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CHAPTER1
LUKA
A bright redpalm pushed open the heavy door, and a shaft of Nevada sunshine pierced the darkened room. The man curled up on the filthy floor recoiled as though it stung his skin. In the afternoon light, one could see streaks of blood splashed on the floor, walls, and even the low ceiling. The man trembled as the pool beneath him spread slowly around him. His injuries were numerous, most of them just deep enough to cause pain, but too shallow to kill him outright. It would take weeks, maybe months, to heal.
Another man stood over him in the doorway, his shadow stretching out long against the opposite wall of the shed. He was an enormous brick wall of a man, standing six-foot-five and musclebound. His black T-shirt clung to his sweaty, hard chest and arms. If you looked close enough, there were massive patches of blood staining the front, as well as his black pants. Even his shoes were splattered with red. He had dark brown hair, and his eyes were a startling shade of pale green, almost mint. He was handsome, even with a streak of scarlet across his cheek and pure coldness in his gaze.
His name was Luka Antonov, and he was the Sokolov Pakhan’s head enforcer. Not a drop of the blood all over him had come from his veins. Despite the fact that his target wasn’t restrained in any way, and had attempted to fight for his life at first, Luka hadn’t suffered any major injuries during the mission.
It was a simple one: Luka only had to show up at the musty shed at the back of a Sokolov-owned property on the south side of town and ‘punish’ the man kept in there like a caged animal. He had been caught stealing from the Shining Star Casino for athirdtime, which meant that he had squandered the mafia’s limited clemency twice. That was unacceptable. Luka had tracked him for days, making note of his activities, gathering evidence. Casino security had caught the thief, two of Luka’s fellow members called Ivan and Vadim had brought him to the shed, and Luka had arrived ready to cause him exquisite suffering.
Luka had been at it for nearly twelve hours. He could work quickly when needed, but if he could, he preferred to take his time. Eliciting pain was only part of the process. Torture was an art, and Luka was an artist.
“Miloserdie,” the thief croaked from the floor.
“You’ve spent all your mercy,” Luka responded coldly, wiping his blade on his thigh. “Perhaps you’ll spend it more wisely in the future.”
He knelt down beside the man, who flinched away from him. Luka rolled the man over on his back and dabbed his bloody hands on the front of his shirt, treating the man like a napkin before standing up again. He peered down at the shivering target and felt no remorse. Someone else would come to clean up the scene and take the thief back home. No witnesses, no mess.
Luka walked out of the shed without another word and locked it behind him. He could just barely hear his victim blubbering inside as he walked through the back of the property. His car, a dark red sedan with a black leather interior, was waiting for him at the edge, partly obscured by overgrown shrubs. He slid behind the wheel, preparing to head home. He was aching all over and ready for a shower, some grub, and a little shut-eye before his next assignment. Luka didn’t require much, but hewaslooking forward to the break.
But as he fired up the engine, his cell phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Luka quickly answered it, and was surprised to hear the urgency in the Pakhan’s voice.
“Are you finished?” he demanded to know.
“I was just leaving,” Luka answered.
“Come straight here. No stops. It’s an emergency,” Mikhail instructed, then hung up.
Change of plans — that hot shower and a meal would have to wait. Without hesitation, Luka drove across town to his leader’s home, the luxurious Sokolov Estate in Summerlin North. He wasn’t expecting to be there; in fact, he hadn’t planned to visit the estate until days later to attend an Orthodox Easter feast.
When he arrived, he found several vehicles parked on the long driveway. There were a couple of security guys milling about by the entrance. They nodded to Luka and allowed him up the front steps of the mansion. He stepped into the foyer and immediately heard a din of voices coming from the kitchen across the grand hall. Another mafia member, a young man who went by the name Rad, showed up just behind him.
Luka made his way down the hall to the guest bathroom, whipping off his shirt.
“Just got here and already taking your shirt off?” Rad remarked, almost teasing.
Luka turned to face him, showing the blood streaked on his face and arms. “I have to wash up,” said Luka. “I don’t want to scare Annika or the twins.”
Rad looked him up and down. He replied, “Fair enough. I didn’t see, uh, allthat.”
“Spend time in the field and you might see more blood,” Luka shot back. It was a biting comment, but Rad knew Luka well enough to detect the subtle note of jest. The men had all known each other for years and endured some of the most dangerous, violent, harrowing times together. They understood one another despite their differences.
Luka hurriedly washed away as much of the grime and blood as he could manage, barely glancing in the mirror during the process. Still shirtless and utterly unselfconscious about it, he crossed the house to the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.
As he walked in, he saw Mikhail, the Sokolov Pakhan, gathered with his team of close allies around two women sitting at the kitchen island. One he recognized as Polina, the Sokolovs’ middle-aged, live-in chef. She was holding a bag of frozen peas to her face and sobbing, her words so muddled together as to be unintelligible.
Beside her sat a much younger woman, barely more than a teenager. She was pale, with limp brown hair and big brown eyes. She wore a modest sweater and a long skirt with scuffed-up tennis shoes. She wore a nametag on her apron that saidAgata. She looked positively terrified, her hands twisting in her lap as the men towered over her. Andrei, who had recently admitted to a romantic relationship with Polina’s beautiful daughter, Inessa, was pacing back and forth with his brow furrowed. Annika crouched in front of the chef, trying to calm her down. Mikhail stood behind her with his arms crossed, looking furious. There were many voices talking at once, and Luka struggled to parse the meaning at first.
“What did you see, Polina?” Andrei asked.
“It happened so quickly.” She sniffed. “The bodyguard was driving my car. I was in the backseat with my daughter. We had just left the shop with our groceries for the Easter feast.”
Polina’s face crumpled again as her shoulders shook with sobs. Annika took her hand and patted it gently. “I should have known something was wrong. I-I should’ve listened to Inessa, but I thought she was only acting paranoid. Oh, my poor girl,” she cried.
“And you did nothing? You let it happen?” Mikhail demanded of the young girl beside her. The girl went even paler, the color draining from her cheeks and lips. She was trembling.
Polina interjected, “It’s not her fault. She came to my rescue as soon as she could, didn’t you, Agata?” she urged. When she moved the bag of peas to speak, Luka could see the black eye forming and the swelling around her nose. It was probably broken.
