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We listen to Nikita wax lyrical about his fiancée. He’s smitten indeed.
“Not so plain after all, is she?” I taunt him.
“She’s plain but pretty enough. The better not to worry another man will want her,” Nikita boasts of the girl.
“Then get the girl and get your asses back to Chicago,” Vasily grumbles.
“We can’t go yet. We stick to the plan and travel back for Milos’s engagement party.” Nikita is firm.
After more grumbling from Vasily we end the call.
Milos shakes his head. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing allowing him to stay?”
“You aren’t allowing him to do anything, Nikita is doing what he thinks is right to keep his woman safe. If you were to order him back he wouldn’t come.”
He chuckles. “He’s always been shitty about following orders.”
“Since he could crawl. Him and Damien, tell them to go right and they go left.” I laugh.
Sighing, he rubs his hands over his face. “How’s it going with your wife?”
“It’s going. What about you and Celia?” I swallow my second espresso.
“I’m staying away from her…giving her time to miss me. The woman is making me fucking crazy.”
“You think it will work?” I wonder.
“What work?” I’m guessing he hasn’t gotten much sleep either; missing a woman and sleep are never a good thing.
“Her missing you by giving her space?”
“Yes, Celia would rather bite off her tongue than admit it though.”
And that’s why I didn’t go back to my condo for six days.
CHAPTER13
Aleksander
I enter the cement room and the scent of blood, urine, and shit hits me. “Excellent, Boris.” I praise him for the three days he’s made the two men endure torture.
Although I’m pissed Richie is still alive. I have men in every corner of the state and beyond looking for him.
Therefore, I have to make this count. Tonight, I’m at a fundraiser for my mother’s breast cancer charity, ask any number of the people there. My wife is at home suffering the aftereffects of a fall that broke her arm. It happened while we were on our honeymoon in Santorini, uneven ground on the trek up to watch the sunset. It’s why we’re back in Chicago, I thought it best she recover in our home where things were familiar to her. Of course we’ll be having a wedding reception soon to celebrate our marriage. For now we’re enjoying our new status as husband and wife privately.
I’m not here, not squatting down in front of the thin man. I marvel at how he doesn’t look anything like the man who first entered this room. Boris offers me a gun. Normally, I would go with a shot to the chest then one in the head. If I wanted it to last, a shot to the abdomen would be best for a long, painful death.
I ignore the gun he offers to pull the CQC-15 knife I keep on my right ankle. The blade glints in the light. It’s a graceful yet sturdy knife that has a handle that doesn’t become as slippery as most knives when blood gets on it.
He's mumbling incoherently, I don’t think he understands what he’s saying. His eyes are swollen shut, crusted over with blood and tears. He can’t see me.
“My wife sends her regards,” I murmur as I send the knife into his beating heart. Removing it, I scrape a rib.
Watching him die, I feel nothing. There is not even satisfaction. The man was on the edge of death. I merely ended his pain. He doesn’t deserve it. Neither does his brother. But I need this to happen now. I need to hurt something and it will not be my woman.
The other man barely whimpers as I send the knife into his heart. His head goes down, dead by the time I pull the knife out.
Nothing, I don’t feel a single thing. These men put their hands on my woman. This needed to be done. Even if they hadn’t hurt her, I understand where Milos is coming from. If a man touches Phoenix—death is certain for him. Her gorgeous golden skin will know no other man’s touch but mine.
