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She couldn’t get a better welcome than that.
?
Moscow’s cold feels like stepping into a frozen version of hell.
After the plane fiasco, Dimitri finally fell silent for the rest of the journey, only mumbling and complaining during turbulence. We landed a few hours later, got into the car, and headed straight to Igor, who was patiently waiting for us.
It took about an hour to reach the manor.
The manor, reminiscent of the Addams family’s mansion, is an enormous dark brown wooden house standing tall, concealing most of the Silas’ sins, crimes, and wealth. Igor built it a few years before he welcomed me into his clan, seeking a place far from the city where he could freely commit his dark deeds—a place he could call home.
Dimitri remained silent as we parked and got out of the car. I noticed one of the men smoking and playing with a cat and sighed.
Sofiya was still passed out, likely from exhaustion.
Naturally, I had to carry her, as Dimitri was, shall I say, less than helpful at the moment.
I opened the passenger door and lifted her onto my right shoulder, her body limp and unresponsive.
As I entered the house, Igor’s shouting echoed from his office down the corridor. I hurried upstairs to the room prepared for her—her new bedroom.
The room was small and stark white. A single bed with white covers and a medium pillow was pushed against the wall. A small window let in light, revealing miles of snow-covered forest.
I laid her on the bed and handcuffed her hands and feet.
Stepping back, I admired my work.
Splendid.
She looked disturbingly peaceful. Not an ounce of fear or worry appeared on her face. Her long lashes rested gracefully on her cheeks, where three beauty marks formed a small triangle. Her plump lips were slightly parted, and another small beauty mark on her bottom lip seemed to beg for attention.
I clenched my fists. Here she was, sleeping without a care in the world, while I had to break my back to carry her here. I despised her with every ounce of my being.
The fact that I couldn’t even gain anything from this mess Igor put me through made me furious. I ran my hands through my hair and pulled on it.
I needed to tell Igor that my job was done, that I had fulfilled his request.
Then I could finally return to a more important and less frustrating business. I wanted to go back to the States, meet with the Italians, and check on the warehouses. I hadn’t seen Francesco in a while, and I was in the mood to annoy him. He was so easy to upset; it was almost therapeutic.
I left the room and headed downstairs to Igor’s office. The sound of my footsteps echoed in the empty house. I cracked my neck, knocked on the door, and stepped inside.
Igor was facing the large window next to his bookshelf, smoking his cigar.
Another one of his men was carrying the lifeless body of one of our suppliers. The smell of fresh blood filled the room as I inhaled deeply. I stepped aside to clear the way to the door.
“This bastard has been working for Vlad for a fucking year now, and I didn’t see shit,” Igor hissed, tapping his cigar. “I want him gone, son. Bring me his head.”
I simply nodded.
Vlad, the Ketalonovs’ boss, had been fucking with us for a year, stealing some of our most important clients. He even tipped off the cops to close one of our whorehouses for shady business, as if most of our clients weren’t regulars. It was as if all he wanted was a war.
Vlad was never smart enough to understand the truth: what you seek often comes your way, but you never know in what form or how the outcome will play out. For him, the outcome won’t be what he envisioned.
Igor and Vlad met in prison as teenagers.
Igor was in for drug dealing, Vlad for abduction. They had each other’s backs, and once Igor was out, he helped Vlad escape and took him under his wing.
That was until Vlad stabbed him in the back.
