anymore. I looked forward to seeing her at the end of the day. Somewhere along the way, she became part of my routine. She became necessary.
First, she needed time to recover. After that, I intended to make the marriage real in every way that mattered.
The problem was figuring out how. Proposing was an option, but I spent more time planning assassinations than I did planning proposals.
How was a man supposed to propose and at the same time claim?
