Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
For a moment, I thought he'd argue. But then to my surprise, he nodded.
"Agreed." He tilted his head slightly, the moonlight catching the silver at his temples. "You go back to Russia. Keep an eye on Solovyov. I'll handle things here. I want eyes on the senator and a few other key government officials."
Artem didn't like that. I could see it in the tightening of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched for a weapon that wasn't in his hand.
His stare was hard, sharp as a blade, and Gregor met it evenly, unblinking.
A silent game of chess. Someone was going to make a wrong move at some point, and when that happened, several pieces would be sacrificed. Blood would flow, and it wouldn't be the quick, clean death of our enemies.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
"So, I'll call the cleanup crew," Damien said, his voice cutting through the thick tension hanging between Gregor and Artem.
"Do that," Artem responded, his tone even, but the weight of his words unmistakable, heavy with promise. "My brothers and I will deal with Solovyov. Once our enemy is gone, we'll take a hard look at the leadership and structure of the family."
A thinly veiled threat, delivered with all the subtlety of a grenade.
To Gregor's credit, he didn't take the bait. He never did. His control was legendary. I'd seen him negotiate million-dollar deals with a bullet in his shoulder, never once betraying the pain.
That was the thing about Gregor—calm, composed, never reacting in anger like Damien. No, Gregor wielded his fury with surgical precision, saving it for when it would cut the deepest. He was the scalpel to Artem's hammer.
Artem knew exactly who he was provoking. The devil dancing with a saint.
And yet, he still did it.
The coming months would be…interesting. If we all survived them.
The others dispersed, slipping into their vehicles and heading back to Gregor's compound. Their work here was done, leaving behind only the smell of death and gunpowder.
Damien and I stayed behind to oversee the cleanup. It wasn't necessary, our team was efficient, professional, but it was protocol. And in our world, protocol was what kept you alive.
Damien leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the night air. "So, your brother…he has his eyes on—"
"I don't pretend to know my brother's mind." I cut him off, not wanting to hear the words spoken aloud. As if saying them might make them real.
He smirked, unbothered, his eyes knowing. "Have you considered finding him a woman? In my experience, they're an excellent distraction. A happy man is satisfied with what he has. If Artem is happy at home, maybe he'll stop coveting the property of others." His tone was light, but the suggestion wasn't.
I snorted, the sound harsh in the cold air.
A week ago, I would have thought Damien was full of shit. But now?
Now, I knew exactly what he meant. The way Marina consumed my thoughts, crowding out everything else. The way her absence felt like withdrawal, a physical pain that clawed at my insides.
"Artem has no shortage of women in his bed. But if he ever found one that was truly his match…" I shook my head, my breath creating ghosts between us. "May God have mercy on us all."
Damien chuckled, and I joined him, the rare moment of amusement breaking through the blood and tension. Our laughter hung in the air, incongruous against the backdrop of death.
The cleanup crew arrived in a nondescript white van, efficient as always. Within twenty minutes, the body was gone. Clean. Precise. No evidence left behind. No one would ever know what had happened here.
Damien and I said little else on the ride back to the compound. His sleek sports car hummed as it cut through the streets, classical music blaring from the speakers, the violent crescendos fitting for the night's work. Normally, I might have enjoyed it.
But I had only one thought in my mind, burning through everything else like wildfire.
My wife.
I needed to get back to Marina.
That urgency, that hunger, coiled tighter the closer we got, a physical ache settled low in my gut. I could almost taste her skin, smell the jasmine of her perfume.
And then—
The second we pulled through the gates, I knew something was wrong. My instincts screamed, a primal warning that raised the hair on my neck.
The compound looked the same. No alarms. No smoke. No signs of struggle.
But it was too quiet. Too still. Like a held breath.
No one was outside.
A prickle of unease crept through me, cold fingers tracing my spine.
Something was off. The wrongness of it all settled in my bones like ice.
Artem stood near the counter, his mouth twisted in a deep scowl. Gregor mirrored his stance, arms crossed, unreadable but tense. They were both holding back something, their expressions tight, controlled. The air between them vibrated with unspoken words.