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I look down at the gun on my desk and then feel the fight seep out of me. It’s true. Sergei Volkov is a man who likes to send messages. And after the way I defied him, he will be rabid with the need to show the world not to cross him. Maybe I shouldn’t have said no. Even though what he’d asked of me was beyond the threshold of what anyone should be capable of.
I don’t murder children. The lives I’ve ended in Volkov’s name had always had it coming. Bad men. Brutal men. Men who shared this world and knew what the risks were. But trafficking children? Culling those who weren’t suitable? That I will not do. Never. I told him in no uncertain terms to get someone else to do his dirty work, even though I’d prayed he wouldn’t find anyone. My defiance had enraged him, but it hadn’t frightened me. I’ve always been the most terrifying weapon in his arsenal. He knows that.
If only I had known what it would cost me.
“Maybe you’re right,” I exhale, feeling myself deflate as the murderous fire begins to ebb from me.
“You know I am,” he says softly. Our eyes meet for a moment before I send another slow look around the world I’m about to leave behind me.
I must take my son away from here.
It has to be done.
I swallow hard, grinding out, “We leave tonight.”
Ivan’s shoulders sag in relief. He may be a hard man, but we’ve been friends for decades. I know he’s worried.
“It is the right choice,” he says. “I will help with the arrangements?”
I shake my head. “No. The less you know, the better. I can’t leave loose ends.”
A quiet sound interrupts us as a shape peels from the shadows behind me. “I go too.” Luka Bartok has been silent through all of this. I’d almost forgotten he was there. But then again, that has always been his way. My second-in-command is a man of few words. But his skills speak for themselves.
I hesitate before I nod in agreement. It would be foolish to try to navigate this new path alone. A good man will make it easier.
“Then I will leave you to handle things,” Ivan says. He starts to turn away but pauses, meeting my gaze. “Do not lose yourself in this, Anton. Nikolai needs a father. Not a mindless instrument of vengeance.”
His words strike a chord within me, though I refuse to let it show on my face.
“I will keep him safe, Ivan,” I reply, my voice cold and steady.
“I know you will,” he murmurs. “Despite everything…all that you have been, I’ve never doubted that you are a good father.” His words are a balm to my soul, though I don’t deserve them. I watch Ivan stride out of the room. Only then do I allow myself to breathe.
Nikolai chooses that moment to emerge from around the doorway, a tiny shape silhouetted in the soft light. He makes his way to my desk with unsteady steps and stops and rests his small hand on my knee. I lean down and scoop him up into my arms, feeling a well of emotion that I’ve reserved for only this one small soul in my world. His eyes are huge and dark as he stares into my face. He’s so young. Too young to understand. I don’t think I’ll ever know how to tell him. That he is the tool they’ll want to use against me…even though he’s probably the only thing standing between them and death right now.
“I saw monsters,” he says in his childish voice. I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. The nightmares he’s had since it all happened are the only sign he’s shown that he knows about the tragedy in our world.
“I’ll keep them away,malysh,” I say. “No one will hurt you,” I vow fiercely. “I won’t let them.”
He nods, a worried frown creasing his brow. He’s grown so solemn. Another small sign, perhaps. He was never like this before. But then, should I be surprised, after what he’s been through?
“It’s time for us to go,malysh,” I say quietly as I stand. I pull him more tightly into my arms, holding him close.
The monsters may have come, my son.
But you will never know them.
I swear it.
Chapter 1
Scarlett
The entrance to the mansion looms ahead of me, glittering and already littered with New York’s A-list. Diamonds and designer labels are the order of the day. I smooth the black satin of my Balenciaga over my hips and prepare to join the well-heeled guests. I’m not concerned about fitting in; I know I will. I’ve done this all my life.
“Miss Scarlett Jones, welcome,” the doorman greets me with a nod and a smile as I hand him my invitation. I didn’t bother giving a fake name. It doesn’t matter; they’ll never suspect my motives for being around. These people only care about the exclusivity and grandeur of the event.
“Thank you,” I purr, stepping inside the grand ballroom. Chandeliers cast a warm glow on guests, while ornate gilded mirrors reflect their laughter and shallow conversations. Champagne flows freely, and the clink of crystal glasses fills the air. But beneath all the opulence, there’s an unmistakable tension.
