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I turned to him. White, yellow, and red lights swung past his face from the windshield. “What about his family? Can’t be caught unprepared if they’re going to be there.”
“No need. He lives alone.” He turned the wheel to evade a lousy SUV in the lane and stepped on the gas. “Married two times. Has three sons from his first wife. They are all abroad. Then, a daughter from his late second wife. Two hours ago, she was spotted atSilver’sballroom. Charity event, most likely. Knowing Mike, he sent her to represent him.”
“Coward and a bastard,” I seethed.
“Currently, the girl’s location is unknown.”
I arched a brow. “Two hours ago?”
“Da [yes].”
“Mere coincidence?”
Pavel grunted, disagreeing. “Highly unlikely, boss. Mike knows he’s in trouble and, so far, he’s proving to be a smart man.If he was planning to escape, he would leave his family out of it. He’d want them out of the picture. He’d shut all his lines of communication down. Anything to cover his tracks.”
A dull ache in my chest caught my attention. I slid my hand below my armpit and closed my eyes. I was fifteen again. Shivering and alone. Skinny, dirty, and sick, roaming the cold, dark lonely streets of Moscow with a torn scarf that couldn’t cover both shoulders. No friends, no parents. No family.
I could hardly forget that night. When Alexei Petrov was reborn.
There was blood under my fingernails. Red dripped from my hand onto the white snow beneath my feet and I had a cut on my chin. I had slumped weakly against a frozen lamppost on the sidewalk. Hungry and nauseous. It had been mine. Stale bread: so stale that a crumb crunched and tasted like sand.
Then he appeared. Another homeless orphan on the street, like me. Blue eyes, dirty blond hair, long arms, and scars on his legs. The fucking idiot grabbed my bread. I fought back. Punches and kicks were exchanged. I lost a tooth but still offered to share with him.
That was the first and last time I ever offered to share.
He refused and I rammed a broken bottle through his chest. It was his day to die. I lost the bread and the boy, but a family found me, slumped against that lamppost. The Bratva. They’d watched me, saw potential, and took me in.
I have been with them ever since. Trained, cultivated, and... damned if I wouldn’t be faithful and loyal to them until my last breath. They made my life worthwhile, and I vowed to repay them with everything I had.
Starting with recovering every single penny Mike Collins fucking stole.
The sooner we got to him, the better.
I opened my eyes and fastened my fingers around the grip of my gun. It glinted under a fleeting ray of green traffic light. “Step on it, Pavel.”
“Yes, boss.” His feet stepped on the gas pedal, sending the car faster down the road. I saw them again, the horrors of the past. They came in flashes. Crackling flames. Screams. Gunshots. Blood.
I reached for the glove compartment, pushed it open, and pulled out a brown cigar. Twirling it between my fingers, my lips crooked to the side. An antique customized ‘die-hard’ zippo lighter lay still in the compartment beside brown envelopes.
Someone was surely going to die tonight, and again, it wouldn’t be me.
Chapter 4 - Vanessa
Black rubber tires whined and crunched loudly on gravel and brake lights flashed as the car rolled down the driveway.
Two security guards stood, stationed beside the black iron gate. The driver stuck his hand out and waved again. I caught his warm smile through the side mirror. I waved back.
He was a nice guy. Handsome too. Brown buzz cut, bow pink lips, and bright blue eyes.
Jett Hogan was his name.
Twenty-six, a college student, and worked two decent jobs to provide for his two younger sisters. Barista atJoe’sduring the day and an Uber driver at night. I liked that he listened; didn’t matter if I had accidentally rambled his ear off about my undying love for Coco Chanel or the homeless children in the United States, India, and Africa.
He chuckled, nodded, and said, “You have a big heart. I wish the world had more people like you.”
We didn’t exchange contacts, though the look in his eyes screamed, “Give me your number.”
He might have been my type if I was sure had one.
